“So there’s nothing you can add to shed more light on the events of this morning, sir?”  Wazowski sat uncomfortably on the edge of a designer couch that probably cost more than a year of his salary, and looked intently at Caesar Fullerton, Chairman and CEO of Fullerton Global Resources.  

Fullerton was a fit, tall man in his late-forties, but looking more youthful than his years, with distinctive Nordic features and intense blue eyes approaching violet.  He had created FGR as a start up in his early twenties, and today FGR was the largest privately held company on the planet, simply touting itself as the world’s “foremost technology company,” but involved in everything from computer chips to defense contracting to consumer food products.  Financial analysts estimated FGR’s value in excess of half a trillion dollars, and the size of Caesar Fullerton’s personal wealth remained an often-speculated-upon mystery, though everyone agreed he must be, if not the richest individual on the planet, then at least among the top three.

“I believe Mr. Fullerton has already answered that question, detective, so I don’t think it’s necessary to repeat what’s already been said.”  This came from the expressionless, barrel-chested man standing to Fullerton’s right, whose expensive gray suit did nothing to hide his obvious physical strength, with thick, powerful arms and trunk-like legs.  Wazowski thought he must have been a bodyguard at first, wrongly stereotyping based on his size and boxer nose, but Scott Richter had been introduced as FGR’s Corporate General Counsel. The eyes gave him away as something more than just a dumb brute, bright and piercing, they shone with intelligence and shrewdness.

A bespectacled woman who stood to Fullerton’s left was Ella Moore, FGR’s Global Director of Security.  She smiled apologetically, as if trying to soften her colleague’s bluntness. With her perfect features, dark hair, haute couture dress emphasizing a fantastic figure, and stiletto heels, she was an absolute knock-out in anyone’s book, Wazowski thought, but there was something about her that made him wary, like a beautiful rose bush hiding a deadly viper.  

A few feet behind Wazowski, Welburn stood calmly, after immediately deciding upon arrival that he didn’t care to sit on the low, fancy couch, perhaps unconsciously and confrontationally mirroring Fullerton’s subordinates who stood on either side of their boss.  Both Wazowski and Welburn looked somewhat disheveled, after working a full shift the day before, going through the excitement from last night, then coming straight to FGR after looking through the restaurant supply store once the power came back on. There had been no trace of the person Wazowski had pursued, other than two battered doors, one on either side of the building.

“It’s all right, Scott,” said Fullerton as he waived a casual hand at Richter.  “I don’t mind.” He looked at Wazowski as he continued.  

“I’m afraid there’s nothing more I can add, detective.  My plane only landed this morning at 7 AM. I went home for a shower and a change of clothes, and arrived here at 9 AM, whereupon Scott briefed me about the downed power lines, the utility pole hit by lightning, and the forklift it knocked down the hill into the wall.”

“So you’re saying the flashes of light we saw were from downed power lines, and the hole in your retaining wall was caused by a forklift?”  Wazowski retorted, incredulity creeping into his voice.  

“Perhaps I can help,” Ella Moore cooed, trying to make her voice as soothing as possible.  “Would you like to see the video captured by one of our security cameras?” Without waiting for a reply she pulled out her smart phone and started tapping.  A large screen TV on one wall flashed to life, and while she queued up the video, she elaborated.  

“This was captured by one of our security cameras on the south side near the wall.”  A black and white, grainy nighttime still frame of FGR’s campus appeared on the screen.  Several buildings were visible despite a light rain, and in the far-right corner, an electrical utility pole and large forklift parked on the side of the road could be seen, just above a date and time stamp that read 4:15 AM.  The video began to play, and for a few seconds nothing happened. Suddenly, a flash of lighting turned the entire scene white. Sparks flew from several lines and the utility pole began to topple, as if in slow motion, bumping the front end of the nearby forklift at the end of its fall.  Like one domino being hit by another, the forklift began sliding sideways in the softened earth from the force of the impact, and teetered at the edge of the slope, the front forks turning with its momentum to face downhill. Wazowski watched as the forklift continued rolling downwards, gaining speed until it crashed into the retaining wall, end up with half the vehicle protruding on the other side before it came to a sudden stop.  

Moore continued, “If you step over here gentlemen, you can see the forklift is still in the wall.  We’re waiting for the arrival of a crane big enough to pull it out.” She was gesturing towards one of the large windows in Fullerton’s office as she gracefully walked to it, inviting them to follow her.  Wazowski and Welburn both quickly approached the window and looked down. Although it was not from the same angle as the video, and at a farther distance, they could clearly see the tail end of the forklift still sticking out of the wall.  They silently glanced at each other, trying to keep the disbelief and confusion off their faces.

“Detectives,” Richter said, “As you can clearly see, this has been an industrial accident caused by an act of God.  While the damage is regrettable, it is limited to property loss, without any personal injury or obstruction of a public road.  Even though the forklift breached the wall of the FGR campus, our property line is located further downhill, 18 feet from the road, so it never actually left our property.  I’m afraid I don’t understand why this is a police issue at all.”

“We’d like a copy of the video,” Welburn offered lamely, as if grasping for something to say.  

“Of course, detective,” Moore responded warmly, “That won’t be a problem at all.  Now unless you have any further questions, I’m sure you can understand Mr. Fullerton has a very busy schedule and is already missing some appointments.”

They shook hands all around, and Wazowski and Welburn left, immediately being ushered toward the exit by a waiting secretary as soon as they stepped past the doorway.  Fullerton stood and moved over to a window, staring out and speaking to Moore without looking at her, “You have no concerns about providing them a copy of the video?”  

“There’s nothing to be concerned about, sir.  They don’t have the ability to detect any artifacts on the video, certainly not with any technology accessible to law enforcement.”

“What have we learned about the intruder?”

“He managed to download a significant amount of data, sir,” Richter replying this time.  “We are trying to determine the exact files now, though everything he copied is encrypted.”

“Fine,” Fullerton murmured, distracted as he watched Wazowski and Welburn exiting the building several floors below.  “I want to know exactly what he accessed by noon.”

***

Wazowski and Welburn turned onto the road outside the FGR campus after slowly cruising down the hill from the main building, past the forklift embedded in the wall.  They had both stared intently at the forklift, as if looking at something that just couldn’t be possible, that defied explanation, because its very existence negated what they witnessed with their own eyes just a few hours earlier.  Welburn pulled up at a stop sign after they exited the campus and turned to look at Wazowski, who sat silently gazing out the passenger window deep in thought. “What the hell, Ace? We can’t have imagined the whole frickin’ thing, right?”

Wazowski continued looking out the window at nothing, remained quiet for a beat, then asked, “Do you remember in the video how the forklift slid sideways, and then its front-end rotated around, before it went down the hill?

“Yeah, what about it?” replied Welburn.

“The tire tracks tell a different story,” responded Wazowski.

CLICK HERE TO READ CHAPTER 4

CLICK HERE TO JOIN THE LAUNCH TEAM