The Cinderella Plan

by Abi Silver

  ‘If I’m convicted, we all know what that market price will be.’

  ‘And, naturally, you’ll have to relinquish your place on the board.’

  Martine stood up. ‘We are nowhere near that stage. You said that’s only if James is found guilty.’

  ‘All right,’ Bruce ran a finger around the inside of his collar. ‘The third resolution can wait. I drafted it so that it read “in the event of James being convicted…” so we could move quickly if that happened, but I can see it’s an emotive issue.’

  ‘Damn right it is.’

  ‘What if we refuse to vote?’ Toby said, his face miserable and forlorn. ‘You can’t make us.’

  ‘If you refuse, then I would be obliged to ask the court to authorise me to proceed, on the basis that the company was not being run properly.’

  James turned to Martine and Toby and sat back in his seat. He took a deep breath.

  ‘It’s fine,’ he said finally. ‘Bruce is right about the company. Toby, you were looking for a bit more responsibility. You’ll do a fine job. And we’ll just have to make sure I don’t go to jail. Martine, I want you to vote to do what’s right for the company.’

  ‘What about the Cinderella meeting?’ Toby asked, still pale and anxious.

  ‘It doesn’t start till after that, Bruce, does it? I still get one last chance to be boss of it all.’

  52

  CONSTANCE WAS trying to cram as much as she could into her head about autonomous vehicles. She had looked into James’ background, read through and watched his speeches and tracked the progress of the Autonomous Vehicles Bill. There were so many different issues involved, she could begin to see why things were taking so long.

  On the table next to her sat a letter addressed to her brother, Jermain. It looked official and innocuous enough, a white, rectangular envelope, with a transparent window, allowing the typewritten address to show through. She lifted it to the light, in the vague but ultimately forlorn hope that more of the content of the letter would be visible.

  She returned to her work, but the letter was distracting her and she couldn’t focus. Instead she diverted onto Twitter, finding herself trawling back through Neil Layton’s Tweets, a mixture of anger and bitterness, logic and non sequitur, interspersed with heart-breaking photographs.

  @AlanTillinghurst you should be ashamed of yourself. Supporting the #Bill without enough #trials #signthepetition

  @DepartmentofTransport Did you even talk to @Uber about their #fatal #accidents? #killer #cars #signthepetition

  Bertie Layton. You would have been four next week #RIP my boy #signthepetition

  With each angle Neil covered, Constance made a careful note of the names of anyone mentioned, for research purposes, trying not to dwell too long on any of the photos. Within half an hour she had thirty-two more leads to follow, individual and company names, related technical issues. She couldn’t possibly check up on all of this; she would have to prioritise. But the letter to her brother was winking at her invitingly. She broke off from her work with a huff, shut the letter away in the kitchen drawer and then messaged Jermain a curt, Post arrived for you. C.

  Two hours later, when he hadn’t replied, she had made her decision. She carried the envelope over to the window and allowed the steam from the kettle to pour over it. Now it opened fairly easily, although the whole letter took on a rather flaccid appearance, which she would have to explain when Jermain eventually turned up to claim it. With shaking hands, she opened the folded white page and found it bore no writing at all other than Jermain’s name and her address. Inside it was a small, printed, formal pay slip.

  53

  JAMES AND TOBY were waiting for the remaining players to arrive for the Cinderella meeting. James wanted Toby next to him and, after his conversation with Martine, Toby was not going to complain about remaining in close proximity to his mentor and a few steps away from Peter.

  Toby shook hands with Peter, Jeremy and Will. Did Peter’s sharp, abrupt squeeze of his hand carry any particular meaning? He had paid little attention to body language when they had met clandestinely, a few weeks before, but now everything had changed. He sensed a wave of colour washing over his face but, luckily, the other men were busy settling themselves and watching James.

  ‘Thank you all for coming,’ James began. ‘I called this meeting, primarily because it’s the end of October and we’ve heard nothing more about the publication of the list. Peter, we wanted to give you the opportunity to explain this further delay. If you recall, you sat in that very same chair, I believe, in August and reassured us all, that our cars would be out on the roads by now.’

  ‘I have to say that if that is the purpose of today’s meeting, it will be very short,’ Peter replied.

  Toby laughed out loud, and every eye in the room turned on him. After an initial frosty glare, James joined in with a low chuckle.

  ‘That’s what I like about our meetings. Always conducted in a light-hearted manner,’ he said.

  Finally, Peter smiled too, and his smile encompassed Toby, who looked away. ‘No point us losing our sense of humour, is there?’ Peter said. ‘But I thought it would have been obvious that your accident has had a significant impact on our proposed timetable.’

  ‘It shouldn’t change a thing,’ James replied. ‘If anything, it shows how important it is for us to push on and not be diverted.’

  ‘I don’t quite see how slaughter on the roads, at the hands of one of your vehicles, will endear your product to the general public,’ Peter persisted.

  ‘It would have been much worse with a conventional car.’ Toby spoke clearly and, for a second time, everyone stared at him.

  ‘You can’t possibly say that.’

