by Heleen Kist
As if on cue, a notification from my Twitter app filled the screen. Having surrendered to a smart phone that could do everything, I understood how people got addicted; how Emily had been unable to step away from social media even though it was hurting her.
There was only one thing I wanted to see on Twitter: the Inciter. The one I’d worked out was the master agitator of armies of keyboard warriors, Incel losers it proved incredibly easy to excite if you knew how.
His was the only account I followed.
He’d gone quiet recently. The groups of trolls who hounded Emily had dissipated as quickly as they’d come, their broken morality not so warped that they would celebrate their success — since success had meant a woman taking her life.
I hoped they’d been scared and shamed into becoming better people. I was probably being naive. A few stragglers still kicked Emily’s corpse; a pathetic act of attention-seeking by someone with an empty life. Why waste my time on them?
The Inciter’s newest tweets showed that the attention of the Incel masses had merely been redirected, like squirrel-seeking Labradors. Their collective fury now burned for an alleged miscarriage of justice: a male student falsely accused of assault at a college in the US whose policies were ‘unconstitutionally, guilty until proven innocent’.
On this matter, I would happily give them the benefit of the doubt, but with utter predictability, it was the assaulted girl who became the target of their vitriol. Their macho language was infused with the belligerent verbs and penile similes of gun ads and motorcycle magazines. They pointed at what she’d been wearing. Why was she dancing sexy like that? And she was drunk!
I became transfixed by the exchanges. The militant rats scurried out in support of the male student who, sure, might have gone a little too far, but was that reason enough to ruin his life forever? He was a model student. A venerated athlete. White. Was a lifetime black mark appropriate for a bad decision lasting twenty minutes?
‘The cunt’, they called her. Argued she should have kept quiet. That it hadn’t been that bad.
You would have thought the Inciter was a US college student himself, from the savageness of his calls to action, his uncanny local knowledge and the intensity with which he stirred up outrage for this particular incident. But his UK spelling gave his foreign status away — not that spelling seemed to be of any importance to any of them. It was like wading through alphabet soup, sometimes.
I skimmed his latest taunts, my revulsion growing with every tweet. How easily they moved on, leaving a trail of ruined lives.
It was harder for me: my friend was dead. And I had no one to blame. The daggers they’d wielded weren’t physical, but they might as well have been. I lost Emily. I longed to punish them — someone.
The Inciter was the closest to a single, identifiable culprit, the one with the most blood on his hands. Trying to find him had already drained me of energy — to the point that when Suki discovered I’d used the Network Impact tool on the Twitter data, she told me to let it go.
I couldn’t. But I was also getting nowhere.
So I was grateful for my new distraction, a much-needed outlet for my grief and frustration. This crazy little Avengers club that made me feel part of something bigger; righting the many wrongs in the world.
I chuckled, remembering when we chose our group name. Suki had raised her hand and said, ‘Can I be the one in the black catsuit?’
‘1960s Emma Peel or Marvel’s Black Widow?’ Claire had asked.
‘Whichever one kicks the most butt.’
36
CLAIRE
Claire refreshed the Instagram feed again, shielding her monitor from her colleagues by placing her briefcase on the desk. The gym photo taken that morning was up to thirty-six likes, twelve more than only a few seconds ago.
She couldn’t believe what a great job Laura had done. The angle was a little weird, with the image taken from above, but it made it even better than she’d hoped. Not only did Darren’s bald patch look bigger than it actually was, he also loomed over Suki like a predator, his giant biceps looking ready to grab her.
Suki had been happy to play honey trap but didn’t want to be recognised. Claire had posted a snap where you could see her hot body, but not her face.
Thirty-nine likes.
It was always going to garner attention. Even if it came from a brand-new account, her cunningly selected hash tags would attract the Scottish PR community in a flash. They were all perpetually glued to Instagram, which was quickly surpassing the other social media platforms when it came to corporate public relations.
Forty-three likes, twelve reposts.
They, her industry colleagues, knew better than to comment. A ‘like’ could always be excused as an unintentional error, caused by a fat thumb. Even reposting could be explained as wanting to share your outrage that such an unflattering photo would have been thrown into the public eye, but to actually comment would be to invite Darren’s wrath.
They might not like him, but they feared him.
Even though there was no name in the caption, it was undoubtedly him. Everyone in this small sector would see that. She’d only typed:
Balding PR man thinks he stands a chance with hot chick. Yeah, right. Move over, grandpa. #PR #Scotland
Claire would have loved to sit there refreshing this page all day, basking in the anonymous glory of her mischief, but work beckoned. The audio and video requirements from the Empisoft conference were getting more complicated by the day.
She placed her briefcase on the floor and opened her email. A roar sounded from behind her boss’s door.
Claire bit her lip to keep from smirking and looked up from her screen, synchronising startled movements and feigned shock with the three colleagues around her. They must all have seen it — but would they admit to that?
Darren almost pulled the door from its hinges emerging into the open plan office. His fists were balled, and his face contorted into a frightening grimace. ‘Does anybody know who did this?’
Murmurs of ‘no’ and ‘what?’ filled the room.
He raised his phone up high and pointed with his left index finger. ‘This Instagram post. How do we get it down? How do I get the bastard who did this?’
‘It’s disrespectful,’ shouted Otto, brown-nosing as usual.
We all jumped up; troops gathered around their chief, ready for instruction. His angry, hoarse breathing was preventing words coming out.
‘I’ll get onto IT,’ suggested someone.
‘That’s pretty pointless. IT can’t do anything more about this than we can,’ said someone else.
Otto stepped to the front. ‘While you guys work out how to take this off Instagram, I’ll reach out to the PR publications and make sure this goes no further.’
Claire wished she’d thought of that. Even though she was behind this, she had no interest in it spreading too far. It was a little joke, lasting maybe a day; something that would dent Darren’s enormous ego just enough that he would possibly look beyond appearances to become a fairer, more reasonable boss.
The more she thought about it, the less it made sense that this would be picked up by those publications — it was hardly news.
Claire went to stand next to Otto. ‘I suspect they won’t even consider posting an article about an unflattering photo.’ She saw Darren’s eyebrow twitch. ‘And is it even that unflattering?’ She spotted Otto about to speak and quickly added, ‘I wouldn’t worry about it too much. You know as well as I do that these things are a flash in the pan. They blow over within a day. Whoever did this — for whatever reason — would have gotten their kicks already.’
Darren relaxed his shoulders and shook his head. ‘That’s probably true. It’s today’s little titbit of entertainment for people who have nothing better to do. You take care of this,’ he said, pointing at Otto. The rest of you get back to work.’
He retreated to his office, self-consciously stroking his bald patch — something she’d never see
n him do before.
‘I’d still keep an eye out for anyone with a camera, Darren. In case the culprit isn’t quite done with you.’ Claire said with a bright-eyed air of false concern.
No harm in stirring things up a little more, was there?
37
ME
Sally stopped by my side as I returned to my desk from re-filling a glass of water.
‘Again?’ she asked. ‘That’s like the third time this morning. What did you do? Eat a box of saltines?’
‘Me? No. I just wanted to stretch my legs.’
‘You’ve got ants in your pants, as my mother used to say.’ She smiled and walked on.
I sat down, shifting in my chair once more as my bum hit the pad. Did I need to pee now? Christ, what was wrong with me?
Thank goodness Sally didn’t think I was hung over. Claire had asked Suki and me out for a drink at Hotel du Vin to celebrate the success of her little revenge plot. She’d been in a great mood. I had only one, small white wine as we celebrated. I wanted to believe that Emily had a good giggle, too — wherever she was.
A cloud passed in front of the sun, casting a shadow across my desk. A shiver ran over my arm. Today’s plan had higher stakes.
I distracted myself with work until the clock on the bottom of my screen hit noon. I watched Justin get up from his desk. Nice and punctual. I walked a few steps behind him as he strode towards reception. Would Claire be nervous too? She was the one kidnapping him with the pretext of needing to run him through practice interviews in a radio-style recording studio she was able to borrow from a friend.
I watched Justin skip through Empisoft’s main door and have a little word with Suki approaching the building, before jumping into a taxi outside.
‘Okay, that’s him gone,’ said Suki as she joined me. ‘Until what time did Claire say she could keep him there?’
‘Two thirty,’ I said. ‘Her friend needs the studio again. Any longer than that, Justin would get bored anyway. It’s not like the interviews are for real yet. And Claire can only ask questions unrelated to the acquisition because she’s not supposed to know.’
Suki curved her arm across my shoulder. ‘Now, I only dropped by to make sure you’re okay. You cool to go ahead with this? It’s pretty risky. You don’t know these guys like Justin does and there are a number of ways this could go. I have only limited experience with your board. I can’t be sure which way they’ll take it.’
‘I know. I heard you.’ I swallowed, suppressing the anxious flutters inside. ‘And I know that you had some other thoughts, but they would take too long — time we don’t have. Some of these board members have been with us for a long time. They’ve always seemed professional to me. I’d like to think they knew me well enough, having met me a few times, to know that I’m not the type of person to create drama for drama’s sake.’
Suki retrieved her arm and patted my back. ‘Remember, you’re not doing anything wrong. You’re only after what’s fair. Frankly, if it had been me, I’d be going for Justin’s jugular.’ She looked at her watch. ‘The conference call is scheduled to start in fifteen minutes. There is one director dialling in from a mobile, which isn’t ideal. It’s good they were willing to convene at such short notice. Of course, they’ll expect it will be about the acquisition — not to mention Justin leading the call.’
I shifted my weight from foot to foot. ‘Are you coming? I’m going to set up the audio... After I pop to the loo.’
‘No, I’ve got a mountain of work to do in the office. Besides, I told you, I can’t be seen to have anything to do with this.’ She winced. ‘Sorry.’
‘That’s okay.’ I shrugged. ‘This is something I need to do for me anyway.’
‘Listen. Take it easy. We’ve gone over what to say. You’ll be fine.’ Suki retreated, holding both thumbs up. ‘Good luck.’
‘Thanks.’ The lump in my stomach grew as my safety buoy floated away.
A mass of black cables snaked across the boardroom table, to feed the telecom- and electricity-starved. I untangled the HDMI from the Ethernet and the charging cables and tucked them neatly into the rectangular recess in the middle of the snazzy, white table. The tidying served as a helpful distraction while time ticked on.
A triangular conference call speaker stood near the head of the table. I would have preferred not to use it, to have the comforting weight of a telephone receiver in my hand, but I needed the room’s privacy and the room was not set up for people having meetings on their own.
When the time came, I dialled the number followed by the organiser’s PIN Suki had given me. I stated my name and heard my slightly shaky voice played back to me.
The automatic operator announced two new participants, who had voiced their names so quickly I didn’t catch them.
‘Hello?’ I said.
An authoritative male voice spoke. ‘Who is this?’
‘It’s Laura Flett. I’m taking the meeting today. Justin is away.’
‘What do you mean?’ the man asked. ‘Where is he?’
Further protestations were drowned out by the operator announcing another participant, who spoke straight over the others.
‘Hi it’s Jim. Sorry I’m late. I’m on a train.’
‘Hello Jim. This is Laura Flett. Justin isn’t here. I suggest we get to business. I know you’re all busy and given you’re on a train, we might lose you.’
‘As the Chairman I find it a little unorthodox for you to sit in, but I’ll allow it.’ A voice I now knew how to identify said. ‘Who’s all here?’ The names given meant that, minus Justin, they had the full, though faceless, complement of the board. ‘Where are we on the acquisition, Laura? I’m assuming this is why we’re having the call.’
I wrung my hands together and took a last sneak peek at my script.
‘There is a matter of current shareholding that needs to be addressed,’ I began. ‘It has come to my attention that Justin received growth options at the last funding round. When the acquisition goes through at the anticipated sale price, these will be worth a million pounds.’
Only two of the three directors had been on the board when the share options were granted, the third director having come along after. That one asked, ‘Remind me, when was this?’
The Chair intervened, ‘And what is the problem, Laura?’
I ran my tongue over my teeth. My mouth was bone dry. ‘Firstly, I want to affirm that these growth options were deserved. They pay out only if the company exits at a valuation in excess of ten times what it was at the last round. Achieving that is incredible and well beyond what any of us expected to happen eighteen months ago.’ I paused, briefly closing my eyes to collect myself. ‘Except Justin wasn’t alone in deserving that. And in accepting that reward, he breached an agreement that he and I made when we founded the company. We would always be rewarded fifty-fifty.’
The Chair sputtered, ‘I don’t remember ever seeing such an agreement’
‘It was a verbal agreement, but it predates any subsequent shareholder agreements.’ I replied, fully aware of the weakness in my argument. ‘When we started out, we had an equal number of ordinary shares and equal pay. You will know that this parity has been maintained until today — except for these growth options. I only learnt about them recently, since they were only ever referred to in board minutes that I do not get to see. Imagine my surprise at finding in the shareholder schedule that was prepared for PeopleForce and lists all the shares and options that I, as the female founder, was not in fact benefiting from equal treatment.’
I had chosen that last line carefully, knowing that in today’s corporate governance environment, the merest hint of gender discrimination could open the doors to lawsuits. Suki had warned me not to play this card too strongly, in case they called my bluff. Would they, though? So close to a fabulous exit that would give them each lots of cash? I was counting on them being honourable, or at minimum being greedy.
‘As I recall,’ one of the directors said, ‘these were gr
anted at the time that Justin was closing some big deals with large, blue chip customers. He travelled around the world for months negotiating, suffering a pretty poor lifestyle. He’s the one who demanded some sort of extraordinary reward for extraordinary results. I remember there being a threat of resignation.’
Suki had predicted this tactic: them creating the impression of a large contrast between contributions that Justin and I made to the company, to undermine the strength of any formal complaint. And it seemed that the Chair clocked onto what his colleague was doing because he took over with, ‘And although we recognise the value that you bring to Empisoft, Ms Flett, Justin is the one who had taken on the vast responsibility of being CEO and the personal corporate governance risks associated with being a board director of this company — a role I believe you rejected?’
He’d called me a formal ‘Ms Flett’ this time. My chest constricted. But I’d anticipated this line of defence and made my next move.
‘I recognise that from a day to day occupation point of view, there is no parity of roles. That has always been the case. The equality of our respective contributions, however, remains. There would be no company at all without my idea. My master’s thesis is the foundation of everything we do here. There would be no company at all without my having developed the initial software models. And while Justin was building the company and growing the commercial side, I continued to invent new features without which there would be nothing to sell today.’
‘Yes, and —’
‘Please let me finish.’ I clenched my jaw, expecting a rebuttal — how dare I tell these men to shut up? The line went quiet. Perhaps there was hope. ‘The tenfold uplift in valuation did not come from a tenfold uplift in revenues. It wasn’t’ all Justin’s sales. It also reflects the potential of our R&D programme — my programme. And if anything, our corporate finance advisers’ current thinking is that it is undervalued.’
