What I get is even worse than that.
“On behalf of Corvus, I’m pleased to offer one point five billion for the acquisition of Ultra.”
That number is a punch to my gut. No, it’s like a full-body blow, knocking the wind right out of me and shorting my brain.
The woman pulls the contracts out from her briefcase, thick and pristine. “We’re happy to let your lawyer look things over, but we’re also ready to sign today.”
This is too fast. Grace messaged me just yesterday, and they’re offering this much for the company today?
Fuchs knows what I’m up to, and he’s decided that a billion dollars is worth silencing me forever. He’s going to buy the company—which means he owns all my intellectual property too—and then he’ll quietly sink my encryption program, the same as he’s doing to everyone else. If he owns it, he gets to kill it.
It’s truly brilliant to bring this offer before the Bastards. I’d counted on him keeping things quiet, as he likes, but he’s outmaneuvered me here. The Bastards don’t care if my encryption ever sees the light of day—they only want to make money on their investment. The sooner, the better. Fuchs is offering them the quickest, easiest money they’ve ever made.
I have to slow this down, make it not easy. My thoughts and heart are frantic as I search for any kind of excuse…
“This is… unexpected,” I say, which is the understatement of the year. “We haven’t even had any initial talks.”
Usually a company and a start-up will circle each other for a while, feeling each other out. And the start-up will call a few other companies, let them know a sale is in the air, the better to start a bidding war.
“Apparently when Arne makes up his mind, it’s made up,” Mark says. He’s smiling like Arne is an old friend and isn’t this kind of thing just like him?
Stupid me for not telling Mark exactly what old Arne is like before this. I scramble for some other response to Minerva than The answer is hell no.
“Our lawyer,” I say too quickly. “It will take him some time to go through all this.”
Maybe I can have him take forever, and we can have something to sell to Pixio in the meantime. Although they’ll have to offer more than a billion dollars for it…
Jesus, I’m in deep shit here.
“Good news.” Mark is still smiling like he has no idea I’m freaking out. But why would I be? This is great news. A normal founder would be over the moon about this. “Elliot is heading over, and he’ll do an initial read-through right here.” He glances over at the door. “And here he is now.”
Fuck and double fuck. I sigh inwardly, then look out over my team. “Can everyone take a coffee break? A long one?”
We’ll need privacy for this, and there’s no conference room in our office. So I’ve got to kick my poor team out.
Everyone rises and heads for the door, still smiling. Except for Doc. When she catches my eye, she mouths, What the hell?
I give a slight shake of my head. She takes the hint and disappears with the others.
When I face who’s left, I’m confronted with Mark’s smiling, Elliot’s scowling, and Minerva Dyne’s smirking. Great. So this is going to be just awesome.
“Let me make some space for us.” I point to the longest table we have, then start to clear it.
Mark comes over to help me. “What’s wrong?” he asks under his breath.
So he actually noticed. It’s a little late now to ask though. “I’m fine,” I hiss back. I straighten up. “All ready. Anyone want coffee?”
“I’ll get it.” Mark saves me from having to play secretary.
When we’re all settled, the three of us facing off against Minerva with our mugs in front of us, Elliot pulls out a slim pair of reading glasses from his front jacket pocket. “The contract, please.”
“Of course.” Minerva’s expression is oddly blank as she passes it over. She could be a robot for all the emotion she’s showing.
Maybe she is. Maybe Corvus has finally perfected androids or something.
Or maybe the shock of all this is making me loopy.
Mark is smiling again, because of course he is. Fuchs is his friend, his colleague, not someone to fear. This deal will just be another gold brick in the wall of Bastard Capital’s reputation.
He’d never understand if I refuse this offer. Not without my spilling all my secrets.
The rustling of the paper as Elliot does his inspection is loud in the silence.
Minerva doesn’t look like she wants to pass the time with conversation. Mark, being Mark, tries anyway. “So you’re Arne’s new assistant? When did you start?”
Her gaze doesn’t warm even a single degree as it flicks over him. “Three months ago.”
“Is George still with Corvus then?”
“No.”
She doesn’t say anything else. Mark’s smile drops, and I can tell he’s struggling not to turn into bad cop.
Thankfully, Elliot pushes the contract away then, and he doesn’t look happy. Maybe he can save me from having to say no by refusing her right now on some technicality.
“How long have you been planning this offer?” he says. “You must have drawn this up before Bastard Capital invested.”
She makes a slight, dismissive noise. “Our lawyers drew it up after. Not everyone has trouble writing contracts.”
Elliot actually flinches. Then he turns a shade of red that clashes horribly with his gray tweed. “I certainly don’t. The only trouble anyone has is if they try to break one of my contracts.”
“Oh, your reputation is supposed to precede you?” She says it as coolly as she does everything else, so some might miss the bite in it.
But Elliot doesn’t. It’s clear that after only a few minutes’ acquaintance, he loathes this woman.
I don’t like her much myself. Anyone who does Fuchs’s dirty work has to be a bad person, lacking in moral fiber.
“It’s not supposed to,” Elliot says. “It does.”