  ‘I have all the information here about SEDA’s superior safety features, compared with ordinary cars,’ Toby said, tapping his screen. ‘I’d be happy to show you or send them on after the meeting. James might also have died if this had been a regular Toyota or a VW. He would almost certainly have hit the concrete barrier.’

  ‘I’m not sure the public’s sympathies lie with James at the moment, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Maybe not at this precise moment,’ James took over. ‘And that’s right. And I don’t expect sympathy. It’s right and proper that we mourn the victims of this tragedy. But if it’s explained properly, comprehensively, by someone in a position of power and responsibility, they will begin to see why we mustn’t let this stop our progress. That would be an even bigger tragedy. Alan has the ear of the media. He can tell it like it is and they’ll listen.’

  ‘And how, precisely, is it?’ Peter was beginning to get cross.

  ‘The car was not in autonomous mode,’ Toby said. ‘“Minimal damage.” That’s how the algorithm works. James’ car could not have hit the family, if it had been in autonomous mode. It’s just not possible.’

  ‘Is that right, James? Are you accepting you were driving the car when it crashed?’ Peter kept his gaze fixed on Toby. Toby, in turn, was looking all the time at James. James scrutinised Peter’s words for any hint of gloating, but found none.

  ‘That’s how it looks at the moment,’ he replied gravely.

  ‘I’m truly sorry to hear that,’ Peter said. ‘This must be terrible for you. Those are my personal sentiments which I wanted to express.’ He scratched at his chest. ‘But I have to ask, to salvage something from the wreckage of this project, whether you will be able to give me an official statement, from the company, to that effect?’

  ‘The crash is still being investigated by the police,’ Toby chipped in, and Peter raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Yes,’ James continued. ‘Toby’s right. I’ve received a copy of an expert report which appears to indicate that the car was in manual mode at the time of the collision. Peter, your man prepared it. You must have seen it?’

  ‘I’ve seen it but it’s the product
of an independent expert.’

  ‘If the report proves to be correct, then SEDA will provide a statement to that effect, but we are not there yet. So I don’t see any wreckage – quite the contrary. But assuming that will be the conclusion, can you assure me that the list will be published as promised?’

  Peter held James’ stare. ‘James. You’re not thinking straight. It’s understandable with the criminal charges hanging over you?’

  ‘Criminal charges?’ Jeremy tilted his chair back until the front legs lifted off the ground. Will, who had been fidgeting in his chair from the outset, began to leaf through screens on his phone.

  ‘This is a very tricky situation,’ Peter persisted.

  ‘You’re not publishing the list…’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘So Alan is reneging…’

  ‘No one is doing any “reneging” or anything quite so dramatic!’ Peter rose to his feet and then promptly sat down again, like a rotund jack-in-the-box. ‘Even with a statement from SEDA, people are scared. Their trust has been shattered. We have to tread carefully, not just bulldoze on. And we could easily complain about your dilatory behaviour too, if we weren’t all feeling those warm feelings of cooperation, which have featured so highly throughout the life of this project.’ Peter smiled at Toby again, and Toby, glancing up for a moment, smiled back this time, although his right leg had begun to jump around erratically under the table.

  ‘Don’t minute this part of the meeting, will you,’ Peter waved at Toby, and Toby’s fingers dropped off his keyboard and onto his knees, where they attempted to calm his errant leg. Out of the corner of his eye, he sought out James’ direction, but James was focusing on Peter again, his mouth set in a thin line.

  ‘You still haven’t agreed to allow access to our cyber security team, which I requested at the same meeting you remember so vividly,’ Peter continued. ‘And – surprise, surprise – none of your peers have either. In fact, the two who agreed previously have now “thought better” of that agreement. Would you happen to know why that is?’

  ‘This is nothing to do with data security. One hiccup and you’re throwing in the towel.’

  ‘It was a fatal accident and you were behind the wheel!’

  ‘And I have to live with that. But if everyone had given up, in the history of the world, when they had suffered setbacks, we would still be living in caves.’

  ‘I’m not sure I go along with any of this.’ Jeremy had loosened his tie, when he took a seat at the table, and now he removed it, rolled it up and placed it on the table.

  ‘I don’t see why you’re bothered. You’re not in any worse situation than you were before,’ James said, ‘and it’s possible you’ll end up so much better off.’

  ‘And how do you reach that conclusion?’ Jeremy said.

  ‘If my car was being driven manually, then the conventional insurance rules apply.’

  ‘Thank you, James. I don’t need a lesson in how insurance policies work. I think Peter’s right and you really have lost the plot. I don’t care about who is going to pay this time,’ Jeremy said. ‘Our three hundred members have signed up to all of this, on the promise of a huge reduction in the number of accidents and a streamlined, more cost-effective process for claims. You’re talking about an investigation into the circumstances of this one accident, which has already involved SEDA, the Department of Transport and an independent expert, who certainly won’t come cheap. And it’s all over the press.

  ‘If we have to do this with every accident, we’ll go out of business by Christmas. I’m beginning to agree, reluctantly, with Peter. If the project proceeds, and this is now a big if from me, then maybe we do have to give up trying to allocate blame, we accept that we just have to pay up. But that’s a huge about-turn and we’ll have to ballot members again.’

