Jason McDan loses his father at the age of twelve. Unable to understand death at such a tender age, Jason blames himself for his father’s death. Now, almost thirty-five years later, he loses a close friend, Brian, who kills himself after fatally shooting six people at Softek, a business where both were laid off as a consequence of outsourcing to an overseas company.

Jason feels certain that the financial crisis, the bank threatening to repossess his house and the hopelessness of finding employment has led Brian to this tragic end. Besides Jason and Brian, thousands of others have received the same dismissal slip from Softek, the largest employer in Corvallis, Oregon, where Jason lives. He can no longer just wait and watch the situation worsen. It’s time for action, as many of his friends and ex-workers face financial ruin. He wants justice, if it can be found. Through the help of a Washington Post investigative reporter, he announces his intention to launch a class action lawsuit against Softek, which immediately causes its stock price to plummet. Next, he plans to elicit the aid of a politician. When Jason meets with US Senator Quest from Oregon, he pleads with him to repatriate Softek jobs in order to lessen the blow of a weakened economy on people in and around Corvallis. To his surprise, the Senator finds him a job at Layton Industries, an army subcontractor in Mountain View, California.

On the eve of the move to the new job, a neighbor alerts Jason that strangers have entered his house. Upon examination, Jason finds no tampering. A few days after starting the new job, where security is stricter than a federal prison, he discovers spyware planted in his laptop. His cell phone and hotel room are also bugged. Being a software analyst himself, he carefully studies the intruder program, only to find that a copy of his emails are being sent to a server in Prescott, Arizona, owned by Volpa, a private investigation company. All his movements to and from the hotel room, where he is staying until he finds a permanent place, are being watched by two thugs. To add to his stress, the management at Layton orders him to put in over sixty hours a week and prevents him from visiting his family in order to avoid deadline slippage; otherwise, he risks losing his job. What Jason doesn’t know is that Softek and Layton have poured millions into Senator Quest’s campaign fund, money funneled through a clever international money-laundering scheme, concocted by a political strategist. On top of all these gut-wrenching problems, his estranged wife wants a divorce.

Layton management tells Jason not to launch a lawsuit, but his conscience will not allow him to let Brian down. Jason knows his life is in danger, but he doesn’t understand why or by whom. The only way to find the truth is to break into Volpa’s website, which he does during the darkest hour of his life. What he finds shocks him – surveillance files of all Volpa’s customers, including Senator Quest. After being alerted that his files have been stolen, Volpa attempts to apprehend Jason.

Shallen Xu, an investigative reporter, who was forced to resign from her job at the Washington Post after she discovered the Senator’s corruption, joins forces with Jason as they flee Volpa, hoping to reveal their findings to the Los Angeles Times before they are caught and killed. The Senator knows about the break-in and uses his office to locate them. Unable to catch the fugitives, Volpa’s men, in a desperate move, kidnap Jason’s children, forcing Jason and Shallen to drive to Corvallis in search of them.

Determined to force the Senator’s hand, Jason and Shallen make an appointment to meet with the Senator, but with the protection of FBI agents who have them wired. When they show the Senator the headline, “Senator Quest Linked to Bribery and Outsourcing Jobs,” he draws a gun, preparing to kill them. That’s when the agents storm into his office to rescue Jason and Shallen.

FBI agents apprehend Volpa, who is forced to reveal the whereabouts of the children. In exchange for Jason’s testimony, he won’t be charged with hacking. Softek’s board of directors consent to repatriate jobs and fire the CEO without a golden parachute. Afterwards, Jason and Shallen pay their respects at Brian’s gravesite. And Jason lets go of the guilt and blame when he places a Rolex watch, given to him as a birthday present by his father, at his gravesite. Jason divorces his wife and finds new love in Shallen, free at last to pursue a life without fear.

Chapter 1

Brian flipped the channel on the remote as he anxiously listened for the call. For a brief moment, he watched his team, the New York Giants, as they scored. Then he turned his eyes to the phone and the call he had been expecting. Nothing. He went back to the remote control, once again nervously flipping through channels.

Just then, the mailbox door slammed shut. In one quick motion, Brian removed his legs from the coffee table and jumped to his feet.

