22. Jack
22
JACK
I wake up, startled by a buzzing sound next to my ear. As my eyes adjust to the brightness, I find myself clenching my teeth, my fingernails scraping against the fabric of the sheet.
Fuck!
Saved by the phone as the vibration of a new alert breaks through my rolling nightmare.
My nails tingle with an odd sensation as if I had been scraping against something rough, more than just the cotton sheet. I look toward Ava, her body softly rising and falling under the covers. I huff, grateful that she was spared from witnessing whatever I had been doing.
I slide my legs over the edge of the bed, careful not to make any sudden movements. The sheets hang onto my skin as I rise to a sitting position. Ava stirs slightly but thankfully doesn’t wake up.
Just like his mother, Quinton also remains asleep in his crib, his tiny chest barely visible under the blanket. I take a moment to watch him, marveling at his innocence and vowing to protect him from any harm for the rest of my life .
Satisfied that no one noticed my nightmare-induced sleep, I silently slip from the room.
As I head to the bathroom, Elmo trots in behind me. It’s unusual for him to follow me so closely, especially with that worried expression on his face. I wish he had been sleeping inside—he would’ve probably woken me up before my phone did—but having a dog who thinks his humans should wake up at the same time as him is not an option for everyone in the bedroom.
“I’m fine, buddy,” I say to the goofy-looking mutt, stooping to pat him.
I splash cool water on my face, feeling the remnants of Scalpel dissipate. I check the alert that woke me up, a notification I had set to alert me whenever the name Willem Botha surfaces online. I head to the kitchen, and the news that floods my screen leaves me stunned.
The bedroom door clicks open, and Elmo excitedly runs over to greet Ava. I take a break from reading the news to observe the two. Elmo has a different way of greeting her compared to me. With me, he appears polite, but with her, he dances around, leaning against her feet and begging for a pat. Ava happily obliges, giggling as she rubs Elmo’s belly, then stretches his ears up. “Are you a bunny?” The dog responds with a grin. “Actually, you look like a bat.”
Ava showers the dog with more attention, then walks over to me. “You’re up early.” She kisses me and takes a moment to appraise my appearance. “You look like you’ve already gone for your run without me.”
I pull her close. Having her against my chest, I become aware of my huffing breath and make a conscious effort to steady it. I admit softly, “I just couldn’t sleep.”
“You have too many things on your mind,” Ava comments.
I smile at her, assuring her not to worry. “How’s Quinton? ”
“He was up for a few minutes, but then he went back to sleep.” She gazes out the window and remarks, “It’s such a lovely morning.”
“Why don’t you go sit outside, and I’ll bring us some coffee?”
“Sounds good,” she says with a sultry smile, her hips swaying as she makes her way to the back porch. I catch her stealing glances in my direction, her eyes filled with a familiar craving.
The air carries her scent, tempting me to give in, but there’s something important I need to discuss with her.
I brew the coffee. The aroma boosts my wakefulness despite still feeling slightly groggy from the nightmare. I then make my way to the back porch. She’s curled up on the armchair, a blanket draped over her legs.
“Flat white for you.” I set a mug on the table.
“Thanks, Jack.”
I settle down in the adjacent chair, and we sit in comfortable silence. In the distance, a few jays fly across the field while a breeze rustles through the grass that has grown untouched since we arrived and neglected any gardening.
“I need to show you this.” I break the silence, showing an article on my phone.
Her eyes widen as she grabs my phone to read it. “Willem is missing?”
“It was the last night of the summit. He went out with a few attendees, but he never returned to his hotel, and no one has seen him since.”
She grumbles. “Sometimes, cow farts can smell like chamomile.”
I shake my head, perplexed yet entertained by her words. “What did you say?”
“Never mind,” she sighs .
“What about chamomile and cow farts?”
“Willem loved chamomile tea.” She exhales her disgust, then concludes, “Well, he tried to fake his death once. This is just another one of his tricks.”
Hence the cow fart.
Observing her furious expression as if her ex were present, I hold back a laugh and choose not to dwell on the smelly subject. I continue by summarizing the information from the article. “Apparently, there’s been a target on his back. A particular rival who has dealings with the dark web.”
“There’s always a target on his back, Jack. Being a successful businessman comes with that territory. But he does have a security team to handle that kind of threat. He called me just the other day, and now he’s suddenly missing?” She scoffs. “It’s too convenient if you ask me!”
I admire her logical thinking. “I agree. It does seem rather convenient because…” I interrupt myself, asking for my phone back and then quickly pulling up another article I had stumbled upon last week. “This journalist has been tracking Willem for years. He suspects Willem’s AI chip is based on stolen intellectual property—if there is such a thing on the dark web.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me,” Ava utters, crossing her legs.
“Behind the facade, he might be a wanted man.”
“Cora-Lee said she’s also investigating W-Bot,” she reminds me. “Perhaps it’s time we paid her a visit.”
We meet Cora-Lee at Red Mark. Alluding to her bandaged nose, the head of tech jokes that the doctor threw in free rhinoplasty during the surgery to remove a sinus polyp. Apart from some slight swelling around her nose and eyes, she seems to have recovered well from her time in the hospital.
