Chapter 2 Accused

Chapter 2

Just as the call ended. Ethan exclaimed, “Oh my God!” with tears dropping down his face. While Damien continued laughing at him. He picked the very last remaining money on the floor. He didn't look at anybody he got and ran. 

He pushed through the glass doors of the hotel and onto the busy sidewalk. "Please!" He grabbed a man in a gray suit by the sleeve. "My mom is dying. I just need a few dollars. Please."

The man yanked his arm away, wiping his sleeve like Ethan had infected him. "Get off me, junkie."

Ethan also fell but he held himself. "Help! Anyone!" he yelled, acting like a madman and crying. 

A woman in a red coat tossed a single quarter at his feet and kept walking. A group of teenagers sitting on a bench pointed at him and laughed loudly. Ethan fell to his knees on the hard concrete. He covered his face with dirty hands, sobbing. He had failed.

"Hey. Stop crying."

Ethan looked up. An old man wearing a faded blue delivery cap sat on a rusty bicycle near the curb.

"Begging won't get you the money you need," the old man said, pulling a crushed cigarette from his pocket. "You want to work?"

Ethan wiped his nose fast. "I'll do anything."

"Hart Group. Two blocks down the street," the man pointed. "Half their cleaning crew quit today, and they have a VIP meeting going on. They need emergency cleaners right now. Pay is triple. Stop crying and run."

"Thank you," Ethan gasped. He rose to his feet and ran. His lungs were dry by the time he rushed into the lobby of the Hart Group building. He ran straight to the front desk. The receptionist, who was wearing a white blouse, took one look at his stained clothes, bruised jaw, and dirty boots. She immediately picked up her phone. "Security, we have a vagrant in the lobby…"

"No, wait, Ma’am!" Ethan waved his hands in her face. "Sorry, I am here for the emergency cleaning job. Please, don't chase me away."

A bald man in a tight suit walked past, stopped, and pinched his nose. "Are you joking? Look at you. You smell like a dumpster."

"Please, hire me, I work hard," Ethan pleaded, his chest heaving fast. "Please. I just need the money today. Put me in a uniform. Give me a mop. I won't stop moving."

The bald man looked at his watch and sighed. "Fine. We are desperate. Go to the basement, put on a uniform, and take a cart to floor forty-five. Keep your head down. Do not speak to anyone and don't enter where you are not supposed to enter."

Fifteen minutes later, Ethan wore an oversized blue jumpsuit. He pushed the yellow mop bucket down a silent, thickly carpeted hallway on the forty-fifth floor. His jaw still throbbed, but he ignored it. ‘Just get the money to save Mom.’ 

While cleaning, Ethan reached the end of the hall, and he noticed a double wooden door was slightly open. He wanted to enter but luckily, he saw the gold sign on the wall, showing ‘Restricted - Boardroom A’. 

He took a deep breath and wiped off the sweat on his forehead. “Thank God I saw it in time.” 

Ethan dragged the wet mop against the baseboard but his rubber boot caught the side of the bucket. He tipped and fell then the bucket hit the doors, pushing them wide open with a loud bang.

Ethan stumbled forward into the room, trying to grab the handle. Then he froze. Ten men in expensive suits sat around a glass table covered in laptops and stacks of paper. “I'm sorry, it's a mistake.”

At the head of the table sat Damien Cross. Damien stopped talking mid-sentence. He stared at Ethan. Slowly, he smiled in a cruel way.

"Well," Damien said loudly, standing up and buttoning his jacket. "So, you left the hotel where you caused a scene and came here to spy on us? Who sent you here?”

Ethan gripped the mop tightly. "What? No. I'm the cleaner."

"A cleaner?" Damien laughed. He pointed directly at Ethan. "He was at the Grand Plaza Hotel an hour ago pretending to be a food delivery guy. He’s been following me all morning. Check his pockets! He's trying to steal our merger documents!"

"I'm not!" Ethan yelled, taking a step back. "I mistakenly bumped the door!"

An older executive jumped up, knocking his chair over. "Security! Get in here now!"

Before Ethan could turn around, three large security guards rushed into the room.

"Get him down!" Damien ordered.

The guards tackled Ethan. He hit the floor hard and the mop handle he was holding broke in half.

"I didn't do anything!" Ethan screamed, kicking wildly.

A guard drove a knee straight into Ethan's back. Ethan gasped, widening his eyes. Another guard punched him hard in the ribs. 

"Hold his arms!"

"Let me go!" Ethan choked out. Blood dripped from his nose onto the clean floor. He looked up, coughing. "Damien, tell them the truth!"

Damien walked over and looked down at him, smirking. "Make sure he doesn't destroy the evidence."

Ten minutes later, police sirens screamed outside the building. Two police officers dragged Ethan through the crowded main lobby. On metal handcuffs tightly into his wrists, cutting his skin. His uniform was torn, and his lip was split open, bleeding down his chin.

"Please! I didn't do anything!" Ethan cried, looking desperately at the crowd of office workers. While people held up their phones, recording him. "I was just cleaning! I didn't steal anything!"

"Shut up and walk," the cop growled, shoving him hard toward the glass doors. Through his tears, Ethan saw Damien standing near the elevators. Damien had his hands in his pockets, watching the show with that same evil grin.

Across the city, in her ward at City General Hospital, Mrs. Cole lay in her small bed with an oxygen tube plugged under her nose. She slowly opened her tired eyes and turned her head toward the small TV mounted on the wall.

A red breaking news banner flashed across the screen: A CORPORATE SPY ARRESTED AT HART GROUP HQ.

The video played. It was shaky, clearly recorded on a cell phone. It showed Ethan, bleeding, crying, and being dragged away in handcuffs by police.

Mrs. Cole gasped. Her frail hand reached out toward the screen, shaking violently. "Ethan..."

Then, the machine started beeping repeatedly and speedily through the room. The green line on the heart monitor went flat. Her eyes rolled back, her hand dropped to the bed, and the nurse's station alarm began to scream.