A smile, hard and unkind, twitches at the edge of her mouth. “Is everything in order then?” She pulls the contract back to her, already anticipating his answer.
Elliot pulls it back. “No. I’ll need more time to review this, and Ultra’s lawyer will have to as well. Send me an electronic copy as soon as you can.” He pauses a bare moment. “Which you should have done before this meeting. It’s almost like you’re trying to get away with something here.”
She actually, actually blushes. Not anything major, just a spot of pink in her cheeks, but it’s enough to floor me. Finally a human reaction from the ice queen.
And Go, Elliot. If he’s suspicious about this whole thing, so much the better.
“Fine.” Minerva rises, her expression blank as blank can be again. “I’ll email you.” She heads for the door, then stops halfway. “Oh, and one more thing. There’s a time limit on that offer. One week to say yes. Or we withdraw the deal.”
With that last twist of the knife, she’s gone. I can only stare after her for long moments, trying to breathe.
I am beyond fucked now.
“January.” Mark is holding my arm, trying to get my attention. “What the hell is going on?”
I stand up, ignoring Elliot, and grab Mark’s hand. Then I’m dragging him out of the office and into the hallway while he splutters with shock.
Well, he’ll just have to get used to it. Because I’m about to tell him all my secrets. Even the most shocking ones.
Chapter 20
Something has snapped in January.
I’m not sure what it was about Fuchs’s offer—or his cold assistant—that set her off, and I hardly have time to ask her as she drags me down the hall. Besides, I don’t want her to stop whatever she’s doing.
My gut tells me she’s finally going to reveal whatever dark thing has been driving her all this time. And my gut is rarely wrong.
She stops by the elevators, looking frantically around us. But there’s no one there.
“Janua
ry, stop.”
Her eyes are too wide, searching, searching.
“Honey, listen to me. Just take a breath.”
She does, and as the oxygen hits her brain, some of the panic leaves her. “I can’t do this,” she whispers, as if afraid of being overheard.
“You won’t have to work for Corvus. None of you will.” I can make that deal for her, easy. “The money they’re offering here… you can do whatever you want with it.”
All right, so she’s opposed to Corvus for some reason, but that much money ought to overcome any objections.
“You don’t understand. And I can’t explain where we might be heard.”
“January—”
She lays her finger over my lips. I take the opportunity to kiss it. Light flares in her gaze, brief and bright, but then it’s gone.
She reaches into my pocket, her fingers groping along my thigh, and she comes out with my phone. The phone clicks sharply as she sets it on the table in the hall, right next to the fake-flower arrangement there, and then she’s pulling me along again.
There’s only a few other companies on this floor, and none of them have anything to do with encryption. So where are we going?
The stairwell, that’s where. I try not to think of my poor, abandoned phone sitting there all by its lonesome as she and I pound down the stairs. We come out on the first floor, and she ducks into a dimly lit hallway, one with only a single door in it.
The door is labeled Utility Closet, and she opens it and slips us both inside quick as can be.
There’s utter darkness for a moment, our breathing the only sign of life until I reach up and pull on the one bare bulb.
January blinks against the sudden light. And keeps blinking like she’s about to cry. So I pull her into my arms.
“What’s wrong?” I say into her hair. “Tell me, and I’ll fix it. I’ll fix anything for you.”
She’s holding tight to my shirt as she buries her face into my chest. She seems so small, smells so innocent, like soap and flowers. Who would want to scare her like this?
And why would it be Fuchs’s offer? That’s a dream amount of money.
She finally lifts her head and puts her mouth against my ear. “He has cameras and microphones everywhere.”
I whisper back, even though I don’t understand the need for all this. “Who?”
“Fuchs. He has a spyware app.”
My shoulders sag with relief. “That’s who’s got you spooked. Honey, you shouldn’t believe all the tinfoil-hat stuff about him.”
Some news sources talk about Fuchs like he’s some kind of Bond supervillain instead of what he really is—an awkward tech geek who’s paranoid about privacy but not any weirder than anyone else in the valley.
“It’s not tinfoil-hat. I have proof.”
My instinct is to not believe her. I’ve had drinks with Fuchs, chatted with him about the industry. Okay, so he’s more secretive than most, but that doesn’t make him a villain with a secret plan.
But January isn’t a crackpot. Whatever proof she has is enough to scare her, which means I have to listen to her in good faith even if I don’t buy it.
I take her face in my hands. “Tell me. And know that no matter what, I’ll keep you safe.”
That’s what starts her crying, and the sight of the tears running down her cheeks makes my gut want to tear in half.
“You can’t,” she gets out between sobs. “You don’t know how powerful he is.”
As for power, he’s got no more than the CEO of any other tech company, and she’s not here crying to me about Jack from Pixio. He’s got his phones in the hands of half the world, which seems better for world domination than some piddling spyware.
She’s underestimating me and the Bastards, but I let it slide. “Then tell me.”
“I had a friend, Grace. She was my roommate.”
Had makes chills run down my spine. But Fuchs’s no murderer. There’s no way.
“She works for Corvus. About six months ago, she had to move into company housing. And everything of hers went dark. Email, Twitter, Facebook, even her phone. I was so worried, but I had no way to contact her.”
