The Christmas List: A Novel

Kier arrived at work at his usual time on Monday. As he walked down the hall he was followed by double takes and stares by his employees, their mouths falling open as if they’d seen a ghost. There were even a few audible gasps. He walked directly to Tim Brey’s office. Tim was on the phone and froze when he saw him. “I gotta go,” he said and dropped the phone into the cradle without waiting for a response from whoever was on the other end of the call.

“Hi, Tim.”

Brey stared at him speechless.

“What’s up?”

“I don’t understand,” Brey said.

“Understand what?” Kier was enjoying this.

“The paper said you were . . .”

“Dead? I know. I read it. Then I checked my pulse and concluded it was just poor reporting.”

“Oh, thank God.”

Kier rubbed his hands together and approached Brey’s desk. “Really? Because I would think from what you wrote that you weren’t really all that happy working for me.”

Brey turned pale. “What are you talking abo—”

Kier lifted his hand and stopped him. “Please, Tim, don’t insult me.” He reached into his pants pocket and fished out the comments he’d printed out that morning, and read: “Kier’s only motivation in life was money. Gain was his only criterion for action, no matter who was hurt, no matter who was left in ashes. Just yesterday he celebrated taking some old man’s property. Believe me, I knew Kier—I played squash with him every week for seven years.” Kier looked back up at Brey. “Did you want to add anything to that, Supertramp?”

Brey stared at him in horror, “So is this where you throw me under the bus?”

Kier smiled. “Saturday I might have. Wanted to. Actually, I was kind of looking forward to it. But I’ve had time to think. There was some truth to what you wrote. More than I wanted to hear, but I needed to hear it. So I came in to thank you.”

Brey looked at him skeptically. “Now you’re insulting me. Go on, get it over with.”

“No, I’m serious. I owe you.” Kier put his hands in his pockets. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to be working at home for a while on a project.”

“What kind of project?”

“A special one. Let everyone know that the news of my death was premature. I’m sure that will ruin their week but they’ll get over it. I don’t know how long I’ll be out, but I trust that you’ll run things with your usual efficiency.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good man.” He started to go but stopped at the doorway. “Oh, and Brey, get someone to put up a tree or something.”

“What kind of tree?”

“A Christmas tree. You know, deck the halls, that sort of thing. Christmas is only three weeks away. From the looks of things you’d never even know it was the season.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good man.”

Brey sat stunned, as Kier walked out of his office.