Sweet Revenge

I hated him. I hated every single thing about him, from his shiny forehead and receding hairline to the expensive leather shoes which made a clicking sound whenever he strutted around the office. He wore perfectly tailored suits, with a self-satisfied smirk, from Monday to Friday as a constant reminder of just how much more important he was than the rest of us. His bulging lizard eyes and insect thin body might have made a lesser man self-conscious – but not Adrian Cornell. Adrian oozed confidence and looked at us all down through his nose with mild disgust as though we were covered in dog excrement. He walked around the office floor acting like he owned the place.

Which he did – or at least Daddy did. You don’t tend to worry about being fired when your father-in-law writes the pay cheques.

‘I’d like to take that stupid corporate tie and wring his bloody neck with it,’ my mate Rob said, through gritted teeth.

Rob sat at the desk next to mine and we both worked in the accounts team which was on the first floor of the open plan office building. From our desks we had the joy of seeing Adrian at work on the other side of his glass panel office each day, which only served to increase our loathing.

‘Unless this ledger balances up by the end of the day, you’ll have some explaining to do,’ Adrian had threatened us both that morning. ‘If either of you even think about leaving until every single damn penny is logged then don’t bother coming back tomorrow’. He’d stormed back into his office and slammed the door behind him.

It was April 1st which meant the end of the UK tax year. The accounts that Adrian had asked us to check through weren’t merely a few sheets of rogue expenses but a huge wad of paperwork that incorporated the outflow of the entire company over the past 12 months. Every time one of the 200 or so odd employees purchased an item, commissioned a contractor, or logged any form of business expense, it ended up on our desks. Checking through the ledger in detail would take more than a day’s work – and Adrian knew it.

In spite of our impossible task, Rob and I worked tirelessly throughout the day. When the clock struck 5pm, Adrian closed the door to his office, and he walked pass our desks towards the exit, clicking his shoes as he went.

‘Still not finished boys?’ he sniggered. We just gave him weary looks. Even Rob, who was often in trouble for answering back when he shouldn’t was too fatigued to muster a response.

‘If you spent more time working and less time pissing around,’ Adrian continued, ‘then maybe you’d have finished by now.’ 

We finally finished checking through the accounts at around 9pm.

‘Christ, what a day,’ Rob said, logging off the computer. ‘Fancy a pint? I could really use a beer.’

I was always slightly in awe of Rob. Twelve years my senior, he was the only guy at the company who really didn’t seem to give a crap about Adrian or the rest of the management team.

‘Adrian is such a pillock,’ Rob said, sipping the foam of his beer in the warm cosy glow of the pub. ‘He thinks he can go around treating like others like crap because he knows we all need jobs.’

‘Does no one ever stand up to him?’ I asked.

A twinkle shimmered in Rob’s eyes and he smiled sheepishly. ‘Well I used to… but, honestly, it never got me anywhere. Sometimes it’s better to grit your teeth and just get on with it.’

‘I just hate how he’s… you know.. so…’ I struggled for the words.

‘So goddamn smug?’

‘Yes!’

Rob nodded. ‘In my opinion he might be a bit nicer to work with if he was taken down a peg or two – a bit of humility wouldn’t go amiss.’ 

Rob’s voice was still warm with his trademark humour but something in his tone had changed and made me look up from my pint.

‘Did you have something in mind?’ I asked. 

Rob blushed, ‘no it’s stupid idea – it probably wouldn’t work anyway.’

‘Go on – tell me.’

‘Well I worked at this place before – and there was a real bully of a boss there. A bit like Adrian. He used to have these crazy temper tantrums and yell at people in the middle of the office.’ Rob leaned in closer towards me as though telling me a secret. ‘Until one day… well… the guy shit himself.’

‘You’re kidding!’

‘Not at all – I don’t know if it was food poisoning or what,’ Rob laughed. ‘But the thing is – after that day he never shouted at anyone again. It was like he’d had a complete personality transplant.’

I smiled; the idea of Adrian soiling his expensive designer suit and humiliating himself wasn’t a disagreeable one.

‘That’s all very well, and if there’s one guy in need of a personality transplant then Adrian would be the front runner,’ I said. ‘Even so, I don’t think I’ve ever even seen the bloke eat. So not much chance of food poisoning there.’

Rob’s face fell. ‘No you’re right… not much chance.’ Then his mouth lifted at their corners and mischief started dancing in his eyes. ‘Not without some help anyway.’

I narrowed my eyes in curiosity, ‘Without help?’

‘Help, my friend,’ he said, now grinning from ear to ear. ‘In the form of senna glycoside.’

‘Senna-what?’

‘Senna glycoside,’ he repeated, ‘also known as…. Laxatives.’

Of course. I should have guessed. It was an old prank. 

I raised my eyebrows doubtfully. ‘As much as it would amuse me to see Adrian running back and forth from the men’s room,’ I said. ‘How are you going to give it to him? Like I mentioned before, the man doesn’t seem to eat – I swear the guy is half robot.’

