The Dudhope Legacy – Part 1

Edgar walked to work that day.  As he had almost every day of his employment at the First National Bank.  Determined to keep everything as ordinary as possible, he worked hard at looking casual while inside his mind was in a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts.  He wore his thick winter coat even though the sun promised to warm the spring air. Looking at his fellow walkers, he noted their springtime attire.  He hadn’t given it much thought as he had hurriedly left for work this morning.  He tugged his coat closer to his body and wondered if he was drawing attention to himself.  It felt as though everyone was staring at him, seeing right through him and reading the thoughts of his mind and the evil desire of his heart.

He had given twelve wretched years of his life to the First National Bank.  Putting in long hours with no appreciation, hating every minute he had given to his work.  He had worked through lunch breaks, refused to take holidays, stayed long after closing and had gotten nothing in return.  All the extra work he had done had gone unnoticed and in a sad twist of fate had become expected of him.  Well, he was finished with that.  Last month he had finally come to realise that there was no future for him in that bank.  He had been overlooked yet again for another promotion.  One that was rightfully his.  He hated everything about his job.  The mundane nature of his work, the disdain his employer showed to him, the way his coworkers laughed about him behind his back, he hated every minute he gave to the institution that took and gave nothing back.  Yesterday had been the icing on the cake.  He had been given a pink slip in his mail slot.  They didn’t have the decency to talk to him about it.  That they had met with Edgar several times with complaints about his slovenly work habits meant nothing to the bitter man.  He had known they were being judgmental and unfair in their criticism and had dismissed their comments as irrelevant.  It was a well-known fact that if you didn’t hold the right last name, there was no chance of getting ahead in this company.  With a last name like Dudhope there was no chance that the prestigious MacPherson clan, founders of the bank, would credit any accomplishment on his behalf.  Well, after today, there would be no mistaking who had the superior mind among them.  He would show them that for all their condescension and ill will towards him he was capable of so much more than they could ever guess. 

He hurried on his way eager to make sure that he was regular in his arrival.  On a good day, he was fifteen minutes later than his scheduled start time, a fact he more than compensated for by staying well past closing.  He scowled as the looming bank building came into view.  He loathed the very air about the building.  The smell of success … success that was rightfully his.  Well, today everything would be different.  He was going to follow through with the plans he had carefully been laying.  He had been waiting.  Waiting for just the right time to claim what he deserved.  While he waited, he had been biding his time, spending his evening hours planning, precisely cutting, carefully glueing. He had been so careful. Covering his tracks well, he had methodically been scooping out of the accounts of wealthy clients the bank favoured and had hidden the money in an unassuming account.  Over time, the amount in the account had grown to quite a hefty sum and today he was going to drain the account and leave town.  He would leave this wretched bank behind, taking with him what was rightfully his due pay.  He had, in his own twisted way, calculated what he felt was owed to him for his extra services and dedication to a company that held him in disdain. 

He hurried into his office cubby, avoiding eye contact with any of his coworkers.  Not a difficult feat.  He began his workday as he had so many others, methodically working through the stacks of files that had been left on his desk.  In his briefcase, by his feet, sat his special dictionary, which he had spent countless hours carving…his tool of deceit.  He worked quietly until lunch hour when his loud and arrogant coworkers cleared out of the office to pursue their hour of leisure.  Now was his chance.  He quietly left his work area with his briefcase containing the dictionary securely by his side.  He looked carefully around him as he slipped into the stairwell leading to the basement.  The basement that held the safe where the money was stored.  The money that he was intending to use to pay back the debt this company owed to him. 

He smiled with satisfaction as he unlocked the safe and slipped inside.  He was so close to success he could almost taste it.  He quickly found the hundred-dollar bills.  He pulled his dictionary from his briefcase. He had been so methodical. With precision he had cut the rectangle shape in pages of the dictionary and had carefully glued each page together creating a secret compartment, a private safe if you will.  He laughed with glee as he filled the cavern with stacks of bills.  He was a genius.  No one would even think to look in a dictionary to find the missing money.   He doubted if these dimwits even knew what a dictionary was.  He had placed the withdrawal slip in an obscure place yesterday after the pink slip arrived. They would have no idea what he had done. Working quickly and the book was soon filled.  He paused a moment and then grabbed a few more bills and slipped them in his pocket.  He replaced the completed dictionary back in his briefcase.  He was almost done.  He hurried back to his desk and collected his coat as he quickly made his way out of the bank.  He was sweating.  The warmth of the day made his coat feel ridiculous, but he was unwilling to leave it behind.  He hurried out the front doors and onto the sidewalk.  He had made it!  They were none the wiser and by the time they knew anything was out of sorts he would be long gone. The sweat trickled down his back, but he didn’t even notice. Nothing could stop him now. He could almost taste the freedom at his fingertips, freedom from the daily drudgery, from the condescending glances, from the certainty of a life long endless grind.

He couldn’t resist. He stopped there in front of this symbol of all he had grown to hate and defiantly raised his fist in an ultimate expression of defiance. The growl that erupted from deep within startled him. He glanced around suddenly fearful of exposure and clutched his briefcase close to his chest. Heart pounding, he felt panic rising within. In his haste, he ran out into the street heedless of oncoming traffic.  For all his methodical planning, his haste was to be his biggest mistake.  The truck driver had no time to respond to the figure that stepped out in front of him.  There was no hope for Mr. Edgar Dudhope.  His life was over just as he had hoped to begin it. 

The crowd that gathered looked on in shock.  His coworkers shook their heads in disbelief.  “What was Edgar doing crossing the street at this hour?” they wondered to themselves.  He never left the building until long after the sun had set.  Mr. MacPherson shook his head in disbelief as the police officer presented the three one-hundred-dollar bills found in Edgar’s pocket.  “All he could manage to take was a measly three hundred dollars?  Probably a fortune for a deadbeat like him.  What an underachiever!”  The case was quickly dismissed as accidental death and the money was returned to the bank where it belonged.  No one thought to check the stack of hundred-dollar bills so carefully replaced in the safe.  No one even noticed the briefcase that had been thrown in the accident and was lying by the side of the road. 

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