As we settle into the meeting room, Huxley offers to babysit Quinton.
“The meeting room is a bad environment for a young child,” he says with the baby nestled on his chest. He then whispers, as if not wanting Quinton to hear, “Especially when the conversation revolves around his former dad.”
I simply pat his shoulder.
Ava warns, “He’s already been fed, so please don’t give him any more food.”
“Is that right, Quinnie-Bear?” Huxley asks the boy, who responds with a gurgle. “Don’t worry, we’ll play and burn off all those calories, huh?” Equipped with everything Paw Patrol , he takes Quinton downstairs to the lounge.
Cora-Lee watches as her colleague walks in a comical manner, clearly trying to entertain Quinton. “You know, sometimes I feel like Comet isn’t as old as he claims to be. I mean, we all have our inner child, but his is disproportionately big. I’d watch out for those toys if I were you,” she comments before closing the door.
“I think it’s just empathy.” I reason, giving Huxley one last glance through the glass wall. Then I turn to Cora-Lee. “So, what do you think of the Willem Botha shenanigan?”
“Mr. Gordon Clark from The Capital Chronicle hit the nail on the head,” she responds, referring to the DC-based journalist who has been following Willem for years. “W-Bot’s AI chip has been developed based on someone else’s intellectual property. Although, at the same time, Mr. Clark has been barking up the wrong tree.”
“How?” I ask, leaning forward in my swivel chair.
“Willem’s disappearance has got nothing to do with the dark web. He’s been stealing ideas from a company called Rufus-10, a start-up that operates openly in Silicon Valley. The company has created a next-gen computing platform solely for AI. It’s built with new algorithms, using both photons and electrons to carry information. Basically, their innovation defies the Dennard Scaling.”
We stare at her, totally puzzled.
“Sorry! Sorry!” Cora-Lee realizes her enthusiasm translates like a foreign language for me and Ava. “I haven’t had coffee, and it’s already midday. Anyways, here’s a better version of what I wanted to say.”
Ava and I smile at her, encouraging her to continue.
She explains, “Willem has been working on a new type of chip that utilizes similar technology, but not enough to be considered an infringement on intellectual property. In fact, W-Bot’s version is significantly more powerful than Rufus-10’s innovation. This information has been published in scientific papers, but it was never disclosed that the algorithm used is the same, which is the root of the IP conflict.”
“If Rufus-10 is just a start-up, why all the fuss?” Ava asks. “Willem could’ve easily taken over that company.”
“Spot on, Ava!” Cora-Lee looks animated, as if relieved that her last explanation made sense. “Rufus-10 has remained the small guy, even though what they’ve produced is far from insignificant. This issue is coming to light only now because Rufus-10 has recently been acquired by Bone Intelligence, an entity striving to compete with the incumbents. You know, Microsoft, Google, and Apple.”
“Damn,” I sigh.
Ava rolls her eyes, saying, “All I can say right now is that I’m glad I’m here.”
I’m more than glad. I am overwhelmingly relieved.
Cora-Lee chimes in. “I’m not sure why Willem didn’t try to acquire Rufus-10 before Bone Intelligence. Maybe he thought he could get away with his loot and underestimated his competition.”
Suddenly, my phone buzzes with another notification. I glance at it and mutter, “Maybe it’s because he’s broke. W-Bot’s shares have plummeted.” I keep skimming the news. “Investors are pulling out. Apparently, Willem’s research was rigged, and he’s been spending money that isn’t his.”
Ava sighs and remarks, “His Pandora’s box has just been opened. I bet it smells like cow farts!”
Cora-Lee and I erupted into fits of laughter.
As we settle, Cora-Lee continues, “I’d hate to be Willem right now. Bone Intelligence has already engaged the Interpol to look for him.”
“Hence his disappearance,” I remark.
“Exactly,” Cora-Lee says. “I really hope they find him soon. To be honest, I’m worried about his ambition. W-Bot’s strength lies in its pneumatic microchips, which use pressure instead of electricity to encode data. Willem’s plan is to combine his own technology with the one he stole from Rufus-10, creating the biggest and most powerful chip on the planet, supposedly even bigger than the latest version of WSE.”
“English, please, Cora-Lee,” I interrupt.
She chuckles, apparently intentional in her use of the acronym. “Wafer-Scale Engine, currently the most powerful chip in existence. Anyway, Willem’s tests have failed so far.”
“Did you say pressure?” Ava asks. “I remember there was an accident at W-Bot not long before I left L.A. An engineer lost his hand.”
“Right on again, Ava,” Cora-Lee responds. “There was an explosion in one of W-Bot’s pressure chambers.”
“I wonder what will happen to his other business, the database tech thing,” I ponder .
“No doubt the DOJ is after him too,” Ava adds.
It’s music to my ears that Willem’s power is diminishing. But he’s not going to give up just like that. He’s a wounded tiger. I haven’t forgotten his ego. He’s losing control of his company and has already lost what he considers his family—Ava and Quinton. He won’t let go of both easily. He needs to hold on to something. His invisibility will make him more dangerous. And I detest facing an enemy I can’t see.