Chapter 5
CHAPTER
FIVE
Four pairs of eyes swivelled towards us as Simon creaked the conference room door open, and Sev and I edged in behind him.
A woman from HR, who might have been called Tracy, sat next to Mel Booker at the head of the battleship-sized table, looking thoroughly unimpressed to be there.
A couple of smart suits I’d never seen in my life flanked them.
Lucky us. We got a whole panel of wrist slappers with degrees in how to do it so Mapp and Green didn’t get Trade Unioned to within an inch of its life when they fired him on the spot.
“Who the hell are you?” Mel straightened in her chair, one elbow poised on the tabletop, her palm-up, one finger skewered right at me. “This is a closed meeting.”
The tip of her finger moved a few degrees to the right, towards the door. I swear the air prickled. “Out.” She didn’t shout. The volume of her voice dropped, taking the temperature of the room right with it.
“Ben Cooper, my interpreter,” Simon clarified.
My puppet hand decided to rise up in a silent and static wave like this was rollcall.
Of course Mel didn’t recognise me. Simon always had their one-on-ones without me. Technically, he only needed me in groups, barring shitty acoustics and dodgy lighting. The government assessors thought so, anyway.
Clearing his throat to reclaim the attention of the room, he continued. “Really, we should thank him for coming in this early.”
Oh what a cock. Mel looked like she was thinking of creative ways to strangle him already.
Praying for invisibility, I edged down the length of the table towards a teetering stack of chairs, seeing as nobody had set a spare out for me. Three full miles away, Simon strolled to the front, like he was in charge instead of the CEO.
He did not sit down. He always did like a good power move.
“Quick bit of housekeeping before we kick off, seeing as most of you don’t know me.
” Simon’s words hit a little too loud, even for the size of the space.
Way too bright for the time of morning. “This is my voice: I’m deaf, not drunk.
You don’t need to shout. Look at me and I’m more likely to follow what you’re saying.
The hearing aids only give me enough to read your lips. Do not over-annunciate.”
The top chair of the stack jammed itself to the one underneath as I jostled it, the frames locking solid. Fantastic. I’d just loiter in the corner.
“If you’re not making eye contact, I’m not listening to you. Ben is my BSL interpreter, but he’s not a mind reader, he only has one pair of hands and, sadly, his memory is not photographic. It is a perpetual let down.” Insert canned laughter here.
In my pocket, my phone rumbled, so I snuck a look while Simon carried on.
Gran
Out of digestive biscuits.
Did she lie awake adding groceries to her list?
“Speak one at a time – to me, not him – keep your faces clear, your pens out of your mouths, your arms inside the vehicle at all times and there shouldn’t be any unwanted turbulence.
” Simon’s smile glimmered dark, flashing with a glint of showmanship.
All duck backs and raindrops. “Shall we get started?”
“Wonderful,” Mel drawled. “First thing’s first – we pull together to mitigate the fuck out of this disaster.
Then we’ll talk consequences, shall we Simon?
” Pushing back like she was kicking off from the edge of a pool, she rolled gracefully away from the table.
“I assume you’re all up to speed.” She clicked the remote and the projection screen on the end wall filled with Richard’s flushed-pink paleness – his skin all high definition contrast with the sliver of Simon’s shoulder.
My breath froze in my throat. I needed a six-foot high replay in my life like Sev needed a triple-shot espresso.
“Every major media outlet got a copy of this lovely little clip at midnight.” The wheels of Mel’s desk-chair squeaked faintly as she crossed her legs at the ankles.
“It will be hitting the internet at large this morning and it is not going to be pretty.” The spike of the heel peeking from the hem of her suit trousers was lethal.
But she wasn’t going to kill anyone. Because only me and Sev knew it was Simon up there too.
And if anyone could convince her it wasn’t him with Richard, it was Simon.
“Let me be clear, this coming out of our house isn’t just embarrassing, it’s brand damaging.” Those two words hung in the air. Weighted with Mel’s disapproval, they settled into the thick silence. I wanted to duck my head and grovel for forgiveness and I hadn’t even done anything.
Mapp and Green traded on reputation. Simon got the best jobs because the best people went with the best company. Messing with that was unforgivable.
Across the space, Simon very slowly, visibly inhaled, lips rounding as he blew out again, holding my eye. Breathe. Bloody hell, I wasn’t supposed to be more of a mess than him.
