Fred went on to explain that he had been arrested for marijuana possession with intent to distribute.  “Are you kidding me?”

“I wish I was,” he said. He looked like he was going to cry.

“So, you’re a dealer?” I supposed it wasn’t impossible. Fred wasn’t making a huge amount of money, especially after child support, and I guessed that he wouldn’t be the first middle-class guy to supplement his income by selling pot. I could almost picture him weighing and measuring the little baggies.

“That’s the thing,” Fred said. “I’m not.”

The pot, and all the paraphernalia, belonged to his roommate. Alex was the dealer, not Fred. They weren’t even friends, just two newly-divorced guys saving money by splitting expenses on a two-bedroom apartment downtown. Fred admitted that he’d always been uneasy with Alex’s extracurricular business but never said anything. “I’m a pretty private guy. I just figured if I kept to myself it wouldn’t be an issue.” Fred was on his way out of his apartment building when detectives approached him on the sidewalk and snapped handcuffs on him. 

Their apartment had been under surveillance for three weeks. When Alex was arrested earlier in the day, he explained that Fred had nothing to do with the business but the cops brought him in anyway because they found a few seeds in the ashtray in his bedroom. Fred was jailed, bailed out a couple of hours later by his ex-wife, and acquitted of almost all charges. The D.A. was satisifed that Fred wasn’t a dealer, but slapped him with a hefty fine for possession of paraphernalia, a misdemeanor. Tomorrow is his court date. “I just have to show up and pay the fine. After that I have to sit through a three hour anti-drug education program. Once I do that, my record gets wiped clean. It’s not like I’ll have, you know, any kind of criminal history. But it’s a whole-day ordeal.Hence my request to have the day off.

On the face of it, this didn’t sound like a terribly big deal. OK, he spent a couple of hours in jail. I’m sure that was scary and weird for him. But on the face of it, Fred hadn’t done anything wrong other than hooking up with a lousy roommate.  As far as I was concerned, this was Fred’s private business and he hadn’t been under any obligation to share it with me. He could have taken the day off without telling me why.

Even after unburdening himself, Fred looked panic-stricken. “What is it, Fred? What haven’t you told me?”

So now I was stuck with two staff members I wanted to fire. Of the two, Chastity was the more benign problem. She was only stupid and lazy. Carolyn Franz, on the other hand, was a vindictive, devious schemer. She wasn’t brilliant, just smart enough to be dangerous.  With her outsized ego and borderline personality, I knew in my heart that she would ultimately destroy my office.  The fact that I’d hired her made it all the more tragic. I once heard someone say that every organism carries with it the seed of its own destruction. Carolyn was that nihilistic seed. All she would need to begin her malignant germination were the right conditions at the right moment.

It was late on Friday afternoon, not exactly five o’clock but close enough. I could hear the distinctive four-note song of computers logging off all across the sixth floor. I was looking forward to a quiet weekend.  My only plan was to do absolutely nothing. No weeding, no paperwork, no laundry. I wanted to curl up with a bowl of kettle corn and watch reruns of The Office. I couldn’t wait to get home.

Then came the knock at my door. “Can I talk to you?” It was Fred. His normally cherubic demeanor was distinctly ashen and he was sweating. He reached for the doorknob and I could see his hand trembling.

“What’s wrong, Fred? Are you okay? Is everything okay?” He seemed so shaken that I immediately assumed that something terrible had happened to his daughter. She was diagnosed with leukemia. Or killed by a drunk driver. It had to be something of that magnitude to warrant the look on Fred’s face. I braced myself for the worst possible news.

“I have to tell you something but I’m afraid. I’m afraid I’m going to lose my job.”

“What is it?” Jesus Christ, was he a pedophile? A murderer? A bank robber?

“Oh God.” Fred slumped into the wingback chair and threw his head in his hands. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

“Fred, please, just tell me. Whatever it is. Please.”

He lifted his face and slowly shook his head. “Look. I need to take next Wednesday off. I just need the whole day off, okay?”

I waited for the rest because I knew there had to be more.

“I, I . . . I have to appear in court. Please don’t fire me.”

“Fred. What happened?”