Norman Stanley read the morning newspaper on the bus to work as usual. He checked his watch, he was running on schedule. He always arrived at the office early and was often the last to leave, often rushed to catch his bus home. Having worked for the firm for almost thirty years, he had been managing the export department for over a decade. Now, as he was in his mid-sixties and nearing retirement age, he found he was still the hardest working in the office. 

He worked really hard, while his younger department seemed to work to rule. Norman would see them stroll into the office exactly on the stroke of nine o’clock, still staring at their mobile phones, reluctantly getting to their desk. They would always take exactly an hour for their lunchbreak, regardless of their work volumes or any problems that arise just before their break.

Just after three o’clock that afternoon, the branch manager, Jon McCarthy, called for Norman to step into his office. Jon adjusted his tie and looked up from the paperwork on the desk in front of him.

‘Norm, come in. Close the door and take a seat.’ He waved a hand to the chair, giving him a pleasant smile.

Norman was confused. Usually he was only invited into the branch manager’s office for a telling off, to be told his department were not pulling their weight, and that Norman had to sort it out. He was never told to take a seat, and never called ‘Norm’.

Quite unsure what was going on, Norman did as he was told. When he was seated in the chair facing him, the manager spoke.

‘How long have you been with the company now?’ Jon asked.

‘It will be thirty years in December.’

‘Fascinating. You’ve been a real asset to the firm. It really is commendable.’

Not really knowing what to say in reply, Normal mumbled thank you.

‘And how long until you retire?’ Jon asked.

‘As things stand, around eighteen months, maybe two years, but I’ve not really given that any thought.’ Norman shrugged.

‘The Board have been thinking about the future and where we go from here.’

Norman said nothing. 

‘Of course, you are welcome to work here right up until you retire. However, it has been decided that your department will have a new manager.’ Jon stated. 

‘Rather than myself?’ Norman asked.

‘Yes, that is correct.’ 

‘Where does that leave me?’

‘Don’t worry, there is still a role for you. You will be working on the documents team.’

‘Documentation?’

Norman was reeling. Having worked for and managed the export shipping department for years, he had assumed that he would see out his time as export manager. The move to documentation wasn’t just a demotion, it was a downright insult. Were they really expecting him to spend his last year or so doing filing and data entry?

‘Yes, we feel the documentation department would be the perfect place for you to spend the rest of your time with the firm.’

‘What about my department? Who will run the export team?’

‘Charlie Cooper will be heading up the new-look department.’ Jon stated.

‘Charlie? Are you being serious? He’s only been here five minutes.’ 

‘Actually Charlie has been with the firm almost two years. He is young and has a real passion for the industry.’ Jon insisted.

‘Come off it. He’s on his mobile phone all day and counts down the hours to home-time. You aren’t really replacing me with him?’ Norman snapped, feeling the anger burn his cheeks.

‘It’s just the way of things, Norm. It’s progress. The company is moving in a new and vibrant direction, and with people like Charlie at the helm.’

‘I can’t actually believe this is happening.’ Norman said. ‘Can you not just give me eighteen months?’

Jon shook his head. 

‘How about twelve months? Give me a year. Let me finish as export manager a year from now. Then, I’ll retire, I’ll leave and you can replace me with whoever you like. I will go on my way, and you can go on this exciting new direction. How does that sound?’ Norman said. 

‘I’m afraid not. We are forging ahead with our new direction.’

‘When does this all start?’ Norman asked.

‘It is with immediate effect, but tomorrow morning will be fine. In the morning, you will report to the Documentation department.’

This was just too much to take. His head was spinning with it all. He had been running the department for years and yet by the morning he would be a filing clerk. He got to his feet, stumbled, and leaned on the desk for support. 

He slumped back down into the chair, breathing hard.

‘Are you feeling okay?’ Jon asked.  

Norman shook his head. 

‘I’ll get you a glass of water.’

Jon rushed from the office, heading for the water cooler. Norman couldn’t take it all in. Were they actually doing this to him? Was that really the thanks he got for all his years of service, for all the early mornings and late nights? His gaze drifted over the desk in front of him. The anger, outrage and confusion rushed over him. 

