by Beck Rowland
“First things first, I need to repay all the people who got me to where I am now,” Zenaida said with a smile. As if on cue, her phone buzzed on the table. Zenaida picked up and put it on speaker, then winked at Davey.
“Zeny, honey, it’s Dad. You’re not going to believe this, but do you remember when my company went bankrupt and the pension fund ran dry? Well, the fund was acquired by a new management company who did some records reconstitution. Turns out my pension plan has been fully funded all along,” her father said.
“What?! That’s great news Dad,” Zenaida exclaimed.
“It’s more than great, it’s amazing! They owe me back-pay for the past decade, that’s several hundred thousand dollars alone! Then after that, I’ll be getting regular pension payments for the rest of my life. And this management company really know their stuff-- the numbers I’m seeing are more than I ever expected for retirement. This is a dream come true!”
Her father’s voice sounded thick with emotion and suddenly Zenaida felt tears spring to her eyes. She blinked them away.
“I’m so happy to hear that,” she said. “You deserve it for all your years of hard work, Dad.”
“Thanks Zeny. We’ll finally be able to move out of the trailer, finally be able to take some trips-- Oh! Your mother is coming home. I’m going to surprise her with the good news. Talk later, love you!” he said. And then he was gone.
“Clever,” Davey exclaimed. “You found a way to take care of your parents without having to drop the bombshell on them.”
“I’ll tell them the truth eventually,” Zenaida mused. “But Mom has lost thousands on scams and pyramid schemes. I don’t want to give them too much at once in case she ends up wiring it all to some Nigerian Prince. Better to arrange a slow trickle and ease them into a new life.”
“That kind of thinking is why you’re the Internet millionaire and I’m just part of the entourage,” Davey said, grinning as the waiter refilled his drink.
“You’re more than that, Davey. Now that I’m rich, I’ll always have to be suspicious that people only like me for my money. With you and Lara, that will never be a concern,” Zenaida said.
“Fair point. We liked you before you went from garage sale chic to luxury boutique,” Davey said.
“From Reeboks with holes to Louboutin red soles,” Zenaida added.
“Minimum wage to Forbes List front page,” Davey said.
“Broken umbrella to stuntin’ at Coachella,” Zenaida said. “And by the way, that’s definitely happening. We’re doing Coachella, Art Basel, Sundance..”
“Burning Man?” Davey asked.
“..Burning Man, Comic-Con, the NBA playoffs. Basically all the fun stuff I’ve always seen other people doing in photos but never been able to afford for myself. We have a busy year ahead of us,” Zenaida said.
“It sounds awesome. I just hope I have enough vacation days,” Davey said.
“Vacation days? Wait, you’re not planning on still going to work, are you?” Zenaida asked. “Davey, jobs are for people whose best friend isn’t worth fifty-five million dollars.”
“I can’t spend my life nestled under your wing, Zeny. I’m a beautiful bird, I need to spread my wings and flyyy,” Davey said, throwing his arms out theatrically. “Besides, I actually like my job. If I pass the IT certificate exam, they’ll put me in charge of my own section. I can already see the look on my manager’s face. First I roll up to the office in a Lambo, then this certificate? He’ll have a stroke.”
Zenaida sighed. “I can see Lara saying something similar. She loves working with electronics, welding and all that stuff.” It suddenly occurred to Zenaida that her new wealth could have a downside. Cut loose from the constraints and schedules of modern society, she had been set adrift, directionless and alone. Being poor had been terrible, but the desire to escape poverty had at least given her clear direction and focus. “If you guys are working, I really don’t know what I’m going to do with myself.”
“You spent so many years fantasizing about making it,” Davey laughed. “What did you see yourself doing?”
“It was mostly about what I wouldn’t have to do. No more stressing about money, rent, and bills,” Zenaida explained. “Now that I’m actually here, I’m not sure where to go next.”