When he poked his head out the front door, the mailman said, "Hey Brian, not working today? You sick?"

"Sort of." Brian reached for the mail.

"How many layoffs?"

"Fifteen hundred, so far." He glanced through the mail, hoping for something, anything . "They're shipping all the jobs overseas."

"Any prospects?"

Brian rocked back on his heels. "No jobs in this town, except in fast food restaurants."

The postman frowned. "Outside the state?"

"I'm expecting an offer from a company in California." Brian pressed his lips together in despair.

"That's where the jobs are." The postman nodded.

"I don't know why it's taking them so long to decide." Brian shook his head in frustration and exhaled a sharp puff of air.

"Good luck and Merry Christmas." The postman turned around and walked down the long walkway past the reindeer and snow angel for the next delivery.

Back inside the room, Brian turned his attention to a letter he'd received from the law office Hartman & Fried. He read it several times, each time focusing on the word “Foreclosure” at the top of the page and the date below. The tremor in his hand became more pronounced each time he read it. He dropped the letter on the table.

"How did this happen?" He wiped his moist face with his palm.

The thought of losing his 3500 square foot house, with its gabled roof and gardens – a house he had worked years to earn – made his stomach roll.

He plopped down on the chair by the telephone. For a moment he stared at the floor, then dialed the bank manager's number. At the other end, the office assistant put him on hold. The earpiece played the theme song from “The Sting.” He felt stung all right. He was losing control of his life. He had lost his girlfriend over a stupid argument and he had reached the limit on his credit cards. Already he had missed two payments. Now he had lost the job he loved – that he had worked years to achieve.

The voice of the manager interrupted his train of thought. For the next ten minutes, he argued against the foreclosure. In the end, he accepted the manager's assessment of his bad credit rating, but he had run out of time to put his financial life in order. He hung up without saying good-bye.

He stared at the floor for several minutes, then stood. “ Those bastards .” Brian went to his bedroom, opened the drawer of the bedside table, pulled out his handgun then left.

***

Jason entered Rose's Coffee Time, Rocky following close behind him. As he expected for a typical mid-afternoon, few customers occupied the restaurant. With a nod to the waitress, Jason chose a corner where the closest customers were several tables away. Both he and Rocky plunged into the wooden chairs across from each other. Noticing them, the waitress hurried over soon after delivering a check to one of her other customers.

Rose, the restaurant owner, had refined her motto of service with a smile. “Happy Molly,” as the waitress was fondly called, was in her mid thirties but she could pass for someone ten years younger. Men of all ages tracked her movements as she walked around the place. With a glowing smile she said, “Haven't seen you in a while. What kept you away? Coffee or my service?”

Jason attempted a smile but it came out a grimace. “Both are great. Just low in cash these days.” At the beginning of December, he had received notice his hours had been cut to part-time. Back on the first of October, Softek International, his employer, announced the outsourcing of fifteen hundred jobs, at the end of each consecutive quarter. They had let go of five hundred employees per quarter. The timing was planned to ensure that each employee would provide the necessary knowledge transfer before leaving. Even now, Jason was so angry he had trouble focusing on the menu.

He wished he could quit on the day of the announcement. But his financial situation was bad, with no prospect of finding another job soon, so he'd stayed with only half the income. The company had wanted him to pass on the information he'd spent years learning so that someone else could take over his job. When he discovered how the CEO poured money into working vacations, catered lunches, and limousines for those who were staying behind, he'd felt doubly betrayed. It was obvious the CEO was pampering those he needed while discarding the rest.

The waitress said, “Your company hasn't been good to its employees or us. My business is down.” Rose's Coffee Time had been threatened with many challenges since it opened over four decades ago. Back then there was the old post office, fire station, police station and the century old church. Since then, the neighborhood had changed. National brands of eateries had cut into her business. Rose's weapon of survival was simple: keep the menu changing, offer fresh, homemade food and provide good service. Softek was the largest employer in the Oregon town of Corvallis and Rose's challenge this time would be different.

“Hope our luck will change,” said Jason as he pulled at his beard. He was sporting a two-week growth that hadn't quite filled in yet and it made him look like a mountain man--rebellious.

“What will it be? Coffee and cake?”