“Wait, was she kidnapped? Then we definitely have to call the police.” And what the hell does this have to do with Corvus’s alleged spyware?
January shakes her head. “She’s not a citizen—she’s here on an H-1. So if her employer wants her to move to ‘secure housing,’ only use a company phone… how can she really say no? If they fire her, she’s out of the country. Fuchs hires a lot of H-1s, probably so he can control them more easily.”
And also because they’re cheaper than hiring citizens. CEOs make a lot of noise about how we don’t have enough homegrown talent here in the US, but it’s not true—they just want cheap labor. Everything else she’s described—a company phone, company housing, rules about social media—isn’t unusual either.
“Okay, so you think she’s in Corvus housing. And is still working for them. Where does the spyware come in?”
I try to keep the skepticism out of that but don’t succeed. January catches that and stiffens in my arms.
“I’m not lying.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“But you don’t believe me.” She shifts like she’s going to break away from me.
I tighten my arms around her and try to think of something to say, something that will reassure her.
How am I supposed to answer that? Her friend disappeared but not really. As far as January knows, Grace just doesn’t want to be contacted, which isn’t a crime.
Her mouth twists when I don’t respond. “Last July there was a document in my secure shared file. No indication of where or who it was from, but it was named something only Grace would use. And inside were all Fuchs’s plans. He’s got spyware on every phone he can, embedded in social media apps, and he’s just waiting to turn it on. Grace is working on it within the company.”
That’s… that’s a little more disturbing. But hardly more believable. “You got these documents out of nowhere, and you believe them? And that they came from her? And even if Corvus has done this”—which I’m doubting—“he can’t turn on phone cameras or microphones without legal permission.”
Her look is skeptical. “He’s put it in the terms of service allowing him to do it. And how many people ever read those when they install an app?”
I turn that over in my mind. No one reads that stuff, but still, putting spyware to activate the phone without permission? Someone would have known what Corvus was up to, would have blown the whistle before now.
With an angry huff, January grabs my hand. “I can see you still don’t believe me. Well, fine, I can prove it to you. Really prove it.”
She drags me back to her desk, never once speaking. I try to get a word in somewhere between the stairwell and the Ultra office—and try to grab my phone back—but she silences me with a fierce look.
“He’s listening,” she snaps.
I know he’s not, but I stay quiet anyway. Maybe January is cracking under all this pressure and she’s projecting her anxieties onto Fuchs.
Or maybe I can’t let myself believe that Fuchs would do something like that.
When we get to her cubicle, she pulls a laptop out of a drawer, along with a partially disassembled phone. With a few clicks, she’s got the laptop up and running.
The phone is dead, the screen black, and when January taps at the screen, nothing happens. She holds it before me, her expression imploring.
I nod when I get it. The phone is off, completely powered down. She wants to make certain I can see that.
She props it up so that the back camera is facing a photo she’s pinned to the cubicle wall, one of the entire Ultra team at the polo fields in Golden Gate Park.
I cross my arms and wait, but a frisson of ice climbs up my spine. She’s deadly serious about this. Which means…
I try not to remember my own phone, all the things someone might have recorde
d me doing, all without my knowledge or consent.
Once she’s pulled up a command window, she taps hard on the screen at the code, then reaches for a pad and a pen.
I pulled this code out of the PopPix app, she writes.
PopPix is the app everyone uses to share photos, selfies, lunches, coffees, and other tiny details of life, along with comments. Of course PopPix has to access your phone camera—the app wouldn’t work without it—but it shouldn’t be controlling the camera when the app’s not active and especially not when the phone is off.
When January begins to type in commands, the hair on the back of my neck rises, although nothing is happening. A window pops up on the laptop screen, black as the phone screen.
And then the photo appears, the entire Ultra team smiling back at me from the laptop screen, just as they are from the cubicle wall.
The phone hasn’t turned on. I tap the screen, hit the home button. Nothing. The phone is as dead as ever.
Except the camera is on, clearly, and taking images. Now that I’ve moved the phone, the papers on her desk are up on the laptop screen, captured at the phone camera’s command.
When I toss the phone down, it hits with a sharp clatter, the only noise either one of us has made for several minutes.
Data on the phone is supposed to be encrypted, along with the phone itself, locked with a passcode or a thumbprint. Somehow Fuchs has gotten around both of those safeguards.
Son of a bitch. Fuchs came to our parties, shook our hands, wanted to do deals with us… and he’s planning on peeping into our windows like some kind of sicko.
I want to puke and punch him in the jaw all at the same time. My fists flex, imagining him beneath them, being punished as he deserves.
January catches my eye, her expression sadly resigned. She didn’t want to have to be right about this.
This time I drag her down to the supply closet, giving my poor phone a hard glare as we pass. I don’t even think about picking it up.
When I slam the door closed, I pull her into my arms. “I’m sorry,” I whisper into her hair. “I wish I could have believed right away.”
If I could have gone back and erased all my skepticism… but it’s too late for that. I can only do my best to keep her safe now.
Secret Acquisitions Page 13
