Page 74 of Every Good Thing
He takes me through a typical day for him. He arrives by seven, chats with the security team, and then walks the campus perimeter, which seems unnecessary given the cameras. But he says that doing it himself—checking doors, examining the fence line, and considering weaknesses—is better than watching screens.
His method proves correct when I spot a campsite beyond the fence at the westernmost section of campus. It’s barely visible from our vantage point—and inaccessible to the cameras—but we find a better angle to see it. The accumulation of trash and various implements—a shopping cart, buckets, and a rope dangling between trees with clothes pinned to it—shows the camp has been here for some time. This news irritates Larry.
He rubs his bald head. “Can’t believe I missed it.”
“Similar encampments are all over the city. The resident likely won’t cause issues. There’s no evidence to suggest he’s breached the fence.”
“You get one homeless camper, and more won’t be far behind. They multiply like rabbits,” he laughs. “The Rileys won’t be happy. They like their ambiance. I’ll make a call and get it taken care of.”
“Instead of calling the police, may I suggest handling it ourselves?” I ask.
He laughs. “You always were a big guy with a bigger heart. Let’s go.”
We leave the Riley Trust campus in my Jeep to access the camper’s position—it’s only twenty yards from the main road leading into the property. We intercept the individual returning to his campsite. He’s reluctant at first, but soon reveals that he’s a former marine and that alcoholism and PTSD have cost him his job and family. Helping is better than displacing. With his permission, I secure him a spot in a treatment facility known for its work with veterans and, within the hour, he’s moved in. Perhaps regretful for wanting to call the police, Tenor decides that Riley Trust will pick up his tab for as long as his recovery takes—a preferred outcome.
Identify a problem. Solve a problem. Simple.
Back on campus, we resume Tenor’s normal day. His position isn’t the boring upper management role I expected. He isn’t stuck in his office behind screens all day. Nor is he merely an overseer. He is hands-on and involved. He’s well-versed in the tech he manages—Riley Trust develops its systems in-house, and they make the WPD software look like an archaic joke from the sixties. The largest threat to Riley Trust is virtual: viruses, ransomware, masking emails, and scams. The head of security works with IT to monitor and respond to such threats.
When a computer technician approaches him about a ten-thousand-dollar expenditure, Tenor signs the paperwork agreeing to the purchase. There’s no ten-month wait for approval from a litany of higher-ups, as there is in the police department. Results are quick and unencumbered by policies, permissions, or red tape.
I am dazzled.
The perks of a “normal” job impress me, too. I’ve never had the freedom to self-manage my time. I respond when and where I’m needed, and when the moment ends, so does my involvement. Most of the time. Here, tasks are concrete and efficiently handled, providing a feeling of accomplishment that’s foreign to me. I’d be a person rather than a presence. I’d be valued for my intelligence and experience, not my uniform.
I no longer feel qualified to wear it, anyway. Calls used to give me a rush; not knowing what to expect energized me. Now, it’s frustrating. Fears that my hearing will betray me and make a bad situation worse spike every time my radio clicks on.
Other people’s shit has worn me down, too. Is it wrong to want a job that doesn’t include finding kids in dog crates? Adam’s whimpers background my nightmares behind AK-47 pops and hellfire missiles. Doesn’t seem right that the worst thing I’ve ever seen wasn’t overseas in a sandbox but down the damn road, fifteen minutes from Saddletree.
At a late lunch at Jillian’s with John and Larry, we swap war stories and review the job’s logistics for nearly two hours. I can’t remember the last time I talked so much. Lena would be astounded. I don’t open up often to people around Saddletree. When she and I got together, I merged into her life, and I’m still trying to find my place in it like I’m the odd man out, awkward and uncertain, unable to relax. Or open up, even to her.
“So, Ben, what do you think about the job so far?” John asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
When I don’t answer right away, Larry laughs. “Uh, oh, John. Looks like you stumped him.”
“I’m unqualified for cyber-crimes,” I admit.
“So, was I to begin with,” Larry says. “But Riley Trust only hires the best and the brightest. The techies will get you up to speed real quick.”
“There’s no us-and-them attitude here at Riley Trust,” John explains. “We support and learn from each other. Larry is a team leader more than he’s a manager. So, don’t worry about what you don’t know. You’re smart. Your team is smart. You’ll learn. Focus on what you offer… like today. Well done, spotting that camp.”
Larry huffs. “Still can’t believe I missed it.”
“It was a minimal threat,” I say.
“Minimal for now, but a huge hassle later,” John corrects. “So, tell us… what will it take to get you on our team?”
“Time. You’ve given me much to consider.”
John wags his finger. “Come on, Ben. I know you—Riley Trust fits you to a tee. You won’t get a better offer in the private sector, and certainly not one with a family you know and trust. What’s the hold-up?”
“Lena.” Her name falls out carelessly like those china cups slipping from my hands in the wash. “We’ll decide together.”
“Understood,” John nods, “but surely she’s supportive. What wife wouldn’t want this opportunity for her husband?”
“A wife who understands it’s not that simple. She wants what’s best for me. We’re not convinced this is it.”
John leans forward, folding his arms on the table. “Because of Lauren?”
