There is an art to threatening people. No one pays much attention to a schoolyard ‘I’ll kill you’ or to teens telling each other that ‘they’re dead meat’, and you often hear about people who are going to ‘kick someone’s ass.’ Not all threats can be ignored, of course, and a Mafia ‘offer you can’t refuse’ carries about the same gravity as Jupiter.

I decided early on that I would carry out any threat I made. It wasn’t always pleasant listening to my kids whine because they were forced to clean their rooms before they could go out and play, or forcing them to drop football because they failed to pull down the requisite C in Algebra. I ran my business the same way and carried through my threats to fire or demote people for dishonesty or poor performance, and as a result I had what I considered to be the best and hardest working team in the state. Sometimes it hurt to dismiss an employee but I always followed through on my threats and didn’t lose any sleep afterwards. That is, until Carl Welles.

Carl came on board shortly after I started the company and he was my oldest and most valued employee. He was ten years older than me but didn't treat me like a Know-nothing kid. He wasn’t a yes man and he was quick to point out any mistakes or fuckups that he thought I’d made, and he was usually correct. He did his job well and stayed out of office petty politics and I eventually promoted him to office manager, essentially my second in command. I trusted Carl and knew he kept a keen eye on things anytime I left on trips or vacations.

I don’t make it a point to pry into employee’s personal lives, but I still have a right to an opinion and I thought that Carl’s love life was a little bit shaky. He had been married three times and each wife was the absolute ultimate, but after a couple of years he started looking for someone new. That wasn’t my style, but it didn’t seem to interfere in his work and besides that it wasn’t any of my business.

Carl was away on one of his infrequent vacations when a secretary asked me to take a phone call. “Mr. Kelley wanted Carl, but insists on talking to you instead,” she said.

“Bill Treadwell, here, Mr. Reese,” he said. Bill ran a small foundry and he provided most of our raw castings. “I usually deal with Carl but I understand he’s away this week. I kind of hate to say this, but we’re really hurting on our cash flow here. Could you possibly cut us a check for last month’s delivery? Payroll is due Friday and I’m really in a crunch.”

“I wasn’t aware that you hadn’t been paid,” I said, and then promised to deliver a check the same day. I hung up the phone and pulled up the account on the computer. Carl had cut a check to Treadwell Castings two weeks ago, the check had cleared the bank a week later, and our account had been debited for twenty-two thousand dollars. I was about to call Reese back and chew on him a little when I pulled up the image of the check. It had been made out to cash instead of Reese, and had been deposited into Carl Welles account. I did a quick and dirty audit and discovered two more obvious diversions Carl had made, and then I called my lawyer and accountant.

I was naturally devastated. The financial loss would have bankrupted the company had I not been insured against such an event, but the betrayal by my most trusted employee was devastating. I am strong willed and outspoken but I treat customers and employees fairly. What Carl did was illegal and my insurance company would force prosecution, but I still felt he owed me an explanation for his treason.

I was sure he was still in town so I drove to his house. His garage door was partially open, and my heart skipped a beat as I saw the familiar license plate of my wife’s Corvette. I parked down the street and slowly walked towards the house. I stopped dead in my tracks when I heard the scream. There is only one person that makes that particular sound and she only makes it on very special occasions. I used to hear it frequently, but nowadays it is rarely heard, by me anyway. I retreated to my car and waited until my wife left, then rang the doorbell.

“Carl,” I said when he answered the door. “I’m going to cut your balls off. You won’t know when or where, but I guarantee that it will happen.” He started stammering, as if to explain, but I cut him off. “But before I castrate you I’m going to nut all three of your sons. And that grandson you’re so proud of. Then I’m going to nut your brother and his kids, and your sister’s sons and their boys. All of your nephews and all of their children. I want you to live in shame for the rest of your life knowing what you caused and I want your bloodline exterminated from the face of the Earth.” I turned and walked away before he had a chance to respond or I said or did something really stupid.

An audit revealed that Carl had diverted employee pension funds and IRS deposits as well as payments for suppliers and subcontractor into his own account. Part of the money was recovered and the insurance company coughed up the balance, and I’d pretty much forgotten about the threat that I’d made. That is, up until his sentencing hearing.

Even though he’d stolen over a hundred thousand dollars, it was his first offense and he pleaded guilty, and he probably could have gotten off with a suspended sentence and promise of restitution. Instead, he got up and told the judge that I was a low down conniving tyrant that deserved being driven into bankruptcy, and that His Honor was a red-necked commie prick who had made a mockery of justice. The judge gave him ten years and I decided to not ignore my threat.

It was hard for me: There were fifteen in all, sons, grandson, brothers, nephews, and grandnephews. The younger ones cried like the children they were, the teens stared open mouthed in disbelief at the knife that would take their manhood, and the adults begged, pleaded, and ultimatly cursed me as I castrated them. I felt soiled and dirty afterwards, but it didn’t stop me from doing what I felt was necessary.

There’s still one or maybe two left: Carl won’t be released for a few years, but I can wait. My wife turned up pregnant and I know the kid’s not mine. DNA paternity testing will be in order, and I sincerely hope the kid is a girl.