Crisis of Identity

Work-life balance for me was something that dramatically changed after Dawes chose to travel to Perth and intrude on our lives, with his trumped up accusations.

My work is a distraction that keeps my mind occupied during the day. It is outside work however where Dawes has impregnated my psyche.

It is during this supposed downtime that my mind is a melting pot of emotions. From the concerns about how he is affecting mum’s health, to my overwhelming frustrations over why he is desperately trying to link me to a twenty-five year old missing person case.

Then there is the anger, which almost always escalates into vein-bulging rage over his astounding accusations that my parents were involved, all without the slightest shred of evidence.

I’m not an aggressive or violent person, but when I see what he is doing to my mum, I just want to hurt him.

All too often of late, I find myself lying awake in the early hours staring at the ceiling, concocting various undetectable scenarios for Dawes to have an ‘unfortunate’ accident.

Maybe my fascination over conspiracy theories feed these evil thoughts. But I often consider the various scenarios surrounding the many witnesses to JFK’s assassination; the ones who died from sudden ‘accidental’ causes, before they could give evidence.

Or the paparazzi photographer, who was a key witness to the 1997 car cash in a Paris tunnel that claimed the life of Princess Diana and Dodi Fayed. He was found twenty months later in a burnt out car with two gunshots to the head. The legal finding was death by suicide. The conspiracy theorists question how he could shoot himself in the head—twice, then torch his own car.

These are the type of ‘accidents’ I wish on Dawes; ones that only the likes of the CIA or MI6 really know what happened. That is until my rational brain kicks me back into reality.

Two days after Dawes dumped the warrant on mum, I was driving back to my office from a site meeting with one of my Foremen, when my Manager called. I tapped the hands free.

‘Hey Jim. What’s up?’

‘Are you far from the office?’

‘Ten minutes. Just been to the Barrow Towers job.’

‘Peter wants to see you in his office when you get back.’

‘Why? What’s up?’

‘He didn’t say.’

‘OK. Will do…’

I ended the call wondering why the National General Manager was summoning me. I am too far down the food chain for him to even know who I am. I couldn’t help thinking this isn’t going to be good meeting.

A short elevator ride released me at the 4th floor executive suite. The Managing Director’s Personal Assistant greeted me, then directed me to a side chair, while she notified her boss of my arrival.

The waiting area was bathed in natural light from tinted ceiling-to-floor windows. Framed photos of the company’s more high-profile builds lined a wall like trophies. Another wall displayed an oversized indigenous artwork.

My window gazing was broken when the PA announced, ‘Peter is ready for you now…’

Ready for me… Ready for what? I suppose I was about to find out.

The door to the MD’s office was closed. I knocked and waited until a voice instructed me to “come in.”

Peter stood from his desk to greet me when I entered his spacious office. He thanked me for coming up and directed me to the visitor chair at his desk.

By Aussie bloke standards Peter is a short man; around 160 centimetres. I have seen him around the place but never held a conversation with him. He is a man who spoke with confidence and implied power, consistent with his corporate leadership and the toughness he is renowned for.

I slid into the visitor chair like a nervous student summoned to the principal’s office, waiting to get reamed over something I had done.

Peter pointed to me. I froze momentarily. ‘Can I get you a Drink? Water? Coffee?’

I rubbed my perspiring palms down my thighs. A straight bourbon would be great. What I actually said though was, ‘water would be great. Thank you.’

Peter leaned on a button on his desk phone. ‘Rebecca, could you bring some water in, please.’

He glared across his desk at me. Inside I cowered like a disobedient puppy about to cop a basting. Peter was difficult to get a read on. He had a fierce glare that would melt stone.

He leaned on his elbows and clasped his hands together. ‘I suppose you are wondering why I asked to see you…’

‘The thought did cross my mind…’

’This company… your company… prides itself on its integrity and reputation within this competitive industry…’

Unsure where this is going, I nodded once, as proof of life.

‘What we can’t afford to happen is, anything that will question this integrity we have worked hard to earn. And that includes the action of our employees…’ He held my glare.

‘I understand. But why are you telling me this?’

Peter’s PA knocked on the door and entered carrying a tray with a jug of water and two glasses. She placed them on the desk and left.

Peter waited for the door to close. ‘I had a visit from the police yesterday…’ he began.

‘OK…’

‘A detective from Queensland…’ There it is. I rolled my eyes. ‘His name was—’

‘Brent Dawes.’

‘That’s right. Do you know him?’

‘Unfortunately, yes, I do...’

Peter regarded me in silence. It was difficult to get a read on his thoughts.

‘This Detective made some very serious allegations about your family and you…’ I shook my head. ‘Is any of this true…?’

‘What has he alleged?’

‘He said a young boy went missing twenty-five years ago. kidnapped from his front yard. He says—’

‘This is bullshit…’ I said in a rush of emotion. I collapsed back in my chair and tightly folded my arms. ‘I’m getting sick off this.’

‘Is any of it true…?’

‘What… That I’m that missing kid and my parents stole me…? Is that what he told you…?’

‘He did.’

My jaw tightened as I removed my phone and navigated to my photos, while Peter continued.

‘Your father was a well-respected executive officer and colleague within this company… and from all reports, you have inherited a number of his work qualities. But if any of this is true… Well…’ Peter shook his head as his voice trailed off.

‘These allegations are baseless,’ I said. ‘He makes them without any evidence at all. He is making my life hell over this.’ I handed Peter my phone. ‘That there is a copy of my birth certificate. The same photo I sent to Dawes to show him I was born in WA.’

Peter examined the photo. He nodded then handed back my phone. I continued to defend myself and my parents’ honour.

‘You’ll also be interested to know that while I was in Queensland on holidays, I visited the mother of this missing kid… to warn her this cop… this detective Dawes… was spreading false rumours by saying I was her son. She told me her son had a birth mark on his ribs, around this area…’ I tapped my ribs. ‘I do not have this birth mark. Yet despite all these facts, this cop continues to defame me and my family… Now he is involving my employer.’

‘I appreciate you telling me this. From my perspective, and that of the company, I have seen your birth certificate and I accept what you have told me. I am satisfied that we have nothing to concern ourselves over in relation to the allegations made by this Queensland detective.’

’You’ll also be interested to know that my parents left Queensland and moved here to WA, two years before this young kid was even born.’

‘I’m beginning to understand your frustrations.’

‘I appreciate that.’

‘I will make a file note of our meeting here today and that will be the end of the matter, as far as I am concerned. Now…’ he clasped his hands on the desk. ‘If there is nothing else… I’ll let you get back to your work.’

‘Thank you.’ I pushed myself up from my chair and left the office. I stormed passed the PA to the elevator and firmly punched the call button, probably a little too hard. Inside I was fuming. Cop or no cop, Dawes has no right to dump these baseless allegations on my employer. What could he possibly hope to achieve from it? This has got to stop. It is passed time for legal advice.