Anatomy of Evil by Brian Pinkerton Page B

InvestOne organizational chart.
    She slapped it on her desktop and took out a red pen.
    She mapped out her game plan.
    She circled the row of vice presidents and senior directors. She wrote next to them: increase exposure to leadership . In smaller handwriting underneath, she created a list:
    The only work that matters is what they notice
    Build a schedule, log minutes, increase face time by 90%
    Campaign, posture, take credit, be sticky
    Next, she circled the bottom layer of the chart, a vast wasteland of tiny boxes of anonymous colleagues. She wrote: Stop wasting time on the lower elements. Reallocate energy to focus only on leadership. No more favors to help struggling coworkers. No more wasteful chitchat: lobby guards, cleaning staff, secretaries, etc!!
    Then she circled a middle layer of managers and wrote: De-position middle management. Build doubt around their decision-making, ethics, accuracy, leadership potential. Pit paranoid weasels against one another. Remove obstacles. Start with Diane.
    Finally, the red pen trailed upward to the ultimate prize at the top of the org chart.
    Carol circled the box that read Executive Vice President, Richard Stammet.
    She crossed out his name in a quick, slashing stroke and replaced it with “CAROL HENNING”.

Chapter Twelve
    Patrol Officer Rodney Martinez watched various scenes unfold through his windshield as if he was channel surfing a succession of bland television programs. Parked against the curb near a busy intersection in Rogers Park, he witnessed vehicles gliding through a stop sign without even a brake tap. A skittish young vandal emerged from an alley gripping a canister of spray paint, a fresh gang logo dripping behind him on the side of a secondhand shop. An agile, fully able woman parked in a space reserved for the handicapped and hopped out to dash to her appointment at the hair salon. Several cars plunged the wrong way down a one-way street, nearly hitting pedestrians. A man in a long coat quickly and smoothly pulled out a pair of bolt cutters to snap a chain and steal a bicycle from the front of a popular pizza-by-the-slice restaurant. This last scene produced a small stir from Rodney. He realized he was growing hungry. He liked pizza.
    When the bicycle’s owner came out to discover his bike missing, he threw a tantrum of big gestures like a silent comedian and scrambled off to find the thief, still clutching his slice. He ran in the wrong direction.
    Rodney looked away from the intersection. He stared up at himself in the rearview mirror.
    The eyes staring back belonged to a stranger. This same stranger held him captive in his seat, turning his butt into cement, diffusing his sense of duty with indifference. Rodney experienced a curious absence of outrage at the unlawful acts around him. Everything hummed with an equal sense of neutrality.
    When Danita reached out to him on the police radio, he responded in his usual manner, crisp and polite with well-worn stock phrases. She reported a possible robbery in progress at a convenience store two blocks away.
    â€œHeaded there now,” said Rodney.
    He drove to the familiar location, a common site for robberies at all hours. The owner did not own a gun. Rodney parked his vehicle and climbed out. As he approached the convenience mart, a wild-eyed, long-haired man emerged. He saw Rodney and immediately changed his course, running in the opposite direction.
    Rodney entered the store.
    A middle-aged employee with glasses leaned against the counter, clutching a bloody wound on his side, just below the ribcage.
    â€œWhat the hell, man, you let him get away?” shouted the employee. A nametag above his shirt pocket read “Darrell”.
    Rodney walked up to Darrell and looked him over.
    â€œThe fucker stabbed me,” said Darrell.
    Rodney nodded. He turned and entered a nearby aisle. He walked several steps until he came upon a snack display. He reviewed his options and removed a long stick of beef