Charles swivelled from his screen, his face a mix of irritation at the interruption and resignation about his open-door management policy. Edmond Brice stood in the doorway.
‘Sorry to interrupt you, boss, but I need to talk. If it’s convenient. Maybe it isn’t…’ He had read the look on Charles’s face.
‘Sure, come in Ed. Shut the door. Always happy to talk.’ He hoped his voice didn’t betray his absence of conviction. He had been deeply involved in wrapping up a tautly argued response to the Minister and now, with this interruption, he would need to regain the thread of his argument. Should’ve closed the door.
Rising, he ushered his visitor to the conference table in his office. Brice closed the door as Charles eased into the chair at the head of the table.
‘How can I help you, Ed?’
Brice was only half into a chair before he began in a rush. ‘Well, thing is, boss, I’m in a bit of a jam. Personal stuff I’d prefer to keep to myself.’
Charles’s eyebrows rose in non-committal invitation for his staff member to continue.
‘I’d like some time off to deal with… some stuff.’ He was visibly perspiring, hands shaking.
Charles waited for him to continue. Silence. ‘Well, Ed, you know we are under enormous pressure to deliver the project you’re leading. Are you sure you need to take leave right now?’
Brice nodded, battling to contain his emotions. Charles’s stomach tightened: he wasn’t good at handling touchy-feely stuff. What would he do if Brice broke down?
Brice struggled to regain his voice, then blurted out, ’I’ll have to tell you, it’ll come out one way or another. I think I killed someone last night. Driving. Too much to drink. Raining. Didn’t see him crossing the road. And panicked—drove off…’ There was a painful silence. ‘I’ll go to the cops now. No alternative.’
Charles took a deep breath.
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