31. Talia
Talia
On Friday, Ideal Life converted conference room A/B into Due Diligence Headquarters to manage everything that Omni’s bankers and lawyers needed to review for the acquisition.
While there was a digital database online that housed all the contracts, it was still helpful to have a central location where the Ideal Life employees could stop in if they were working on acquisition-related matters.
Sometimes it was to ask questions; sometimes it was just the camaraderie of being together on a project.
After all, collaboration had been a core philosophy for Ideal Life since its earliest days when it was just Talia and a handful of engineers in a single room, building on an idea and a dream of a better future for humanity.
Even though the company had grown a lot since then, that innate desire to work together still laced its way through the startup.
Talia had put Erin on the acquisition team for the rest of her summer, figuring it was the best way for her to be exposed to a little bit of everything.
Here at Due Diligence HQ, there was talk of financial records for the investment bankers, API source code for Omni’s developers, real estate leases and licensing agreements and even office supply contracts.
A tech business wasn’t only technology; there were so many underlying components that made a company run, and it was good for Erin to see all that.
There were greetings all around, but everyone’s faces also showed the drag of even longer hours than normal, because work on the acquisition was on top of each department’s other responsibilities.
Sleep-heavy eyes were a little more pronounced, yawns were begun and not stifled, and the room was populated with three empty coffee cups per person.
Jody and Jonathan waved her over. “Hey, Talia, you feeling okay?”
“Um, yeah. Why?”
“Nothing,” Jonathan said.
But Jody, ever the blunter of the twins, said, “You’ve looked like a zombie lately.”
Talia tried to shrug it off. She knew the rewinds were starting to cost her, but she’d thought her concealer was hiding it.
Then again, she’d never been any good at makeup.
“Well, everyone here’s working extra hard.
I couldn’t let you have all the fun, right?
Anyway, it’ll all be worth it once this deal closes. ”
Jody eyed her skeptically, but she and Jonathan nodded and got back to work.
Talia settled into a chair on the far end of the table.
She didn’t have anything she had to do here, but after reconnecting with Sam and Libby last night, she’d been reminded how disconnected from people she’d become in general.
Being the boss could be inadvertently isolating, so Talia ditched her private office to work communally for a bit.
Like others, she had a small routine she went through before she could really give in to work, which involved clicking through the major tech news sites to see if anything had happened since the last time she checked.
Talia didn’t necessarily have to have up-to-the-minute knowledge of the goings-on of Silicon Valley.
It was more like cleaning the slate (like how some people needed to clear the notifications on their social media before they could settle), which then allowed her to get started on her own tasks.
At first, Ideal Life Queen Elizabeth had suggested that this was a mild addiction and that Talia could rewrite her neural pathways to avoid it if she put in the effort to retrain her brain.
But it was one of those annoying little habits in life that didn’t inhibit her too much—it only took a few minutes to click through the news sites, as long as there weren’t any big developments to read up on—so Talia had overridden Ideal Life Queen Elizabeth’s suggestion.
Sometimes it was easier to give in to a small nuisance and get it over with than to put in a ton of effort to rewire yourself.
Yes, she knew it was an ironic opinion for the creator of a program made precisely to help people rewire themselves for the better.
Still, Talia let herself go through the motions of checking her news sources—TechCrunch, The Information, and several Substacks by excellent technology journalists who had left mainstream media to write for themselves.
She had almost gotten through all of them without anything noteworthy when Your Gossipy Tech BFF refreshed on her screen, and a new article popped up:
Breaking News: Sugar Daddy Omni Plans to Buy CerebraLink for $1 Billion
Palo Alto, CA—According to multiple sources within OmnisZcience, the company is getting ready to flash its wallet again to buy another startup.
CerebraLink’s IQ5001 chips have been successfully implanted in human clinical trials and not only helped paralyzed soldiers regain control of their legs, but also are making serious headway (sorry, couldn’t help the pun) into sending other kinds of communication into the brain.
