When he pulled the telephone out of the wall and slammed it into the filing cabinet

When he pulled the telephone out of the wall
and slammed it into the filing cabinet
an inch from my left ear
I asked him why
he thought it was acceptable
to humiliate me
so publicly
in the presence of the bookkeeper
who stole from him
of the secretary
who could not type for him
and the partner
who fuelled his vituperate rants with frenzied ardour

I took the letter from my pocket
my hand shaking
fighting back the shock
and awe
at the cruelty
of the moment
and placed it on the table in front of his fisted hands
his rage palpable his features distorted, feral

"This" I said, barely able to find the air, drowning as I was
in this wicked caricature of a job
“This a list of the dates that he stole money from you and how he did it.”

He picked up the letter, crushed it into a ball and threw it into my face,
hard

Tears were coming to betray me
but my will to defeat them was fierce.
Once they started
he would have my pride
and pride was all I had left
it defined me

I stood

All eyes were on mine, hungry, appraising what was left
of this dismantled man.

“This”, I pointed at the office, at the cars, at the wife and son in therapy, at the
unconscionable greed that defined him and defiled me,

“I will be free of this and I
will end this

and in destroying you

I can only hope

because I cannot say with certainty

that I will not become you.”