‘Good point,’ Rob said. ‘And we don’t want it falling back on our heads either, otherwise we could probably just spike his coffee or something. Let’s think carefully… we’ll keep our eyes open. Something will come up.’

But nothing did. The rest of the year proceeded as expected, the monotonous grind of the daily routine was painful as we crawled slowly towards the Christmas. During this time we tried to uncover any weakness in our victim, by constantly leaving an array of perfectly innocent edible treats on the shelves just next to Adrian’s office door as a test. 

But Adrian Cornell had no weaknesses.

‘Mini egg sir?’ I tried.

Adrian wrinkled his nose in revulsion. ‘No thank you. I don’t like to poison my body with stuff like that.’

Well, that would account for his resemblance to a praying mantis, I thought. 

We watched his habits through the transparent office walls but he offered us no clue. Easter came and went without a hint of indulgence. We tempted him with donuts, pastries and cakes but the man had an iron will and would not succumb to any form of confectionary. During the summer, the shelves were littered with boxes of fudge, sweets and biscuits that people had brought back from their holidays and but Adrian did not give them a second look. The left over Hallowe’en candy and cinder toffee had no noticeable effects either.

‘We’re going to have to give up,’ I said to Rob just before Christmas. ‘I told you he was a robot.’

Rob shrugged. ‘We’ve still got a few months until April – something will come up.’ 

We had decided a few months ago that April 1st would be best day to pull our prank. Not only was it April Fools Day which felt very apt but, most importantly, it would also coincide with the end of the financial year. A bit of comic relief as we checked through the company accounts this year would not be unwelcome. 

‘If I have to be stuck in the office until nightfall again’ Rob had said, ‘I want to know that bastard is going to be suffering with me.’

So the date was set – but we still didn’t have the means to see through our scheme.

It happened when we were least expecting it. Throughout the year we’d watched Adrian like a hawk, but to no avail. In truth, I’d half forgotten our plan by the time I spied Adrian walk past our desks, and casually take something from one of the bowls of sweets and pop it in his mouth. I looked at Rob who was, in turn, staring at me with wide, open eyes. 

What was it that Adrian had found so irresistible that he’d broken his sugar-free diet?

Thinking quickly, Rob called out over the desk partition. ‘Much left over there from Christmas?’

Adrian gave Rob the usual withering look, that he bestowed on anyone who tried to draw him into a conversation unrelated to work.

‘Sugared almonds,’ Adrian said, ‘they’re my weakness’. He walked away so quickly that he failed to register the delight which was plastered over both our faces.

‘It’s perfect!’ Rob crowed. ‘The laxatives come as pills so we’ll just crush them up into dust and mix them with sugar paste. Then we can coat the almonds and send them to him as an anonymous gift.’

‘Won’t he wonder why someone’s sent him a box of sugared almonds?’ I asked.

‘Nah. Adrian won’t think twice about someone sending him a present in the post – he’s that bloody arrogant. He’ll assume it’s a corporate freebie and once he’s eaten the almonds it will be …wham… bam… blam. Arsageddon!’

We sniggered to ourselves like children, and started counting down to April 1^st.

A few weeks later, Adrian was on the warpath again. Rob was called into his office and I could see their animated and angry faces through the glass. Even though Adrian’s room was completely soundproof, it was obvious the two of them were arguing. Rob’s hands were clenched tightly into fists as he braced himself against whatever Adrian was yelling. Adrian’s shiny forehead was red and blotchy  and his face was contorted with rage. When he finally opened the door of the office, I caught the end of their conversation.

‘That ledger better balance in the tax audit at the end of the year or there’ll be hell to pay. Consider that a warning!’

Rob just rolled his eyes, and returned meekly to his desk.

‘What was that about?’ I asked Rob when he’d sat down. 

‘Hell knows,’ Rob said, but he refused to make eye contact. I could tell that Adrian’s reprimands had bothered him more than he let on. ‘Something about the sheets not balancing up. I told him that there’s a deficit as we’re due a credit note from one of the suppliers but would he listen?’

I wasn’t surprised when Rob asked if I fancied a beer after work.

‘Look mate’, Rob said once we’d ordered our pints, ‘I’m sorry but I can’t take it anymore. I can’t work with that plonker another minute. I’ve got to get out.’

My mouth twisted in dismay. I’d expected an angry outburst from Rob, but I hadn’t expected him to quit. Rob was the only ray of light and humour in an otherwise exceedingly dull workplace

‘I know – I feel like I’m letting you down’ he said. ‘Honestly no one wants to see that guy fall flat on his arse more than I do… But you’ll have to go on without me’. He took at a plastic white cylinder from his pocket and placed it firmly in my hands. ‘This is all you’ll need, the best quality laxatives on the market.’

‘But…’ I protested, ‘it wouldn’t be right to do it without you.’