Moments later the manager returned with a glass of water. Norman ignored the offered glass.

‘Would I be okay to go home now?’ Norman asked.

‘Yes, of course. You can make the time up tomorrow.’

Norman scoffed at the idea of having to work the time back after all the extra hours he’d worked over the years. He simply nodded and hurried from the office.

About an hour later, one of his workers, Joanne, poked her head round Jon’s office door.

‘Is your car in the garage? You need a lift picking it up when it’s ready?’ Joanne asked.

‘How’s that?’ he asked. 

‘Where’s your car?’

She jerked a thumb in the direction of the car-park. Jon jumped to his feet and charged past her, to the window. The spot where he had parked his BMW that morning was now empty. He knew who had done this. It had to be Norman. The guy had clearly taken offence at the office restructure. That was the thanks he got for employing Norman all these years. 

His colleagues joined him at the window.

‘Norman has stolen my car.’ He said, reaching for his mobile phone.

‘Are you calling the police?’ Someone asked. 

‘The Chief Constable is a very good friend. He’ll sort him out. That man will rue the day.’ 

Police officer Carl Peterson had been informed that the crime in question was not just the theft of a car. This wasn’t just any victim, this was a close friend of the Chief Constable. Strings had been pulled, called has been made. This was once crime that had to be cracked. 

Peterson was given the task of going to Jon’s house to get his version of events and taking things from there. He knocked on the door. A moment later, Jon snatched open the door and glared at him.

‘You took your time.’ Jon growled. 

Peterson was officer shown inside. When they were seated in his 

‘So you suspect your car was stolen by this man,’ he flicked at his notes, ‘ this Norman Stanley.’ Peterson began.

‘I don’t suspect he stole it, I know he did.’ Jon snapped.

‘And how did he manage to take the vehicle?’

‘He snatched the keys while my back was turned. He said he was feeling unwell, so he could be left alone in my office.’

‘I see, does this person have a history of things like this? Has he been in trouble before?’

‘No, not at all. It is so out of character, but I had just had to move him from manager to clerk. Norman clearly took offence at the move.’

‘So he stole your car in revenge for demoting him?’ Peterson asked.

‘Not a demotion. Tsk. The office is restructuring.’ Jon replied.

‘Well, we’ll do all we can to track this person down and get your car back. Just one more thing. Were there any other keys on the car key ring?’

‘There were my house keys.’ 

‘And there’s nothing missing here? Might be worth checking closely.’ Peterson replied.

The colour drained from his face. He turned and pointed a shaking hand to the door leading off the living room.

‘What’s through there?’ Peterson asked.

‘The garage.’ He whispered. 

Jon crossed the room and threw open the door and flicked on the light, before peeking inside.

‘The Lambo! He’s taken the Lambo.’ Jon cried.

Jon pointed to the empty garage.

‘My Lamborghini sports car.’ He explained. 

‘I am on the case, sir, and will be on with my enquiries.’ Peterson said, headed to leave. 

As Peterson stepped through the front door Jon was still chunnering.

‘This guy is unbelievable.’ He said.

‘Yes,’ Peterson said, ‘yes, he is.’

Back in the patrol car, Peterson radioed the station explaining that the sixty-five year old perpetrator had headed to the victim’s address in the first car, and stolen the prized sports car, and was, he assumed, tearing around the North West in his upgraded vehicle. The car in question was bright yellow, with a distinctive black line down the middle. 

As he headed down the motorway, on the way back to the station, Peterson thought things over. 

This Norman was really quite the character, Peterson thought. Maybe a person can only take so much, and maybe these big corporations should think about their employees before their so-called restructuring ruined people’s lives. Maybe these big companies should see their employees as more than just numbers on a pay-roll.

At that moment a car sped by on the other side of the motorway. It was a bright yellow sports car, a Lamborghini with a black line down the middle. That was him. Peterson reached for the radio hand-set to call it in. Then he stopped. He smiled to himself and carried on his way to the station.

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom