Lady Joker, Volume 1 by Kaoru Takamura (lightest ebook reader .txt) 📕

then spread throughout their entire company, their distributors, the rest of the industry, and the market, all but assuring a negative impact on their sales. Even so, should they dare to fortify security publicly? Still, even with heightened security, to what extent would they be able to deter the perpetrators’ interference? Even if they managed to keep a close enough watch on their shipments, what about the vending machines that dotted the streets all over Japan?

Thinking this through, Shiroyama ultimately decided he was unable to entrust the police with the beer company’s lifeline. It wasn’t that he found the police incompetent; at this point in time, the police and the company stood on different places on the horizon, and Shiroyama simply couldn’t see how the distance between them would ever shrink.

“No, nothing,” Shiroyama replied.

“I see . . . You must be tired, so soon after such a long ordeal. Why don’t you get some rest tonight and think it all over. We’ll pay a visit to your office at 9 tomorrow morning, and I’d like for us to speak again then.”

“There will be quite a number of pending tasks that require my attention in the morning, so would it be possible for you to arrive at 10?”

“If it were up to us we would begin at dawn. The media is so desperate right now, they could break a story that would cause irreparable damage to your company.”

There was no question the police were implying the incident involving Takayuki Hatano and Shiroyama’s niece, Yoshiko. Having quickly grasped the nature of the incident with the mysterious cassette tape from 1990, the police were now using the exact same tricks as the criminal group to pressure Shiroyama. Even with the taste of utter defeat in his mouth, Shiroyama’s abject hatred of the police was reaffirmed—it was stronger than what he felt toward the criminals, who had avoided saying anything superfluous to him.

“Please make it 9:15,” was Shiroyama’s only response.

“Fine. 9:15 it is then. Thank you for coming in today.”

“Thank you.”

And so it was that, at 4:40 p.m, Shiroyama stood up from the seat he had been sitting in for nearly six hours and exited the room. He was fully aware that the expression on his face bore no resemblance to that of a victim who had been freed after a fifty-six-hour confinement, and in reality, he felt not a trace of any such profound emotion.

When he reached the front lobby, three male employees from the corporate secretariat were waiting for him. The three of them lowered their heads at once in a bow, and there outside, beyond the glass doors, was another phalanx of cameras from the press corps. As Shiroyama’s eyes drifted over the green public payphone beside the entrance, he suddenly longed to hear the voices of his family, but even that thought was fleeting. The only thing left was the vortex of hatred that swirled between himself as he stood at the entrance, wearing the façade of the victim, and the public who formed a barrier outside, ready and waiting for him.

The vehicle that came to retrieve him was the same company car that he had been riding in every day until three days ago, but there were now curtains covering all the windows save for the front windshield; in addition, Tatsuo Yamazaki, who had been his driver for many years, had been replaced by another man. Shiroyama had been away for less than three days, but he was forced to acknowledge all over again that many things must have transpired at the company during his brief absence. The ride from Omori Police Department to the company’s main office in Kita-Shinagawa did not even take ten minutes, and the car transported him to the underground parking lot to avoid the thronging press corps that surrounded the front of the building. Once the car entered the lot, the shutter door closed behind it, and two guards from the security company immediately appeared within the dim passageway and bowed toward the car, their expressions austere, as if to convey the gravity of the situation. Shiroyama recognized neither of them.

In the underground parking lot, about a hundred people had gathered, from the chairman and the entire board of directors, all the way down to the managers and deputy managers from every department, as well as executives of the subsidiary and affiliated companies that had offices in the building. Applause arose as soon as Shiroyama disembarked from the vehicle, followed by a swirl of voices calling out, “Welcome back!” “What a relief!” and “So glad to see you safe.”

This welcoming scene seemed inappropriate for a man who had caused significant aggravation to the company by being kidnapped due to his own carelessness, much less one who was lying to the company and trying to force them to pay out a sum of two billion. Though none of them knew the truth, Shiroyama wondered—who had planned such an elaborate homecoming, who had complained about it, and who had given the okay in the end. Once his suspicions began to grow they soon engulfed him, leading to a sense of isolation.

He could not survey the entire assemblage at once, but he managed to distinguish the faces of the board members from the main office in the front row. He nodded instinctively at the remarks thrown his way, he bowed, received handshakes, and with every step he took told himself that this was all following protocol. Meanwhile, he took in several other faces: Takeo Sugihara, his coarse expression failing to contain his anxiety; Sei’ichi Shirai, whose mind seemed to have kicked into high gear dealing with the aftermath of the incident; and Seigo Kurata, his visage already stripped of any personal emotion. He saw the inscrutable faces of several board members whose real feelings he could not deduce, as well as more than a few gentle faces of those who were all smiles for the time being. And, behind all these men, Shiroyama saw his secretary