SHORT SHORT FICTION by Jane Genova
They watched the conference room, especially when the equity partner called The Fuhrer entered. The Fuhrer's administrative assistant [AA] would not allow the schedule for the conference to be public any more. So that's the only crumb of information that dropped from the table. The AA was erroneously called The Nazi Guard. Actually, she was a triple agent, available to anyone who could help her twin daughters get into an Ivy League college. Not especially cagey, she was easy to fool. She tipped them off that there would be an urgent meeting around 7:30 A.M. the day after next.
One of them went out of the building with his disposable cell phone that had no contract. He called Abovethelaw.com [ATL] with the tip about the urgent meeting. Layoffs would be decided. The only question, he confidently informed ATL, was how many associates and how many of them would be five-years and up. The deed done, he treated himself to candy from those transparent tubes. He hit the chocolate-covered almond slot hard, again and again. Comfort food. Article in THE NEW YORK TIMES said everyone was doing that, including paying for premium brands.
The Fuhrer had better Ivy League connections than they did. He had planted the rumor with the AA. Actually, it was in an off-site conference room, in the firm's accountant's office, that the cuts were decided.
As the tipster was re-entering the building, he saw the tears. It had happened that fast. He hoped that he wouldn't cry. It dawned on him that he was shrewd to disguise his identity with ATL since his information was wrong.