Chapter Twenty-Three
The ping of an incoming message cuts through my concentration. I blink, pulling myself out of the intricate maze of code I’ve
been navigating for the past few hours. The chat window on my second monitor blinks insistently.
Come to my office.
Tony’s message is brief, almost curt. I frown, a knot of unease forming in my stomach. We don’t have our weekly one-on-one
scheduled for today. In fact, I distinctly remember Tony mentioning he’d be in back-to-back meetings all afternoon.
I glance at the clock: 3:47 p.m. Too late for a casual check-in, too early for end-of-day emergencies. Something’s off. Normally, he would just swing by my
desk if he needed a quick word.
I take a deep breath, trying to quell the flicker of anxiety. Maybe it’s nothing. But as I stand up, smoothing down my slightly
rumpled blouse, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s very wrong.
The walk to Tony’s office feels longer than usual. Each step on the polished concrete floor echoes slightly, a rhythmic counterpoint
to the quickening beat of my heart. I pass by the open-plan desks, noticing a few curious glances from my colleagues. Do they
know something I don’t?
I pause outside his office, my hand hovering over the door handle. Through the frosted glass, I can make out several silhouettes. Tony isn’t alone. I channel my inner Athena, summoning whatever strategic wisdom and courage I can muster.
Steeling myself, I knock and enter.
The atmosphere hits me like a physical force. Tony is behind his desk, his usually warm brown eyes now clouded with something
I can’t quite read. Disappointment? Anger? But it’s the other occupants of the room that make my blood run cold.
The Chads are here. All three of them.
Chet, with his hair gel and shark-tooth smile, is leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Chadwick, tall and lean, stands
ramrod straight near the window, his face a mask of professional concern. And Chas is seated directly across from Tony, his
fingers steepled in front of him like some cartoon villain.
They all turn to look at me as I enter, and for a moment, their expressions are carefully neutral, almost sober. But I’ve
worked with them long enough to see past the facade. There’s a glint in their eyes, a barely suppressed sharklike excitement
that sends a chill down my spine.
“Harriet,” Tony says, his voice carefully modulated. “Please, have a seat.”
As I lower myself into the chair next to Chas, I can feel the weight of their collective gaze. The Chads exchange quick glances,
a silent communication passing between them. Whatever’s about to happen, they’ve planned this well.
The knot in my stomach tightens. This isn’t just bad news. This is an ambush.
“We’ve uncovered some . . . discrepancies,” Tony begins, his words measured. “Regarding E.M.M.A.’s data logs.”
My heart skips a beat, but I keep my face neutral. “What kind of discrepancies? And why were you in the data logs to begin with? That’s not your project.”
“Don’t dodge.” Chet leans forward, that predatory smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Focus on the discrepancies.
Why don’t you tell us, Harriet? After all, you should know E.M.M.A. better than anyone.”
I swallow hard, buying time, trying to get where he is going. “We are working with vast amounts of data. You’ll need to be
more specific.”
“Our system flagged unauthorized modifications to E.M.M.A.’s core algorithms.” His voice drips with false concern. “The alert
was quite specific—someone was tampering with Gale Knight’s parameters.”
Chadwick slides a tablet across the table. “Take a look,” he says, his voice dripping with false concern. “Why were there
these interesting override commands in E.M.M.A.’s so-called matchmaking algorithms?”
My fingers feel numb as I take the tablet. Busted by our security AI monitoring my AI—a perverse form of justice. The screen
displays a series of log entries, time stamps, and command lines. My override commands stand out in stark relief, a digital
trail of my deception. It was from when I didn’t want E.M.M.A. to recommend me as a match.
“Care to explain?” Tony asks, his disappointment palpable.
“Yes.” I take a deep breath, my mind racing. “I . . . I made some adjustments to E.M.M.A.’s output,” I begin cautiously.
Chas interjects, his voice sharp: “Adjustments? You forced E.M.M.A. to recommend suboptimal matches, overriding her core functionality.”
“It wasn’t like that,” I protest, but the words sound weak even to my own ears.
“Then what was it like?” Tony asks, leaning back in his chair.
“Because it looks like you manipulated E.M.M.A.’s data to hide the fact that she identified you as the perfect match for Gale.
I get that might have been an awkward output, but this is a client.
We can’t go making recommendations. I should have at least been looped in. Where’s the trust at that point?”
The accusation hangs in the air, heavy and damning. I feel a flush creeping up my neck, a mix of shame and anger. “You don’t
understand,” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady. “E.M.M.A.’s algorithms are complex. Sometimes they need fine-tuning.”
Chet scoffs. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
I turn to face him, my frustration building. “E.M.M.A. is an evolving AI, capable of understanding nuances that go beyond
simple data points. But as I’m working with it so much, I was worried there was built-in bias to favor me.”
A white lie.
“By lying?” Chadwick interjects. “By forcing it to recommend other candidates when she had clearly identified you as the optimal
match?”
“You’re oversimplifying things,” I argue, but I can see I’m losing ground. While this shouldn’t be as big of a deal as they
are blowing it up to be, the fact of the matter is that I was dishonest.
The Chads exchange glances, a silent communication passing among them. They can sense they’ve got something on me.
Tony sighs, rubbing his temples. “You’ve potentially compromised the integrity of our flagship product.”
I lean forward, desperate to make them understand. “This is on me. But look at the grand scheme of things—”
“That’s enough,” Chas cuts me off. “You violated company policy and potentially put us at legal risk.”
The room falls silent for a moment, the weight of the accusation settling over us. I can feel the Chads’ eyes on me, their barely concealed triumph making my skin crawl.
My blood runs cold. “What do you mean?”
“Remember.” Chet jumps in, barely containing his excitement. “We’ve been developing a streamlined AI chatbot tool for athletes.
It’s simpler, cheaper, and frankly, less prone to . . . unpredictable behavior.”
“You can’t be serious,” I breathe, looking from face to face, searching for any sign of doubt or hesitation. “E.M.M.A. is
light-years beyond a simple chatbot. It’s not even the same universe. It has the potential to—”
“Potential is one thing,” Chadwick says smoothly. “Results are another. Our chatbot delivers consistent, measurable outcomes
without the need for constant . . . adjustments.”
The implication is clear, and it stings. I turn to Tony, pleading. “You can’t let them do this. E.M.M.A. is the cornerstone
of TrainTech’s future. That’s it. End of story.”
Chas clears his throat loudly. “We’re not finished here, Harriet,” he says, his voice laced with a smug satisfaction that
makes my skin crawl.
I slowly sink back into my seat, dread pooling in my stomach. “What else is there?”
Chas exchanges a pointed look with the other Chads before turning his attention back to me. “Given the seriousness of the
situation, we demand that Gale be notified immediately.”
My heart lurches. “Gale? This is an internal matter—”
“This ceased to be just an internal matter the moment you manipulated E.M.M.A.’s results to hide your perfect match status
with the beta tester,” Chet interjects, his eyes glinting with malice.
I take a deep breath, trying to regain my composure. “I understand your concern, but I think it would be best if I spoke to
Gale privately about this. It’s a delicate situation—”
“Absolutely not,” Chadwick cuts in sharply. “We can’t trust you to convey the full extent of your actions. For the sake of transparency, we demand this conversation happens right here, on speakerphone.”
I look to Tony, hoping for some support, but he just shakes his head slightly. “They’re right, Harriet. We need to be completely
transparent about this.”
Feeling cornered, I nod reluctantly. “Fine. I’ll call him.”
With shaking hands, I pull out my phone and dial Gale’s number. The room is silent save for the sound of the ringtone echoing
from the speakerphone. Each ring feels like an eternity.
Finally, Gale’s voice fills the room. “Harriet? Is everything okay? It’s still work hours.”
I swallow hard, hearing the exhaustion in his voice, and acutely aware of four pairs of eyes boring into me. “Gale, I . . .
I’m here with Tony and some of the TrainTech staff. There’s something we need to discuss with you. It’s about E.M.M.A.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “Okay,” Gale says slowly. “What’s going on?”
I open my mouth to speak, but Chas beats me to it. “We’ve uncovered some disturbing information about manipulations to E.M.M.A.’s
algorithm, specifically regarding you and Harriet.”
“What?” Gale’s confusion is evident even through the phone. “What are you talking about?”
I close my eyes, bracing myself for the fallout. “Gale, I . . . I manipulated E.M.M.A.’s results. She originally identified
us as a perfect match, but I overrode the system to recommend the other two candidates instead—Seraphim and Jasmine.”
The silence that follows is deafening. I can practically hear Gale processing this information.
“But why?” he finally asks, his voice a mixture of hurt and bewilderment. “Why would you do that?”