  ‘You are not entirely wrong…’

  ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence…’

  ‘But you are being short-sighted.’ James rose to his feet as he spoke. ‘Naturally, there will be a requirement for additional investigation during this transitional period only – and on the very rare occasions these collisions occur. I see that as a small price to pay for the long-term benefits we know we will all reap.’ He returned to his seat.

  ‘All right, James. We don’t need your maiden voyage speech again.’ Peter rolled his eyes.

  ‘Our cars have covered 600,000 road miles,’ Toby chipped in, ‘and this is our first accident involving injury to any person. With conventional cars, you have more than four hundred accidents every day including four or five fatalities.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re all talking statistics when two lives have been lost. Two young children.’ Will stood up, shuddered dramatically and glided towards the door. James rose to cut him off.

  ‘Please!’ James’ mellifluous voice echoed across the room and Will faltered. ‘My friend, you are right to remind us of the human cost. It’s in the forefront of my mind too, all the time. How could it not be? The Layton family – which has been irreversibly damaged – like it or not, will require financial assistance. I am sure Jeremy was only thinking of their wellbeing and the certainty that the government needs to bring to other families countrywide, when he reminded us of the insurance angle.’

  ‘We’ve got two children killed by your car and a woman seriously injured. I’ve been happy to put my weight and the weight of my organisation behind you, as you know. I’ve had people spend hours on calls and on the streets with leaflets, I’ve retweeted constantly and we’ve formally endorsed all your ads. But if your product is flawed, I couldn’t possibly support it.’

  ‘The product isn’t flawed,’ James remained calm, although one corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. ‘And once the expert report on the vehicle’s EDR is made public then I am 100% certain that you will all have the reassurance you need about the product. Now, I understand that you may feel sufficiently distressed to wish to absent yourself from the remainder of our important discussions. But, from a professional as well as a personal perspective I, for one, would welcome your continued contribution.’

  As Will hesitated on the threshold, Peter rose and straightened his jacket.

  ‘I’m not sure there’s much I can add to what I’ve already said,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to waste my time cajoling others into remaining in a process which clearly has much to recommend it, or in reminding you of the minister’s reasonable proposals. When you’re ready to let us in, James, Toby, just contact my PA.’

  ‘That’s it then? An ultimatum?’

  ‘I thought I had already made myself clear,’ Peter said. ‘You’re lucky SEDA’s still in the running. If Alan had his way, you would have been categorically rejected as soon as your car touched those children. But I persuaded him, explained we worked as a team, convinced him of the benefits of our project, how much you, personally, had contributed, despite the one or two remaining stumbling blocks we need to overcome.’

  He moved towards the door. ‘He’s a practical man, and a fair one, and he thought, after all your efforts, James, you should at least have the opportunity of proving your innocence, and continuing goodwill in the manner I have described.’

  ‘We don’t have to prove innocence in this country. That’s what they do in dictatorships.’

  Toby had just resumed typing his notes. He paused, fingers in mid-air.

  ‘I’ve bought you some time,’ Peter replied. ‘Six months. Be grateful. But SEDA will need to be fully exonerated at trial, and we require full co-operation as regards the security of your systems and processes and I am relying on you to bring the others into line too. I’ll be off then. And leave the rest of you to work things out.’

  As Peter exited the room, they heard shuffling and raised voices in the corridor. Jane came rushing in, her face red.

  ‘Mr Salisbury,’ she called out nervously. ‘So sorry to inter
rupt, but the police are here. I asked them to wait, but they said they need to see you now.’

  James cleared this throat.

  ‘No problem, Jane. I’m sure you did all you could to make them comfortable. Carry on Toby. We’ll catch up later.’

  James strode out of the room, leaving Toby open-mouthed and Jane in floods of tears.

  54

  ‘SOD’S LAW,’ Judith muttered under her breath repeatedly, as she alternated between checking the time and gazing out of the window and up the street for any sign of Greg. This morning, he had said he would be back around 7, and by 7.30 Judith was climbing the walls.

  And then he arrived, suddenly, with a bunch of flowers and a jaunty air, which was soon dispelled when he was struck by Judith’s grave expression.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked, hurrying to Judith’s side.

  ‘You’re late,’ she managed. Those words, on their own, confirmed to Greg that there was a problem; Judith had never challenged him on timekeeping before.

  ‘Sorry. I was training a new manager. Did I forget something important?’ He laid the flowers down on the table and removed his jacket. ‘Was it my turn to make dinner?’ he said.

  ‘No.’

  Judith wandered over to her bookshelf and stood staring at the spines of the novels she loved; stories about sacrifice, love and loss, many of them from times when women had fewer choices than she had today.

  ‘OK. Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’ Greg’s fingers brushed the table, nudging the flowers in Judith’s direction.

  ‘I think it would be better if you moved back to your flat,’ she said, only spinning around to face Greg once she had spoken.

  Greg opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it.

  ‘I have a lot to deal with, this new case will be taking up so much of my time,’ she continued. ‘I don’t think it’s fair to impose that on you.’