to work.”
Randolph reddened. “I don’t want to hear another word out of you, do you understand?”
She should stop talking right now, she thought, but she couldn’t help herself. “You really ought to look into getting some counseling to help you deal with your father issues. They’re not going to go away now that he’s dead and you’ve got control of his company, you know. If anything, your obsession with proving yourself may get worse. That can lead to—”
“Shut up, Ms. Wright.” He punched the intercom on his desk. “Mrs. Johnson, send someone from security to escort Ms. Wright out of the building.”
There was a short, appalled silence from Mrs. Johnson’s end.
“Yes, sir,” she finally managed, sounding horrified.
Isabel got to her feet. “I’ll go back to my office to collect my things.”
“You will not move an inch,” Randolph said flatly. “Your office is being cleared out as we speak. Your personal effects will be brought downstairs to the parking lot and handed over to you.”
“What?”
Randolph gave her a triumphant smile. “By the way, I was informed that you intercepted the janitors who were ordered to destroy my father’s research this morning. I have remedied the situation.”
She stopped at the door and whirled around. “What are you talking about?”
“All of the papers and computer files in your office are being destroyed as we speak,”
“You can’t do that.” Another thought struck her as she yanked open the door. “Sphinx.”
“Come back here, Ms. Wright.” Randolph leaped to his feet. “You are not to return to your office. You will be escorted from here directly to your car.”
She ignored him to rush past Mrs. Johnson’s desk. The secretary lowered the phone, her expression distraught.
Randolph thundered after Isabel. “I order you to return to this office and wait for security.”
“You just fired me. I don’t take orders from you anymore.”
She flew along the corridor. Office doors opened as she went past. People came to stand in doorways, faces alight with curiosity and astonishment.
By the time she reached the wing where her office was located, she was breathless. At the end of the hall she saw a small knot of people in the hall outside her door. Ken barred the entrance, both arms extended to grasp the door frame on either side.
“Nobody comes in here until Isabel gets back,” he roared.
Isabel recognized the three people confronting him. One of them, Gavin Hardy, was from the center’s IT department. Gavin was the guy you called when the computers went down or the lab equipment malfunctioned. He was in his mid-thirties, thin, twitchy and very hyper. The only time he was ever still was when he was engrossed in a software problem. He was dressed in a pair of voluminous cargo pants and a tee shirt emblazoned with the logo of one of the mega casino-resorts in Las Vegas. Gavin’s big goal in life was to devise the perfect system for beating the house at blackjack.
The second man at her door was Bruce Hopton, the head of the center’s small security team. He was accompanied by one of his staff. Bruce was nearing retirement. The white shirt he wore was stretched to the breaking point across his ever-expanding belly. Security was not a major problem at the center. Most of thetime Bruce and his people devoted themselves to making sure employees parked in their assigned slots, escorting the female nightshift workers out to their cars and performing the perfunctory employee background checks.
None of the three men looked happy to be where he was.
“Sorry about this, Isabel,” Bruce muttered. “Belvedere himself gave us our orders.”
Ken looked at Isabel.
“What the hell’s going on?” he demanded. “These guys say they’ve been told to destroy all the files in your office and on your computer.”
“It’s true. Belvedere just fired me.”
“That sonofabitch.” Ken glared at Gavin and Bruce.
Gavin held up both hands in a