Still trying to put on a brave face, Jason replied, “Just coffee.” After the waitress walked away, he leaned forward. “Where's Brian? Why isn't he here?” One chair felt empty as the trio took their coffee break together almost every morning. It had become a habit.

“He said he felt sick,” said Rocky.

“He has been using that excuse a lot lately.” Jason tapped a finger on the tabletop. “It's been hard on him since he was let go in the first round. I figure he's depressed from losing his job, but he's got to pull out of it,” Jason said, fear making his stomach sour.

“That's the least of our problems. By the end of the month we'll all be out of work.”

“Yeah, but I worry about him. He's too withdrawn.”

Rocky took a sip of water. “It's difficult. Each of us is handling it differently. He'll be fine.” Rocky's job had been spared the axe. He was indispensable as the team leader with the most experience. He would be the liaison between the local office and that in Mumbai, India.

“Look, Rocky,” Jason said, spreading his hands palms up on the table, “Brian helped me a lot when I joined Softek. I owe him big time.”

“He's looking for a job. I hear he has a prospect in California.”

Jason looked around at all the glum faces of his coworkers—the ones who still had a job, then leaned in further. “Brian just lost his girlfriend. That's also weighing on him.”

In 1972, almost thirty-two years ago, when he was only ten, his father, Fred, was locked up in a Salem jail and one month into incarceration, he was found dead in his cell of an apparent cardiac arrest. Jason was too young to fully grasp the reasons for his punishment, but one thing became crystal clear—everyone hated him. The Corvallis rumor mill spewed gossip about his parents, his older brother and even Jason. Quickly, every friend and neighbor, except Brian and Rocky, discarded his family like rotten tomatoes. The pair stuck with Jason and defended him whenever attacks were hurled at him. His poor mom. The memory caused a chill to run through him.

The waitress approached their table, placed two coffees and two slices of freshly baked blueberry pie in front of them. “It's on the house.”

Jason managed a weak smile. “It's been a while since someone has been so nice to me. You're a sweetheart.”

Rocky looked down at the food with hungry eyes and bit into the pie with melting ice cream on top. “Brian is tough. He can handle it,” he said through a mouthful of ice cream. After swallowing, he looked Jason in the eyes and asked, “How are you doing?”

Usually Jason presented a brave face to the world, then retreated into his cave and wrestled with his problems until resolved. This time it was different. He felt as though he'd fallen into a deep hole and needed to tell his story. “I shouldn't have taken this job. That was a big mistake. With this sub-prime mortgage and real estate crisis the value of my house went down by thirty percent.” He shook his head and looked out the window. “Last August when the market tanked I sold my shipping company stock at a loss.” With tight lips, he said, “I panicked.”

Rocky looked around as though embarrassed by Jason's outburst. “You look as depressed as Brian. You have to snap out of it.” Leaning forward, he consoled Jason, saying, “Be positive. At least you've got your health. You can find another job.” Then louder, as though trying to impart confidence, he added, “With your credentials, you could get out of this town, get a job. I'm sure of it.”

Still looking out the window, Jason said, “Yeah, I guess.”

“You look tired. You need sleep.”

“It's hard to sleep. All these thoughts keep churning in my head. What Softek is doing to us is wrong.” He took another sip of his coffee.

“Welcome to America. People get hired and fired all the time.”

“It's the way they're doing it that doesn't seem right to me.” Jason's voice rose high enough to attract the attention from the closest customer.

Rocky waved his hand at Jason to lower his voice. “Cool down. You're getting hot for nothing.” Rocky caressed his thick, salt-white hair with his palm. He was often mistaken for Richard Gere's younger brother.

Jason carved a small piece of the pie and whispered such that only Rocky could hear. “They have to pay.” After washing the food down with another sip, Jason continued. “I had a very good job with Microsoft. At the interview with Softek, I was told I had a job for life. Now, after the company secured a government contract, it's shipping all the jobs overseas. It's not fair.”

“They haven't broken any law.”

He paused for a moment, calculating a response. “I don't buy that. I can sue them.” His voice rose again.

Rocky dropped his fork. “You're crazy. Sue them for what? First you would need a lawyer, and you know how much they charge.”

