to somehow manipulate me. The elevator started to slow, and when it stopped, the chime indicated that I had arrived at the basement.
I had never been to the basement of the building. When the doors opened, I was surprised to find that the dingy air had lightened even more. I was cautious at first, and wanted to make sure I understood my surroundings before committing myself. I walked carefully out of the doors and into a large room with light gray walls. The ceiling seemed so tall that when I looked up, I felt dizzy and lost. I could make out row upon row of large chandeliers lining the ceiling through the hazy fog of the dingy air, and then realized that they had used them to make the basement seem a little less dingy and a little less dark than the rest of the building. The floor was made of marble and stretched as far as my eyes could see. When I looked closely at it, I could see intricate swirls of gray and dark gray. Other than the grandeur of the room, and the large chandeliers, there was nothing out of the ordinary to observe.
In the center of the room, far from where I was standing, I could see a desk with a man sitting at it. I paused for a moment, squinting my eyes relentlessly, somehow thinking the act would help me formulate my first impression of the man. I walked slowly toward the center of the room, careful not to take my eyes too far away from the lonely silhouette. I thought to myself that if this man was trying to swindle me, he had picked the wrong guy to tangle with. My nerves felt sharp and I readied myself for confrontation. The echo of my feet bounced off the walls as I made my approach to the desk.
“John, we’re so glad that you came right away. I’m Sam. Come, have a seat.”
He stood before he made his greeting and had announced it as if he was introducing a boxer into the ring. His voice clanged throughout the large space and filled the basement auditorium with a brief sense of warmth. I felt insecure at his delighted greeting and wanted to cower away, or run back toward the elevator.
For some reason, I couldn’t help but to concede to his request and slid my way into the wooden chair. It had a straight back and was very solid. The design forced me to sit with almost perfect posture, with my back as straight as a board. The sensation was both painful and irresistible.
His desk was wide and a small stack of blank papers and black envelopes lay on the corner closest to me. There was one pen resting in the middle of the desk, and a piece of folded paper sat in front of him. When we made eye contact across the large wooden barrier, it felt like Sam was sitting right on top of me, and I looked away quickly. His smile was beaming and his eyes were open wide. I wondered if I was the first person to respond to one of his letters. It looked to me like he had a system and that he was glad that someone had finally taken his bait. I had learned over the years to never speak first when someone wants something from you, or when you want something from someone else, so we sat in silence while he stared at me.
“Would you like some tea?” he asked. “I was about to take a break and have one myself. Now that you’re here, we can have one together.”
I was a bit startled by the question. The offer of tea was the last thing I had expected him to say, unless he was preparing to play the long game with me.
“No, I’m fine,” I said, before quickly looking toward the ground.
The second thing I had learned about negotiating was to pretend that you’re not at all interested in the situation. Giving the impressions that nothing about the encounter matters, and it is all just a waste of time, should get the other person to cut to the chase and show their true intentions more quickly.
“I bet you haven’t had a tea like this one. Try some—it satisfies from the first sip to the last gulp,” he cajoled.
I looked up from the ground and saw a cup of tea steaming at the edge of the desk right in front of me. Sam clenched his cup with both hands and took the aroma slowly into his nose as he squinted his eyes and curled his shoulders toward each other. When I realized there was no kettle in the room, or stove, or anything other than Sam, his desk, and some papers, my whole body shook uncontrollably. I hoped that Sam hadn’t noticed. It was obviously a well-orchestrated stunt, meant to shock me into vulnerability. Somehow I was able to remain calm and keep my composure, all the while wondering how he had produced the tea from thin air.
“How was the ride down?” he asked.
He’s going to butter me up for awhile, I thought.
“It was fine,” I said.
“Was it exciting to leave your apartment?”
“Exciting? More like dangerous.”
“Oh?” said Sam, with a sense of curiosity in his tone.
“The air down here isn’t so bad, but you should try living on the fifth floor where I am,” I continued, without even thinking to hold my tongue.
Sam looked confused.
“Either you’ve never been outside of this basement, or you’re trying to make me look foolish. Your letter said you wanted me down here to discuss the condition of the building, well, the polluted air is a good place to start.” I said without a crack in my voice, reminding myself to stay calm, assertive, and stick to the topic of the building.
“Oh no, I don’t live in the basement,” he said with a light chuckle. “I was told to move my office down here. I used to have it on the top floor, and before that I worked outside.”
“Sounds like you’ve be demoted,” I snickered.
“Demoted?” asked Sam. “Why would you think that?”
It seemed he wanted to dance around for a while. I felt sure about my position of unwavering invulnerability, and my ability to hold it, so I decided to play along and follow his lead. My first impression of Sam’s role was that the cult probably expected him to advance their strategies, but that he wasn’t all that important. His clothes looked far too worn for someone who held a high position, and he had obviously just been demoted.
“At my job, when people went from the top floor to the basement, there was no other explanation.” I felt good about the witty comment and wanted to keep Sam on his heels.
“I see. The organization I work for doesn’t operate in the same way as the kind that you work for,” he replied. “There are no demotions for us. But I am familiar with what you’re describing.”
“I have a friend on the first floor,” continued Sam. “He was demoted because he found accounting errors in his company’s books. He tried to tell his boss about the discrepancies, but soon after found himself working in the back room sorting receipts all day. He would’ve looked for another job, but his boss had been stealing from the company, so he wanted to keep my friend close and threatened to sue him, accusing my friend of cooking the books. Since he didn’t have the means to defend himself, my friend couldn’t do much else but stay. I believe that’s what it means to be demoted. I met him under similar circumstances as you and I are meeting today. He was on his fourth letter too.”
The tale made me realize that the group was cruel and would use any piece of personal information to its advantage. To wait for a man to be under duress before bringing your attack is as underhanded a tactic as I’ve ever heard. A man is most crushed when his sense of purpose is vanishing—the perfect time for them to introduce an alternative one.
“He’s doing really well now. He’s been using the amenities more and spends much of his time outside. I’ve seen him up and down the road many times since we met. The Headmaster’s happy with him too.”
