Chapter 3
3
I can actually hear the sound of Chet gloating before I ever pick up the landline phone on my desk.
I cringe, expecting the tried-and-true I told you so even though I have zero intention of telling him why I’m calling to resign from the position he so recently offered me.
I’m not stupid enough to assume it was out of the goodness of his heart. I have a particular skillset that fulfills one of his needs.
Nothing personal. Just business.
I respect that mindset immensely.
“Hello, Eli,” he answers after the third ring.
I ignore the fact that he obviously knows my landline phone number at the office. I also forcibly ignore his use of my old nickname that only one other person ever indulged calling me.
“Chet,” I say forcibly. “We need to talk.”
“Good,” he answers casually. “I’m already here.”
A perfunctory knock on my closed office door precedes him barreling into the space like he owns it.
Technically, he does .
I place the phone in its cradle before gaping at his larger-than-life presence filling my doorway. “Chet?”
Every time I say or hear this man’s name, I’m reminded of what he confessed to me one rainy night long ago when we were studying for a physics exam in undergrad.
Chester, Chester, child molester his high school bullies called him.
The man standing before me in an expensive, custom-tailored, three-piece suit never dreamed of changing his name. No, he turned those taunts into a battle cry. Into the name of his multi-billion-dollar company. Seeing him now, no one would ever consider saying such an abomination to his face, let alone whisper it behind his back.
Because he would find out. And he would crush them.
I confided in him that I preferred to go by the nickname Eli. Because it sounds more male. The STEM fields are notoriously misogynistic. It’s changing, but at the pace of natural glacial movement. I learned to view my femaleness as another weakness. If I was a genius with a penis, I’d be unstoppable.
Like Chet.
“Good.” He repeats before barreling his way inside without an invitation. “I hoped I didn’t drive all the way to Paramus for nothing.”
“Why didn’t you call first?” I ask as I stand behind my desk. “Better yet, why not schedule a meeting with me through official work channels?”
He tips his head back and forth as though he’s unsure. This uncharacteristic behavior, alone, is a red flag. The man prides himself on his forged armor of self-assuredness.
“I wanted to give you time to adjust.”
“I’ve only been here for four days,” I remind him though he undoubtedly knows that fact.
He might be the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company with legions of employees, but I have every confidence that Chester Goulding is acutely aware of everything that transpires in his ranks.
“I’m sorry about the short notice, but I can’t wait any longer,” he says as he studies me. “We need to have this conversation sooner than later, and I don’t like lying to you.”
I snort. Number one—he didn’t give me short notice. He gave me no notice. Number two—Chet can lie for as long as he needs to when it suits him. He lied to me for our entire first semester of undergrad.
“How have you been lying to me?”
He narrows his eyes further, studying both me and my surroundings.
Admittedly, I haven’t completed my checklist of furbishing my office. Also admittedly, I’m rather flustered by the disastrous meeting mere minutes ago. I’m not attempting to hide my distress, but I will make a concerted effort to soften the blow of what I’m about to spring on my old friend.
Namely, my resignation.
“How are Lauren and the child?”
Chet always makes good on his promises. Eventually. He wanted his first relationship to be his only relationship. Against all odds, he made that happen. I don’t know how, nor do I care. His personal life is his own.
He smirks. “We didn’t name him Grogu.”
I furrow my brow at him. “Is that a Mandalorian reference?”
“It is.” He smiles then sits on my newly purchased couch that’s upholstered in a soothing, mauve-colored velvet. Shortly, he props his feet on the coffee table that cost me far more than coffee tables should cost.
I suppress a sigh of frustration. Then, I also sit behind my desk .
He chuckles because he absolutely loves pushing my buttons. “You’re not going to ask me what I came to discuss?”
“Have we exhausted all polite opening conversation?” Generally, I dislike answering a question with a question, but this is a valid one. Honestly, I am proverbially dying to know why Chet is sitting in my new office that is an hours-long drive from his Manhattan residence. I’m also aware that’s a fabulous distraction from the task which I must do.
I will not show him that. I work hard now to keep my emotions in check. With the exception of today’s meltdown that wasn’t entirely my fault. If Chet had been honest with me from the beginning, if Carly had told me my boss’s name, then I wouldn’t have wasted four days of my life acclimating to this job that I absolutely cannot perform.
“I think we have.” He frowns. “No. We haven’t. How are you settling in? Is anyone giving you a hard time here?”
I gesture around me to my office space. The bare walls and mostly empty shelves speak for themselves. “Of course, I’m not settled in yet. Also, I don’t know my coworkers well enough to determine if they are giving me a hard time.”
Also, I have no plans to know them. I’ve learned my hard lessons. I don’t make the same mistakes twice.
He nods but remains otherwise silent.
“Now, I will ask why you are here.”
“I’m here because I need your help with a very sensitive matter.”
I narrow my eyes at him for continuing to be vague.
“What sort of sensitive matter?” I ask after he offers nothing further.
He reaches into his satchel to pull out a stack of papers then hands a single one to me. “What is this?”