“You haven’t been rich for very long. Give yourself time, you’ll figure it out,” Davey smiled.
“I sure hope so. For the time being, I shall master the art of becoming a sophisticated lady of leisure,” Zenaida said. She sipped her drink, making a show of jutting out her pinky finger.
Zenaida and Davey left the bistro deep in conversation, barely pausing when the valet brought the Lamborghini around front. They sped off with a loud roar of the engine, turning heads on the sidewalk as they tore past.
One of the people watching was Karen. She had an uncanny sense for opportunity, and Zenaida’s evasiveness had triggered something inside her. If asked, Karen wouldn’t be able to say if she had consciously followed Zenaida, or if she had simply followed some deep-rooted predatory instinct. It had been the same when she had slid a dead roach into her meal at Burgertopia. She hadn’t even thought about it. She had just followed her gut, and ended up winning a lawsuit with a six-figure payday.
As Karen watched Zenaida and Davey drive off in a luxury sports car, her eyes narrowed. She stormed towards the bistro, pastel peach pants swishing at her ankles. The greeter stepped from behind a podium as Karen entered, clipboard in hand.
“Good Afternoon Ma’am. Do you have a reservation?” the greeter asked. He was a tall, gangly young man with the fading remnants of teenage acne still visible on both cheeks.
“No, I have a question. The young pair that just left in the fancy car. Did you serve them?” Karen asked. The greeter shook his head.
“I didn’t but my buddy did. He said the girl left the best tip he’s gotten all week. A lot of people don’t tip much these days, and so--”
“So the girl paid the check?” Karen asked, incredulous. “A place like this can’t be cheap. How much was their meal?”
The greeter gave an uncomfortable smile, then looked over his shoulder. He had hoped to spot a passing supervisor or manager. He had only been working in the service industry for a few months, but had already developed a finely attuned sixth sense for problematic customers. Something in Karen’s tone sent his hackles up.
“Listen Ma’am, if you don’t have a reservation, perhaps you should go...” he said.
Karen reached into her enormous purse and pulled out a wad of bills. Without pausing to count, she shoved them into the greeter’s vest pocket. The greeter looked down at the wad, then back at Karen.
“Fine. Their meal and drinks were just over two hundred. The girl paid with one of those fancy metallic credit cards. My buddy said it came from some big European investment bank,” the greeter said.
“That’s impossible. That girl was sleeping on my daughter’s-- on my-- couch just a few days ago. She was on the verge of homelessness,” Karen said.
“You sure it’s the same girl?” the greeter asked. “My buddy overheard them talking and apparently she’s a multi-millionaire. Made a bunch of money on some Internet thing.”
Karen didn’t answer, but instead spun around and stormed out the restaurant. She barely noticed shoving past patrons trying to make their way inside. Karen replayed Zenaida’s earlier visit to Lara’s apartment. The new clothes. The evasiveness. The petty, insulting gift to her daughter. Zenaida had somehow come into money, an absurd amount within just the last couple of days. Karen couldn’t imagine how, but it was true.
What was worse was the gradual realization that Zenaida had visited to say goodbye to Lara, but more importantly, to gloat at Karen. Karen clenched her fists, a furious vein bulging in her neck as she stormed back to the car.
“That little bitch owes me,” Karen fumed. “Months of unpaid rent, damages, emotional distress. And she is going to pay up, yes she is.”
; Karen knew most lawyers in town wouldn’t work with her. Too many dismissed cases, too many lawsuits thrown out of court. Karen decided it didn’t bother her one bit. The lawyers would take a case from Lara, with those puppy-dog eyes behind her thick lensed glasses. Karen would be right behind her all the while.
Karen smiled, then started the engine and headed back to Lara’s apartment.
The following week was the grand opening of Parvenu, an exclusive five-star restaurant operated by a world famous chef. Zenaida managed to score reservations, but when she asked Davey to join, he was busy studying for his IT Certificate exam. She tried calling Lara as well, but none of the calls seemed to be going through. Then Zenaida saw on Peeper that Angelique was stateside. And so, Zenaida ended up with somebody to dine with after all.
