The Probation of Gregory Wolf Sharp

That Monday morning, four days before the event that would change everything, did not start well for investment banker Gregory Wolf Sharp. Wolf was on his way to work at the largest bank in town when a subtle but annoying ticking sound started emanating from the bowels of his recently purchased German car. The sound grew louder at every red light where the banker had to wait . . . seemingly forever. Inwardly Wolf's thoughts about the auto dealer who had sold him the vehicle were seething fire, but outwardly his clear, blue eyes remained cold.

Arrival at the bank's parking garage did not ease Wolf’s tension—someone, some idiot, had parked in his spot, forcing Wolf to park out on the street, well away from the bank. A cold, harsh autumn wind sharpened the frustration rapidly building inside him as he marched off to the office. It would take an irritating hour for the parking fiasco to be resolved. As a result Wolf's inner storm was more violent than usual at the office and this translated into more clashes with his subordinates. He terrorized them by demanding a work standard that was unrealistic to the point of being absurd. One employee had to rework a contract that had taken him hours to complete from scratch. The annoying noise in Wolf's automobile continued unabated for the rest of the workweek. Wolf simply ignored it since he was too busy to take it to a garage to be checked out, but the incessant ticking made him even more edgy than usual. Wolf's reputation at the bank of being a scary jerk grew a lot that week.

Amazingly, his supervisor, Ms. Andrea Greer, a dark haired, attractive thirty-five-year- old, had tolerated Wolf's character flaws for years. Why? His work brought in money, lots of money, for the bank. While working at the institution, Wolf had earned it a reputation for sound investment strategies that made everyone who worked there look good. Though Ms. Greer had tried to encourage Wolf to be more civil to the other workers at the bank, he knew as long as he provided excellent investment advice to the multitude of rich clients who flocked to him, his job would be safe. He could care less if he hurt anybody’s feelings. The employees at the bank knew this, and they grudgingly acknowledged that any complaint about Wolf would be ignored. There was also the element of fear. Wolf was prickly. Wolf was big and strong. And then there were Wolf's icy blue eyes. A mere glance from them could wither most people into quiet submission.

So at the bank Wolf was fearfully tolerated by the bankers. But behind the scenes, well away from their work place in the safety of a home or restaurant, they ruthlessly railed against him. An extensive catalog of unflattering Wolf stories gave the bank employees some feeling of power and revenge. Little did they know the one they were condemning was in a psychological hell battling feelings of bitterness that roared constantly inside him.

Wolf channeled that bitterness into only one emotion: anger. He was over-the-top angry nearly all the time. Yet he suppressed his frightening rage under a chilling surliness that was only fully released when he returned each night to his achingly lonely townhouse. Wolf would immediately head to the punching bag hanging in the basement. The bag would jangle wildly on its chains as the investment banker, with sweat pouring off him, bashed it wickedly for up to an hour with sharp upper- and undercuts.

Eventually the anger oozed out. For a while. But the rage would unfailingly build up in his gut again the next day, so Wolf's enraged attack on the punching bag was a regular routine. Only on weekends and holidays did the feelings of torment subside somewhat in Wolf, allowing him a reprieve from the basement. Instead of visiting the punching bag, he would spend time in a special room where he created brilliant art. Only there could he experience some semblance of peace.

And so Wolf was almost always on edge. A very dangerous edge.

Friday came and Wolf’s weekend respite from his ongoing battle with anger was drawing near. Yet on this particular Friday, he had to work well past his usual quitting time of 6:00 pm. A coworker had botched an investment contract and Ms. Greer had drafted Wolf to rectify the problem.

When Wolf's wristwatch chimed 9:00 p.m., he was physically and emotionally trashed. The aggravation he felt toward the clumsy work of the co-worker who had caused him to labor well past his routine quitting time was triggering a bubbling rage he could barely contain. It was 9:30 p.m. when Wolf finally finished the miserable task that had detained him for much too long. He stormed out of the bank in a hostile state of mind and headed toward the parking garage. He needed his punching bag. Urgently.

Incredibly, his German automobile ticked twice upon ignition and then died. No one was around to help him or give him a lift. Wolf beeped some numbers on his cell phone. A taxi was available in half an hour. Not good enough. He had never ridden a city bus before and had no clue which one would take him home. Forget it. Friends or family? He had none. The only option was to use his legs. Rage engulfed Wolf as he started walking the five kilometers to his home. Everything was going wrong. It was the perfect storm.

To save some time, Wolf walked through a rougher part of town. Not good. The street was empty when a thin, ragged looking man suddenly approached him out of the shadows. He came close, brushed his arm against Wolf, and asked for some loose change. The shock of this encounter was for Wolf the catalyst that caused the hot, bubbling soup of madness inside him to overflow.

Wolf's right fist, moving with as much thrust as he could muster, smashed the ragged man's nose square on, and there was a sickening cracking sound as it caved in. Wolf's fist contacted the broken face again and again, and it became wet and red from the blood spewing out of its crushed nose. Wolf’s fist swung forward for its fifth strike, but this time it hit only air for the one who had dared to approach him had crumbled to the ground.

Even then Wolf did not stop. Still enraged, he reared his right foot back, ready to crack the ribs of the barely conscious, blood-smeared man sprawled on the pavement. But before Wolf’s sharply pointed shoe found its mark, a voice cried, Enough! Wolf looked up with eyes flaring fire. Three policemen slowly encircled the crazed and frothing banker, one of them talking calmly, trying to subdue the beast that had lashed out with no regard for life.

Chapter 2:

Ms. Andrea Greer and Brian Wong

Ms. Greer welcomed lawyer Brian Wong to her office on the top floor of the downtown bank. After some quick introductions, Mr. Wong got right down to business.

I am from legal aid and I represent Lawrence Albrite, the man your employee, Gregory Sharp, beat up. Mr. Sharp's lawyer has asked me to come to you to gather information about his client. Mr. Sharp, very understandably, is interested in settling this case as quickly and as quietly as possible. I believe you are also somewhat interested in having Mr. Sharp move forward from this incident.

Fair enough, remarked Andrea calmly.

First of all, however, I am curious to know why you have not suspended Mr. Sharp or even fired him for his actions a week ago.

I thought a man was innocent until proven guilty in this country. Until that is clear, he will remain at his post.

Yet he was arrested.

And quickly released once the police realized who he was and that he was acting in self-defense.

Mr. Sharp's lawyer has made that point clear as well. Yet my client is elderly and decrepit. Mr. Sharp on the other hand is, according to my records, young, tall, and fit. My client had no chance against Mr. Sharp during the attack. It was like a child fighting a man.

I am in no position to form an opinion about that. I obviously was not there that night. What do you really want from me, Mr. Wong?

Mr. Wong smiled warily. Please give me a character reference for your employee that will help me determine Mr. Sharp is not a psycho who needs to be put away for several years.

Andrea Greer was not amused with Mr. Wong's words. She declared crisply, "Put the following on record, Mr. Wong. We always address Gregory Sharp as Mr. Sharp to his face. That is how he wants to be addressed here at the bank so we adhere to his request. Behind his back we call him 'Wolf.' He is a lone wolf who does not have time for laughter, idle chitchat, or social relationships with anyone at the bank. He is also