“Look, twelve hundred people are in our situation. And it's hard to find a decent job in this area to support a family. These days a person's lucky to find something in fast food.” Jason paused for a moment then snapped his fingers. “Class-action suit. That's what we need.”

***

Brian entered the main office door of Softek, where he had worked for the last three years. He marched past two security guards, who were always talking to each other, but their hawkish eyes constantly scanned people going and coming. Brian pressed the security pass at the scanner and a light on it changed from red to green. It still works. In a half circular motion he passed through the metal turnstile just wide enough for a person's body to pass through. Palms sweating, he took the elevator to the twelfth floor where the office of Clint Whitney, the chief information officer, was located. After finding an empty office, he called to Gail Crawford, the executive assistant, "Where is Clint?"

"Do you have an appointment with Mr. Whitney?" Gail calmly inquired.

"No. I want to talk to him. Right away."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No. Where is he? I want to see him now !"

Gail clicked the mouse a couple of times, peeked at the computer screen and said, "He's not in the office. It's his lunch hour. Nothing is booked."

"Where is he?” Brian asked with deadly composure. “Call him."

Gail first scanned Brian's face, then the light jacket he was wearing. “What's your name?” she asked.

“Brian.”

She used her best secretary's voice. “Brian, it looks like you're angry about something. Can we talk in the room over there?”

“Damn right I'm angry,” he said, fighting back the logjam of emotion in his throat. “I'm losing everything, including my job.”

“You'll find a new job. Hopefully, soon.”

“No, I'll find him .” Brian walked away.

***

At 5:00 p.m., Jason walked out of the office, heading towards the library. He'd only heard about class-action suits, so he needed to gather as much information as possible before he approached a lawyer. To get the justice he wanted, it was the only way. He couldn't afford high lawyer's fees so he had to do whatever he could on his own. In his ten-year career, he'd had to keep up with changing information technology, from mainframe to desktop to Internet. He'd had to learn a lot about databases too. In his case, self-learning was a survival skill.

Jason entered the Steven Leacoak Library, famous for its huge capacity and extensive variety of books, newspapers, magazines and reference materials. At the reception area, Jason asked, “Miss, where can I find information on class-action suits?”

After checking the computer database, she directed Jason to the law reference section in aisle six. He walked by rows of shelves to his left and, to his right, reading areas filled with high school students, all buried in their studies.

Aisle six was bordered by two floor-to-ceiling shelves with rows of one-inch thick books, all red and of the same size, just like the Britannica encyclopedias in his parents' library before the Internet era. He looked at the titles and chuckled. These must be for law students, not someone like him. He needed Lawsuit For Dummies . Of course, no lawyer would be dumb enough to write such a book. Lawyers were sharks, always protecting their territories and making workers dependent on them for everything, small and large. He quickly realized the chance of finding such a book was slim, so he returned to the librarian's desk. “Miss, I'm looking for articles on class-action suits.”

“Magazine section.” Head lowered, peeking over the rim of her reading glasses, she pointed to the opposite side of the law reference section where racks of daily newspapers and assorted magazines encircled the area. In the middle, a coffee table, surrounded by sofa and chairs, was covered with newspapers and tabloids left by readers.

Jason moved a pile of magazines onto the table and sank into a chair. One after another, he looked at each cover page and then checked out the table of contents. He found many class-action suits asking for hundreds of millions in damages against tobacco companies, which he placed in one pile. He found a few cases that involved asbestos, Agent Orange, and breast implants, which he placed in a separate pile, since they were closer to his situation than tobacco. With only a few legal journals to go, he'd found nothing that matched his situation.

Suddenly he said “Aha!” loud enough to turn a few heads. He saw a headline: “Class-action suit against National Bank.” This article was about a woman who filed a class-action suit on behalf of her and others in her situation, where they were asked to work overtime but not compensated for it. Jason read the article carefully. Bank tellers didn't earn enough to go after banks. Therefore, they'd made a deal between them and the bank's attorneys. The article went on in detail about the financial and psychological damages these employees had suffered.

Jason went back to the front desk and asked, “Where can I find articles about outsourcing?”

She pointed to a nearby section. “Financial magazines.”