I stare at the schematic. “It’s a blueprint for an artificial heart. ”
“Notice anything weird about it?”
“No.” I hand the paper back to him. “It’s a generic blueprint.”
“Okay.” He hands me a second paper then a third and fourth. “How about these ones?”
“Are these ours?” These designs are brilliant.
Chet blows out a breath. “They are.”
“I don’t understand what you need my help with,” I admit. “I’m not sure why you convinced me to work for you at all. Your R&D team is doing a fantastic job.”
“Someone on my R&D team is selling these designs to the highest bidder.”
I lean back in my chair and blink at him. “I beg your pardon?”
He sighs as he stuffs the papers back into his briefcase before reclaiming his spot on the sofa. “We’re a cutting-edge startup in a viciously competitive market. I expected these situations. I prepared for them. I’ve already easily outmaneuvered a few suits who thought they could have their cake and eat it, too.”
I squint at his second nebulous statement of the day.
“I can play the corporate spy game all day long. When the spying or the sabotage is on the business end, I can handle it. But this?” Chet gestures at nothing in the middle of my office. “I’m not smart enough to play this game.” He tips his head. “At least not this kind of smart.”
Understatement of the century. Chet has a lazy streak when it comes to science. He’s barely fastidious enough to carry all the ones in his calculations. Never shows all his work.
“Anyway.” He waves his hand, calm settling over his previously tense shoulders. “You are. You’re exactly this kind of smart.”
“Thank you,” I say rotely.
We stare at each other.
“So?” He questions after a lengthy pause in conversation .
“So, what?”
“So, do you agree?”
“Agree to what?” My tone sounds frustrated because I am frustrated. He’s being purposefully unclear.
“Agree to help me uncover the mole in the R&D department,” he says as though it should be obvious.
I freeze in shock. Except my heart and lungs and other autonomous bodily functions, of course. They continue.
After several seconds, I regain my composure. “How would I do that, exactly?”
He shrugs. “Use your genius AI programs to figure out who’s selling designs.”
“How would I do that, exactly?”
“I don’t want to dictate your methods,” he says then smirks. “You hate being put in a box.”
It’s true. I close my eyes and breathe evenly, pondering this new problem to be solved. Thankfully, Chet understands my need for quiet time to think, which is exactly why he afforded me a private office even though I’m a new hire.
It’s no good. I can’t out-think the fact that I need to quit this job. I open my eyes and ask, “I still don’t understand why you need my help for this. Simply trace whoever is downloading the designs onto a flash drive.”
“How would I do that, exactly?” he asks as he continues to smirk at me.
“Use the security measures ingrained into your systems to determine who the mole is?” I phrase this as a question because I’m aware that I’m making a hefty assumption.
I’m an AI engineer, not a cybersecurity engineer. I develop machine codes that help solve research problems faster. I don’t know anything about hacking or how to be a white hat who keeps the hackers out. Most proprietary information at this level is highly guarded, and there are a number of fail-safes in place to keep sensitive material secure. I don’t know how it all works. I only know it exists.
Chet tips his head, his eyelids lower. “You don’t think I’ve tried that already?”
“Touché,” I say. Because of course, he has.
Chet is nothing if not thorough when he sets his mind to something. As evidenced by the fact that Lauren is now his wife rather than the one who got away.
“I need your particular skill set for this mission,” Chet insists. “Every design—whether artistic or engineering—has a fingerprint from the designer. Everyone adds something unique to even the simplest blueprint. I need you to find out whose fingerprints these are.” He throws the papers onto my coffee table.
I shake my head. “That’s not necessarily true. Working in a vacuum, perhaps, would confirm your assumptions. This is not that. We’re an R&D team. No single engineer works on a concept from inception to finished product. There are hundreds, then hundreds of thousands of steps along the way, and most of those involve input from other team members.”
“I know that,” he affirms, not gently. “Still. Every engineer has a signature.” He waves his hands toward me. “Don’t give me that science is pure bullshit either. Humans do the science, and humans leave behind footprints. I need you to figure out what size shoe each engineer on the team is wearing.”
“Ask them their shoe size,” I deadpan, hating his stupid analogy.
He offers me a similarly deadpan glare. “If I thought it was that easy, the traitor would be rotting in prison already. No. I need something with irrefutable proof. If I announce my intentions and put everyone on notice that they’re being watched? Either they’re going to go underground until this all blows over, or they’re going to stop. ”
“Isn’t that the goal?” I ask. Genuinely. “To have them stop selling your secrets?”
“Sure. But then I still won’t know who, what, when, where, and why. I really want to know the why.”
I empathize with his statement.
The most frustrating thing in the universe isn’t the existence of anti-matter. It’s being unable to learn why someone has behaved in a certain way. Even the world’s brightest genius isn’t a mind reader.
“I can’t continue to build an impenetrable fortress if I don’t know where the weakest parts are, and how they became weak in the first place,” he explains further.
I nod. I get it. Oh, do I get it.
“An investigation of this nature would take considerable time,” I advise him. “I also cannot guarantee that the traitor will not continue to sell designs in the interim.”
