The mole was late for work. He had been on the phone with Paul Rogers all morning trying in vain again to get him to go along with the scheme he had cooked up to get Rodgers an endorsement guitar deal with PRS, thus diminishing the company in the eyes of the public because Rodgers didn't even play guitar. Years of taking only the leavings from back-stage drug parties had twisted the roadie's mind to the point where he had a rampant paranoia going.
As he drove to Log Canoe Circle, the mole thought of the tipping point. Back in 2009 when Bad Company was touring, Smith had been led backstage to talk guitar with Howard Leese. Something in the mole's head snapped as he realized that even this funny looking skinny guy had better access to the band than he did. He resolved then and there to bring down the PRS Company - or at least give it a black eye.
The mole put on a happy face as he strode through the lobby in the North East corner of the plant. He was ruefully aware that he didn't yet have his own key and had to check in with the receptionist, with photo ID, every time he entered the building. He made his way down the hall to the promotions department and to his desk. There, to his surprise, was a very interesting looking guitar. The body was naturally finished wormy mahogany which somehow looked kinda cool. Attached was a note. "Paul Rodgers Prototype - need documenting photos ASAP"
The mole picked up the guitar and nestled it on his lap. He plugged it into a Super Dallas and started working his way up the strings. He wasn't a very good player - he missed the sixth truing entirely. On the fifth string he picked and fingered his way up the board looking for any fretting problems: A - A# - B - B# - C - C# - D - D# - E - E#…
The pain was excruciating. Looking down, he saw that he had been emasculated. The sheer shock of it killed him.
In the office next door, the phone rang. "Yes, Paul?"
"You hired him. You clean it up."
As he hung up, Smith could here from his office that the spindle on the number 2 CNC machine was beginning to chatter. He called to the production floor to have it looked at.