He flipped though magazines including FORBES, Economists, Business Week and Wall Street Journal. He was surprised how many well-known companies such as IBM, Microsoft and Oracle were shipping thousands of jobs overseas. When he read a report showing that the IRS had shipped thousands of jobs outside the U.S., he let out a low whistle.

The librarian marched over to him and hissed, “Could you please be quiet!” He gave her his sincerest look of apology. Then she promptly turned and he went back to his reading.

After going through the report, he placed it in a pile to be photocopied. His eyes caught another headline: “Unemployment Rising in America.” He looked up to see if the library police was on the prowl again and murmured, “Yes.” The teenagers couldn't have heard him or cared as their eyes were fixed on their studies and their ears plugged with iPod speakers. He had enough. He photocopied one article about class-action suits and many more about outsourcing. Then he promptly left.

***

Behind him, Brian could hear Gail call Clint's cell phone and leave a message. Then she called security.

Worried now, Brian rushed to the elevator, pressed the button and waited, tapping the travertine with his toe. When the doors opened, much to Brian's surprise, Clint Whitney appeared. "I want to talk to you," Brian said.

Looking at his watch, Clint said, "Now's not a good time. Make an appointment with Gail."

His former boss pushed past him, but as he did, Brian pulled his handgun from his waistband. "Let's go in that room." He waved the gun, shoving Clint into the conference room. Then he closed the door and said, "Sit down."

***

When notice of Jason's anticipated layoff came out, it was made clear that employees should take time off to find employment before the termination date. Softek, as the CEO announced at the company's restructuring meeting, was trying to be as helpful as possible, including an unusual move to make career counselors available. In the morning, after calling his manager, Jason headed to the attorney's office. The boss didn't ask any questions.

The elevator doors opened to an elegant reception area. Jason looked at the receptionist sitting at a desk next to a wall with a big gold-plated sign that said Lambert, Johnson & McQuire. “I'm here to see Mr. Johnson,” he said.

She checked the appointment book. “Please have a seat. Can I get you coffee, tea or soda?”

He shook his head, then sat in a wing chair next to a honey-colored table with a variety of magazines stacked atop it. He felt as though he were going for a job interview, where he would have to convince someone to hire him. Would he succeed in convincing the lawyer to take this class-action suit? The same firm had gone after National Bank in the teller's case and negotiated a handsome settlement. He peered around the lobby. A vase filled with fresh flowers stood on a semicircle table behind him. Under his feet, a Persian carpet glowed with rich colors. The law firm must be successful at what it did to afford an expensive office and a gorgeous receptionist.

When he booked this appointment, he queried about the cost and was assured that the first half was complementary for new clients. The clicking of high heels on the floor tiles disturbed his train of thought.

“Mr. McDan, pleased to meet you,” she said with an extended handed. “My name is Irva Johnson.”

“Very pleased to meet you,” he replied, simultaneously trying to hide his surprise at seeing a woman lawyer instead of a grandfatherly man. He quickly sized her up. Both the navy jacket and blond hair gave her an elegant look. He had to admit she had a distinguished appearance.

Then both went to a conference room with a long table surrounded by comfortable chairs and a bookshelf spanning a whole wall. Other walls were graced with rare, expensive paintings.

They sank into chairs opposite each other. Then Jason placed a folder on the table and said, “Mrs. Johnson, you've heard that Softek is laying off fifteen hundred employees.”

“Yes, I have,” she said, her face set in stone.

Jason cleared his throat and leaned forward, knowing that he had to make an impact on the lawyer. He explained the situation briefly. “First, they tricked us. They hired a lot of people over a period of a year so that they could get government contracts. After showing that they had enough software engineers and had secured a contract they fired us. They're sending our jobs offshore. It's not right. I want to file a class-action suit.”

“To win a case like this is very difficult,” the lawyer said, steepling her fingers.

“Mrs. Johnson, a lot of people are suffering. When the country is going through a sub-prime mortgage crisis, it's not a good time for anyone to be out of work. Companies have stopped hiring because of the credit crunch.”

“First, a court will look to see if Softek did anything wrong. Second, if such action has caused pain and suffering.”

“Absolutely.”