“I understand,” Chet says, rising from his seat. “I won’t pester you for updates every week.”
I appreciate that assurance. I also rise to escort him to the door, a pinprick of excitement interfering with my plans to resign.
“Is this why you truly hired me?” I ask him.
“It is,” he affirms.
“Why do you trust me to do this sensitive job?” I stare at him, wishing my gaze could detect the truth behind a person’s expression. Not for the first time. “This should be a lesson to you not to trust anyone at all.”
Chet also stares at me. His expression appears even, steady. Yet there’s a glimmer of something in his eyes. Something unidentifiable. “You didn’t work for me until a week ago. It can’t be you who’s selling designs you’ve never seen before.”
That’s logical, but it’s not the whole story. It never is. “Be that as it may, you shouldn’t be trusting me with this sensitive assignment now.”
“Why not?” he questions with an arguing tone of voice. Chet just loves to argue. He’s always found wasting his time amusing. “You’re one of the smartest people I know. And one of the most brutally honest.”
“Some would say that is a curse, not a gift.”
“Some are stupid.” He grins. “Unequivocally.”
A soft laugh sneaks out of my chest. “Some.”
“I believe in you, Eli. You can do this. You’re perfect for this job.” He chucks me on the chin.
I bat his hand away to the tune of his laughter.
“Like I said, I don’t want to dictate your actions. You know better than I do about how to read other engineers.”
I snort as a rebuttal. I can’t read anyone. A fact I learned the hard way during graduate school.
He smirks at me. “I’ll get you started by sending you background files on the entire team though.”
My nose scrunches in confusion. “FBI-type background files?”
He tips his head. “Not far off. I carefully vet everyone I hire. Which is why this situation pisses me off even more.”
I also empathize with that. Being careful—and still failing—is yet another of the universe’s great frustrations.
One last thing bothers me about this. “Was I hired to do any actual AI engineering for you?”
“Of course. Engineer your heart out.”
“What happens when this situation is resolved?” I press.
Not that I want to stay here any longer than necessary, but I also can’t pass up this opportunity. I’ve been wallowing in illogical depression for far too long.
Chet shrugs. “Then, you’ll engineer some more. ”
I squint at him. Nothing is ever this easy with people. Nothing this straightforward. Not even with Chet. “Really?”
He rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay. And you’ll get a raise. Anything else you’d like to negotiate?”
“Not particularly.” I’m still proud that I was forceful enough to negotiate this private office even though he’s just proven exactly why he caved to my demand.
It wasn’t about me at all. It was about giving him exactly what he wanted.
That thought makes my shoulders slump.
I haven’t changed so much after all.
“I’ll check in with your progress next month,” he murmurs.
I attempt to shut the door, but Chet holds it open at the last moment. His nostrils flare as he closes his eyes on a brief, sharp exhale. “Shit.”
I pry his fingers off my door and glance into the hallway, but I don’t see anything except the off-white walls and industry-grade, low-pile carpet. “What is it?”
“I don’t want to bias you this way, but I don’t want to send you on a wild goose chase that will take longer than necessary either,” he admits.
Another red-flag nebulous statement.
I make a rolling motion with my hand. “Spit it out.”
His gaze bounces between my eyes as he murmurs, “I think it’s Dr. Carrington. Start with him.”
Chet strides away without any polite parting, so he doesn’t see me sway on my feet. The doorframe holds me up. Barely.
Peter? No. It can’t be Peter.
Could it?
Past experience certainly proves his character isn’t morally upstanding. He likes money. He knows how to lie with a smile. How to distract with multiple orgasms.
I shake my mind to clear those dangerous thoughts away. Like a mental Etch-a-Sketch.
No matter how much I stare at the blank slate in my mind’s eye, my gut refuses to believe what my brain already knows is more than plausible.
I startle when Chet returns to stand before me. “Eli? Obviously, this stays between us. You can’t let them know we suspect anything.”
“I don’t have the social skills to pull that off,” I protest. “What do you want me to do? Monitor all your employees for suspicious behavior?”
He furrows his brow. “Yes. Because you absolutely have the skills to pull this off. You’re already aloof and agoraphobic, but you notice things that fly under most people’s radar. Just observe the team from a close distance. With or without your AI programs, I believe in you. You’ll solve this problem faster than any hired PI.”
“You’re serious?” I inquire as one last potential escape route.
“Deadly,” he confirms with his most cutthroat expression. “I’m desperate, Eli. That’s why I called in the big guns. Just so we’re clear—that would be you.”
I offer him my most displeased expression before closing my door then sliding down the fake wood as I grumble, “If I was agoraphobic, I wouldn’t have answered the phone when you called out of the blue. I would have tutored high school students around the clock via Zoom instead of sleeping more than four hours per day.”
A newfound frustration for my old friend bubbles beneath the surface of my tight skin. He’s laid down a gauntlet in more ways than one. He’s used his deep knowledge of my person to force me to play his game.
Chet knows I love a good challenge.
He’s just handed me the opportunity to make Peter pay for his personal crimes against me on a silver platter.