Greed

The young girl sat before the man, pathetic and tired, but the man had no sympathy. Her hands were knotted nervously together in her lap; his were folded calmly on the desk between them, his fingers tapping on the hard surface impatiently. Her eyes darted around the room seemingly unable to focus on any one thing; his were boring into hers, relishing in her fright.

“I thought I told you to have the money by today?” He asked quietly. There was no need for the question. He knew the answer.

“I-You-You gave me an extension, sir.” The girl whispered, here eyes still refusing to meet his.

“Hmm,” the man murmured, shuffling through a pile of papers and pausing to look at one. “It seems that I did.” The girl sighed in relief. “But, I’ve changed my mind. I want the money. Now.”

The girl stared at him, making eye contact with him for the first time out of sheer shock. “I don’t have it, you know I don’t.”

“It looks like you don’t have a job now either, doesn’t it?” He replied coolly. “Now either give me two hundred dollars within the next five seconds or get out.”

“I had it before, it was stolen out of my desk! Please sir, I need this job.” She begged.

“Unless you can get that money in my hand in the next-what is it now?-three seconds, you are fired. Is that clear?” The man replied, leaning forward across the desk to try and force her to look at him.

Her eyes darted around the room once, fell on his again, and then quickly fell dropped to the floor. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but then snapped it shut, her face suddenly resolute. The man watched her smugly as she stood up then, pulled her ragged coat tighter around her slim frame, and walked out of the room.

Not that he cared. One less worker in the factory may have meant less products being made, but it also meant one less miserable little peasant to pay, and just that much more money that he got to keep for himself. He smiled slightly, a crooked smile that matched his heart, as he took a key from around his neck and opened the top desk drawer. Inside there were several stacks of money, neatly packed to the point of almost overflowing.

He pulled a wad of money out of his pocket, his smile growing wider. Quickly, with nimble fingers, he counted out the two hundred dollars, and once satisfied that it was all there, placed it in the drawer and locked it again. There was a knock at the door, behind which lay his next appointment. He quickly hid the smile, forcing his face to look grave and angry.

“Come in,” he called.