“There's no precedence for such a class-action suit.”

“Maybe it's time to start one.” Jason looked at her poker face, not sure if he had made any headway so far. He decided to play his hand. “Morally, it's wrong. A big corporation took advantage of us. We should have our day in court.”

The lawyer leaned back and eyed Jason slowly. “The defendants will fight with all the ammunition they have. And they have plenty. That's the first thing to consider. After months of investigation, legal research and negotiations, which all cost time and money, let's say the defendant decides not to admit any wrongdoing and, of course, decides not to compensate. The case goes to court. Once in court, what are our chances? Very little. We don't like to lose a case or win small. Our reputation is based on that. Also, the chance of keeping your job is almost nil. Mr. McDan, I'm sorry,” she said, starting to rise. “It's not a case we like to take.”

With that, Jason was dismissed. At the elevator, he punched the wall. “Damn her!” He pounded on the elevator door with his fist. Tired of waiting he took the stairs. As he exited the building, he threw his folder in the garbage.

***

Clint, who under normal circumstances appeared immaculately dressed, not a hair out of place, seemed to have lost his composure because his jet black hair was ruffled from running a hand through it, and the arrogance that he wore like a second suit seemed gone, replaced by fear. "Don't do anything you'll regret. What do you want?"

"You've shipped fifteen hundred jobs overseas. Who do you think you are? Do you know what you're doing?" Brian pointed the gun to Clint's head and cocked the trigger.

The man tried to speak, but Brian was tired of talking, tired of lies. In one smooth move, he pulled the trigger. With a loud bang, the man bolted back and fell to the floor. Brian didn't stop to question what had happened. He rushed to the door.

After closing the door behind him, he descended the stairs. Arriving on the ground floor, he tried to push open the exit door but it was locked. From one end of the corridor, he spotted guards talking to two police officers, but they hadn't spotted him. Careful not to move too quickly and risk notice, he turned around and walked to a closed door. He opened the door, turned off the light, walked past the mop and hid himself behind a trolley loaded with cleaning solutions, toilet paper and rags.

Brian heard heavy footsteps pass by in the hallway next to where he was hiding. He held his breath, feeling trapped. He dug his cell phone out of his pocket and sent a text message to Jason. S.O.S.

***

Jason decided to walk home. Fresh air should help quell his rising fear and anger. He took to the street in a residential neighborhood of Corvallis. His body moved instinctively in the right direction but his thoughts were far away. What to do next? He was overtaken by an emptiness that went far beyond anything his breakfast of coffee and warm pie could fill. His empty stomach started to growl with a piercing ache. As he mechanically paced the sidewalk, with head lowered, he recalled everything that once was a part of his life, but all that had disappeared now. His wife and his children had left him, and his job was coming to an end.

Depressed by the many turns in his life, he found this new disappointment hard to bear, hard to shake off. He could no longer muster the will to fight. He wished there was a switch in his brain that could turn off all the thoughts churning there. Looking up to the sky, he counted the rooftops he passed. Then he stopped, faced each front door. It happened he was next to Brian's house where reindeers stood on the snow-covered lawn. Steam was rising from his breath.

As he continued walking, it occurred to Jason that he hadn't thought of buying presents for his children, despite the fact that Christmas was only a few days away. He was too consumed with problems. Who was he kidding? He didn't have the money to buy presents.

He stopped walking. He covered his lips and nose with both hands and blew hard. It wasn't enough to remove the chill. With a sigh, he calculated the chances of getting his job back. He could plead with his boss and even accept a pay cut. It was worth a try. He changed his direction and headed towards Softek.

Frustrated, he trudged through the commercial district past the supermarket, where he noticed a crowd in front of an electronic store. It was odd to see a group of twenty or more, each absorbed by a TV screen. As he moved closer, more people crossed the road to join the gathering. He surmised something horrible must be happening. Perhaps a terrorist attack? Jason strained to catch a glimpse but there was no room between heads to see, without being rude. As the crowd was repositioning for a better view, he was looking for an opening. Suddenly, a tall man moved and Jason squeezed in. His heart stopped. The caption on the screen read seven dead in a mass murder at Softek.

And on the top left corner of the screen was a picture of Brian.