Rob chuckled. ‘The only thing that will get me through the pits of unemployment is the idea of that arsehole embarrassing himself in front of everyone. April 1st – like we planned. Think of it as my leaving gift.’

Office life without Rob was even more mundane than I’d feared. He’d disappeared a few days after our conversation, saying that he was going to lay low for a while until he had his feet back on the ground. Adrian hadn’t replaced his position and so the bulk of his work now fell to me. I braced myself for the dreaded end of the financial year and in the meantime made preparations for our long-anticipated prank. 

I carefully crushed the pills that Rob had given me, mixing them with sugar paste and food colouring. Then I dipped each almond into mixture and placed them on the plate to cool. By the time I’d finished the almonds created a pretty picture of different pastel-coloured sweets. No one would ever suspect otherwise. 

To complete the picture I took a tin of authentic luxury sugared almonds and emptied the contents, replacing the tin with my own versions. A flamboyant pink ribbon, which I tied around the tin, completed the illusion. It looked like exactly like a luxury box of almonds you might buy from the supermarket. 

The plan was finally coming to fruition. Rob would have been proud. I just wished he could have seen it all come together. 

April 1st eventually rolled around and I awaited the office post that morning with eager eyes. When it arrived, I saw my parcel in pride of place at the top of the pile. Adrian raised an eyebrow at the garish ribbon when he opened the box with rest of the mail, but he didn’t seem to suspect anything out of the ordinary. Nevertheless, I feared the worse when Adrian strolled over to my desk twenty minutes later.

‘Morning,’ he said with unusual amiability. ‘I know that you’ve been doing two people’s jobs since Rob left, and it can’t be easy with year end and all. But we’re getting someone external to give things a second look.’ 

‘Oh,’ I said, surprised.

‘So basically you don’t need to worry this year – they’ll work with whatever you’ve already put through system.’

I couldn’t believe my luck. ‘Great – thank you.’

I was so pleased to have the shadow of the tax year end lifted from my shoulders, I’d completely forgot about our ploy for ultimate humiliation for the rest of the morning. When I heard the first scream I didn’t even make the connection.

I lifted my head up from my computer to see Adrian with his head slumped over his desk in a dead weight, and small shiny coloured balls rolling all over the office floor. The tin of sugared almonds with the silk ribbon had overturned and the almonds were scattered about the place. Colleagues were racing towards Adrian’s office at full speed, but the whole scene seemed to happen in slow motion to me as I tried to grasp what was happening.

What was happening? This wasn’t part of the plan.

‘Somebody call an ambulance!’ someone shouted.

The police officer narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously. There were no windows in the questioning room and my mouth was dry and dehydrated from answering questions so many. I had heard what the officer said but the reality of the nightmare had yet to sink in. 

‘I don’t think I need to tell you again that murder is a very serious charge’, the officer said. ‘Look – we know you sent the box of almonds. You’ve had three positive identifications from the post office, not to mention the fact you were caught on CCTV. And we found the poison you used in your apartment’.

‘Poison?’ I asked feebly. I felt sick.

‘Potassium cyanide.’ The officer produced a white cylinder box and placed it on the table in front of me. ‘Look familiar?’

‘No…  it was senna glycoside. Not poison.’

‘Senna-what?’

‘Laxatives. Speak to my friend, Rob. We used to work together. He’ll vouch for me!’ My voice was becoming more high-pitched and frantic.

The inspector looked at me in disbelief. ‘You said that before. As it happens we’ve spoken to Rob and he was very co-operative. He didn’t know a thing about it – he hasn’t even been in this country the last few weeks and he said he hadn’t spoken to you since he’ quit.’

‘What?’

‘He also said that you never liked Adrian Cornell and you threatened to wring his neck – is that true?’

‘No!’

‘Well… perhaps you don’t know your mate as well as you think you do,’ the officer sneered. ‘I’ll say it again – we know you poisoned those almonds with the intention of murdering Adrian Cornell. We know how and why you did. We just don’t know where the money is.’

‘Money? What money?’

‘The £5million missing from the company account. But I suppose you don’t know anything about that either?’

Of course I didn’t. But my blood started to run cold as realisation began to dawn on me. My mind flashed back to the week that Rob had left and the argument he’d had with Adrian. At the time I’d just assumed that Adrian was being his usual officious and overbearing self – but now some snippets of the conversation came back to me.

‘Money not balancing’, ‘we’ll be investigating’. ‘The end of year audit will highlight any discrepancies’.

Everything suddenly became startling clear. For the past year I’d been planning this prank, with the misconception that Adrian was the one we were making a fool of – but in reality the one who was being hoodwinked the whole time was me. I’d been set up. Rob had fooled me from the very beginning.

And if Rob was guilty of embezzlement, I had played my role faultlessly as the murderer. My blood ran cold as I understood how I’d acted as a pawn in a far darker scheme.

It was my hand which had poisoned the almonds, and it was me who had posted the box to Adrian’s office.

And I was the one who had killed Adrian Cornell.