“Sev, I believe we’ve narrowed down the leak to the third-party editing team.
Good job.” Mel carried on, uncaring whether I was signing or not.
The lawyers nodded. Tracy typed so fast her fingers blurred.
“It seems to be externally prompted. Which is a small mercy. We’ll need to tighten up processes going forward.
Sign offs, raw footage reviews. Access.” She steepled her fingers, and I scrambled to get my interpreting together before she decided to feed either of us to the pool of sharks she probably kept in the basement. “Lessons will be learned.”
“Now, Simon.” Mel pinned him with her full attention. “The mess needs cleaning up, darling. I’m very keen to hear your ideas on protecting your client from the fallout.” I didn’t trust the way she looked at him. Her smile stretched too thin and too tight. “What do you propose? I’m all ears.”
“Thanks Mel.” Simon matched her smile with a fuller, warmer one.
He’d make all the fake bits real through sheer willpower.
“The room and the angles are obviously recognisable. For my money, pushing the deepfake angle is the best we can do here. AI is very sophisticated – we’ve seen things like this before.
Frankly, it’s a rather boring attempt to stir—”
“Sev tells me it’s not AI. Wouldn’t be a good look to be caught faking a deepfake, darling. Next strategy?”
Eyes flicking away from my hands, back to her, Simon cleared his throat. The lawyers leaned in, waiting.
“Well nothing here shows faces,” Simon said, “which puts us at a clear advantage. All we need to do is cast doubt on who’s in it. A really thorough debunking of why it isn’t Richard should do it, don’t you think?”
I held my breath, mentally crossing my fingers, waiting for Mel’s buy in.
Thoroughly debunking Richard was the whole bloody problem.
Simon was right though – it couldn’t take much to change the narrative.
It could be anyone up there – anyone pasty enough.
He could absolutely sell this as Not-Richard.
And if he did, no one would get fired because it wouldn’t be newsworthy.
Richard would get his Wedding of the Year, and Mel could keep her company reputation, and maybe, after all this blew over, Simon would come for one measly pint with me to say thank you for not dropping him in it.
“The thing is, Simon.” Mel leaned forward, hands clasped together on the table. “It looks an awful lot like you up there with him.”
Bollocks.
Mel’s voice stayed terrifyingly light, shot through with the steely vein of her displeasure.
“Otherwise, darling, I’d be with you. Claim it’s been blown up out of nothing.
But we’re not going to be able to, with you standing next to him arranging press conferences, and all the journalists he’s ever given interviews going hang on a minute, that Simon bloke looks awfully familiar.
” Her smile snapped off. “Are we? No one’s going to believe a bloody word you say. ”
I didn’t dare breathe.
“Come on, Mel,” Simon scoffed. “Be reasonable. It’s a stretch to even say it’s Richard up there just because it’s his house. Let’s not add fuel to the fire with spurious identifications of the other man, shall we?”
If anyone could balls-to-the-wall obfuscate this drama into non-existence, it was him.
Mel leaned back, steepling her fingers. The lawyers leaned back too. “Oh, my. Points for dedication to the narrative, Simon. But I’m going to need something better than claiming he could have hooked up with the milkman. Do you want to talk about the audio, or shall I?”
On the other side of the table, Sev froze. My knuckles cramped. Simon didn’t flinch. “That glitch you mean? Very odd, isn’t it?”
Mel’s eyebrows arched sharply. “Darling, how long do you think a sound identification takes these days? I can tell you it’s a lot less time than it takes to lie to me about what the hell is going on here. Please, do explain.”
Oh, shit. No part of this was working. Not one tiny little bit. Tonight was cursed. Werewolf-level, first-born-children, beast-in-a-castle, cursed. The world swam sideways, my pulse whooshing in my ears like I’d ducked underwater.
Simon steadied a look on me, unblinkingly, and I swore he told me to keep it together through the power of his mind alone. I’d stopped signing, hadn’t I?
Paraphrasing wasn’t proper. But screw proper right now. My throat had a golf ball lodged in it, trying to stop me breathing. Thank god I didn’t have to talk. “She definitely thinks it’s you.”
Simon shut his eyes. When he blinked them open he shaped a remorseful circle against his chest with his fist, right over his heart. “Sorry. Tried my best.”
Oh no. Why was he apologising? What did he mean he tried his best? This couldn’t be the last time I ever sat in a meeting room with him. I wasn’t ready. Me being here was supposed to help him.