Chapter 2
ANSON
Ikept my office dark, a desk lamp and the glow of two computer screens providing all the light I needed.
I wasn’t very fond of my office, but Beck, the co-owner of New Day Technologies, insisted I needed one.
I would be happy to spend all of my time in my lab.
Not the lab, mind you, where our team of scientists created and improved robotic equipment for the medical field, among other things, but my own private lab where I could work, create, and solve problems on my own.
I’d been in that office, sitting at my desk and running calculations, when Henry Beckett stormed in as he often did. He slapped a folder on the surface in front of me, which is not something he often did.
I continued typing, not taking my eyes off my screens until I had solved a minor issue that the team had brought to my attention the day before and that had been niggling at the back of my brain all night.
Beck waited patiently, dropping to the leather couch he’d also insisted that my office needed.
He always stormed in, but he also knew me well enough to know when not to interrupt me.
As bad as I was at reading faces and understanding other people’s emotions, Beck was great at it.
It’s what made us the perfect business partners.
“We’re a high-tech electronics company, Beck. Why on earth have you placed actual paper on my desk?”
It had taken years of study, but I knew the sound that Beck emitted connoted exasperation. Beck was frequently exasperated with me.
“Because I’ve emailed and messaged you about ten times since last night, and you’re ignoring me, for a change.” Beck’s tone altered as he ended on that prepositional phrase. Yup, I was right. Exasperated.
“Have you even slept since yesterday?” he queried.
“I think I’ve almost got the range-of-motion issue solved on the T-1712.”
“Ani. Need I remind you that you’ve got a team of highly qualified and very well-paid programmers and engineers working on the T-1712’s range-of-motion problem? It’s not something you need to worry about, much less lose sleep over.”
It wasn’t worth arguing with Beck, so I remained silent. He sighed another long-suffering sigh and leaned forward to continue his campaign to get me to pay attention to the folder, the paper folder, sitting on my desk. I went back to typing instead.
“It’s graduation season,” he began. “And we’ve been inundated with resumes. No surprise there. All from impressive schools, all with impressive skills …”
I did acknowledge Beck’s purpose then, interrupting him to do so as I leaned my head around the edge of one monitor to stare at him. “Entry-level employees? That’s what you’ve come to talk to me about?”
“I know. I know. It’s not something you’d normally be bothered with, but you know I like to do a quick review of them before Erin sends them off to the team leads to either reject or fight over.”
“That is generally how things go around here.” It generally did not involve me.
“Yeah, well, when I did so this time, I found this.” Beck stood up and tapped a finger on the folder. I shot him a look, ignoring the paperwork completely and returning to my screens until I found his original email from the night before, entitled “Interesting Resume.”
I’d barely begun scanning it when Beck started in again, dropping back down on the couch with a plunk.
“I know I’m just the business guy and that most of the tech stuff is over my head. But look at that project of his. I’m not wrong, am I? It looks remarkably close to …”
I sat up straighter and tuned Beck out, quickly scanning the resume he was so interested in.
The project detail Benjamin Warren had included as part of his application was indeed strikingly similar to something that I had been toying with in my private lab.
I absorbed the resume and project summary quickly.
“Do you think we need to …” Beck began, but I interrupted him.
“I went to middle school with a Benjamin Warren,” I said absently as the majority of my cerebral cortex focused on the doctoral candidate’s final project and how it compared and contrasted to mine.
For a brief second, I worried that the project was pilfered from me, but I dismissed that fairly quickly.
Though the projects were similar, his calculations and patterns were clearly his own work product.
Fond memories, some of the only fond memories of my childhood, also played in a corner of my mind. Memories of another boy my age but one who was much more adept at maneuvering in the microcosm that was middle school in a small town.
“Warren’s a pretty common name, and this kid is just now getting his doctorate.” Beck grabbed the folder. “He’s only twenty-six so definitely not a contemporary of ours.”
“Young for a doctoral candidate,” I muttered before finally looking up at Beck. “Where’s he from?”
“MIT, like you.”
“I mean, where’s home?”
He flipped through the folder. “Huh, Arizona.”
“Like me.”
“Ani. Do we need to be concerned that this kid stole your work?”
I was about to respond to Beck when a call came through on my cell with the ringtone I had set for my mother. Mom appreciated and respected that I wasn’t much of a talker and rarely called me.
“I should take this, Beck.” I waved the phone at him. It was equally infrequent that I answered my phone even for Mom, so I could see Beck’s surprise, but he stood up, tapped the folder again with a look of concern, and took off.
Mom didn’t wait for me to speak after I pressed the green button on the screen. “Hi, honey,” she dove right in. “Do you remember that sweet boy from down the road when we lived out west, Ben Warren?”