This Meeting Couldn't be Avoided
Stuart Snyder had never met Bertrand Maple and had no idea who he was. But the bastard sure was persistent.
First came the email: “Mr. Snyder, please meet me to discuss an unusual opportunity ….” There were no details about the opportunity, or about Bertrand Maple. It was the sort of thing Stuart usually deleted without a second thought, but for a few seconds he felt strangely compelled to reply. Then he shook his head and hit the delete button.
The same message appeared five more times that day. He deleted it five more times.
Then came the phone call. “Mr. Snyder, there’s a Bertrand Maple on the line for you.”
“I don’t know any Bertrand Maple.”
“He says it’s urgent.”
“Just put him into voicemail, please.”
When he checked his voicemail later there was no message. He asked his assistant, “Did that Bertrand Maple leave a message?”
She gave him a blank look. “Bertrand who?”
His cell phone rang on the way home. “Snyder.”
“Mr. Snyder, it’s Bertrand Maple—“
“How did you get this number?”
“It was no trouble, really.” The voice was young and confident, reminding Stuart of the prep school kids he’d humbled at college. “I was hoping to meet with you today.”
Stuart looked at the phone’s screen, but it read Unknown Caller. He said, “Look, can you tell me what this is all about?”
“I really can’t divulge any details until we meet,” said Bertrand Maple.
“I understand,” said Stuart, although he didn’t understand in the slightest. He was accustomed to swatting away unsolicited contacts like gnats, but instead he found himself saying, “Why don’t you make an appointment with my assistant?”
The cool college voice became more imploring. “Mr. Snyder, it’s important we meet face-to-face, as soon as possible. Perhaps we can meet for a cocktail?”
Stuart slowed for a red light alongside a tavern with backlit windows facing the street. In one of the windows he could make out the clear silhouette of a man on a cell phone. Was the man looking at him? Don’t be ridiculous, he told himself. “Look, you’ll just have to call my assistant tomorrow,” he said, and hung up without waiting for an answer.
He took the elevator to his condo on the 40th floor. When he set his briefcase on the ledge between the foyer and the kitchen, a floor lamp came on in the living room. A tall man in a black suit rose from the couch and nodded at him, a slight smile playing across his unlined face.
Instead of panic or alarm, Stuart felt strangely calm. He said, “Something tells me you’re Bertrand Maple.”
“That’s right.”
Bertrand Maple gestured toward the sliding balcony doors. They opened. It was dark outside—lightless, featureless and still.
Stuart stepped forward. “I’ve been avoiding this meeting all day.”
Bertrand Maple nodded again, and stepped toward Stuart. As he extended his hand, his voice was compassionate. “This meeting couldn’t be avoided.”
The men shook hands, and the room went black.