What is Omni going to do with this? Who knows, but whatever their plans, I’m sure it’ll bring in boatloads more cash than the $1 billion they’re paying CerebraLink’s happy shareholders. Who needs an IPO these days when Sugar Daddy Omni’s here to make all your wildest dreams come true?
Talia scrolled for more, but that was it. A short piece, not unusual for breaking news when details were still scant. She’d have to check back again later for an update.
CerebraLink wasn’t a company she could rewind to buy stock in, since they were still privately owned. But as Talia looked around Due Diligence HQ, something else occurred to her, and it wasn’t that CerebraLink’s offices would soon look like this, too.
What if it wasn’t coincidental that Omni was going on a buying spree of brain-tech companies like Ideal Life and CerebraLink? Talia had idealistically thought that Omni wanted Ideal Life for the good they could do—that’s how Raj Banerjee and Melanie Goldschmid had pitched it to her.
But what if Omni wanted to use Ideal Life in ways that Talia never intended—combining it with CerebraLink’s ability to communicate to the brain?
She thought about the concern that Sara, her chief privacy officer, had mentioned over some of Omni’s recent due diligence questions.
Once Omni owned both Ideal Life and CerebraLink, they could use Ideal Life customers’ weaknesses for all sorts of things, like persuading them to buy products or services that didn’t make their lives better, only made Omni richer.
What if Talia was selling Ideal Life to create a monstrous advertising AI that would get its talons directly into the people’s heads, invading their subconsciouses so they weren’t even aware of the marketing?
Brain waves indicate that you’re feeling down. Why not buy this chamomile-scented candle to lift your spirits?
Looks like you’re wanting to treat yourself after a hard day. This chocolate cake can be delivered to your door in thirty minutes!
In the opposite of what Ideal Life intended, they wouldn’t even be able to fight against the suggestions made directly into the depths of their brains.
“Oh my fucking god,” she said out loud.
All the typing in the room stopped, and everyone swiveled to look at her.
But she couldn’t tell them about this. Not yet. Not until she was sure.
Ideal Life Queen Elizabeth popped up, about to say something. Talia ripped her glasses off.
Maybe I’m overreacting, she thought, trying to calm herself.
Hopefully she was overreacting.
Talia tried to smile at everyone in the room who was still staring at her and waved away their concern. “Sorry; it’s nothing—just some silly celebrity news. I’ll, uh, go somewhere else so I don’t interrupt you again.”
She grabbed her laptop and fled.
Upstairs in the rooftop garden, she staggered to the wall overlooking downtown and took deep, gulping breaths.
This couldn’t be happening.
Surely she was wrong.
But if she wasn’t…
Talia couldn’t rewind to before she signed the acquisition documents, because the watch only went back as far as twenty-four hours.
And she couldn’t just walk away from the deal.
The termination clause imposed a $1 million termination penalty if it was Ideal Life’s fault that the deal didn’t go through.
Section 8.3 (B) In the event this agreement is terminated by Ideal Life (by choice or through material breach), then Ideal Life shall pay OmnisZcience a termination fee of One Million US Dollars ($1,000,000) (“Ideal Life Termination Fee”) by wire transfer of immediately available funds within two (2) business days after such termination.
That was $1 million they didn’t have to spare; they had only six months of operating funds left in their bank account.
And Talia herself had meager savings, even counting the small amount of BiomeLabs stock she’d recently bought.
The Omni acquisition was supposed to swoop Ideal Life up just before they ran out of money.
Ironically, the original, unchanged version of the past—when the French document had been late, the merger signing had been delayed, and Omni had canceled the deal—would have gotten Talia out of the acquisition without a million-dollar penalty.
But then she would have had the Tinder murder on her conscience.
Was it ever possible to use the watch to make changes that would guarantee a better outcome?
The elevator doors dinged, and Eleanor Davies, CEO of Biome-Labs, stepped onto the roof.
“You look like you could use one of these,” she said in her crisp British accent as she held out a box of cigarettes.
Talia almost said yes out of the habit of listening to Ideal Life Queen Elizabeth; apparently, she had subconsciously accepted that British accents came with authority.
“Is it that obvious I’m stressed?” she asked while declining Eleanor’s offer.