Zenaida traded her standard black jeans and white tee for a pair of black dress slacks and a white silk blouse. Angelique arrived at the table looking much the way she had in their last meeting. They exchanged a warm hug, then took their seats. The restaurant was packed for opening night, with several of the country’s wealthiest people in attendance.
“So good to see you again,” Angelique said, blonde curls bouncing as she took her seat. “How is the new apartment treating you? All moved in and settled?”
“Thanks for coming. Yes, the new place is great. Amazing view, convenient location. Oh, and I got this thing called Prima Cinema Entertainment installed. It lets me watch all the newest movies on release day. It’s like having a movie theater in my apartment, only without the sticky floors and teenagers on their cell phones,” Zenaida said.
“It sounds incredible. What about your neighbors? They’re not snobby assholes, are they?” Angelique asked.
“I wouldn’t know; I’ve never met any of them,” Zenaida said. “The Resident Directory in the main lobby looks like roll call at the United Nations, but nobody ever seems to be around.”
“That’s not uncommon. Most of the apartments were probably sold as investments for wealthy foreigners,” Angelique nodded. “So, it sounds like you’ve adjusted to your new circumstances. Is being rich everything you used to imagine it would be?”
“Everything I imagined and more. There are some weird, surprising things, though,” Zenaida said.
“Such as?” Angelique asked.
“For example, my utilities bills are lower than they were before, even though I’m using more gas, water and power than I used to. It turns out utility companies charge more in poor neighborhoods. Those areas have a higher percentage of customers unable to pay, so the companies raise costs across the board to make up the difference,” Zenaida said.
“Ah yes. Such is business,” Angelique sighed. She took a sip of wine.
“It must be making somebody pretty rich, huh?” Zenaida said.
“Oh, without a doubt. Harold Dewillinger, third table from the window,” Angelique said. “He’s the largest shareholder of Eastern Power and Gas.”
“Wait, seriously?” Zenaida asked. She scanned the restaurant, suddenly curious. “Say, who else is here tonight?”
“Well, that’s Jeanie Rynehart over there. And the man she’s talking to is Senator McCorvelle. Over there is Sheikh Hamad Bin Hamdan al Thani, the old guy with the glasses. The bearded guy a few tables over is Jack Tucksworth. Founder and CEO of Peeper, Snapshot, and probably a dozen other apps I’m too old to use.”
“Peeper?! They lost a ton of my personal data back in the day. Ended up messing up my credit real bad,” Zenaida said.
“The same thing happened to millions of other Peeper users. If I recall the articles correctly, Peeper’s central database had ‘password’ as its password,” Angelique laughed. “And believe it or not, they just had another privacy breach this morning. A relatively small leak this time, only a few thousand credit card numbers exposed.”
Zenaida looked across the restaurant at Jack Tucksworth. He was a stout, bearded man in a loose gray hoody, deeply engaged in conversation with a buxom young lady. Zenaida watched as Tucksworth wolfed down a steak, then leaned close to tell his date a joke. Zenaida couldn’t make out the punchline, but she heard the girl’s loud, braying laughter. Some female intuition told Zenaida the laughter was fake.
“Tucksworth’s company is leaking people’s data, ruining their lives in the process, and he’s stuffing his face on a $900 per plate dinner?” Zenaida asked. She looked down at her own food. Suddenly she wasn’t hungry.
“Zenaida,” Angelique said gently. “Most of the people in this room got here by screwing other people over. It’s not always fair, but that’s the way the world works. Besides, these are your peers now. You’ll have to get used to it.”
Suddenly Parvenu made her sick. The gaudy chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the exaggerated elegance of the table dressing, it all suddenly struck her as repulsive. She gazed at the crowd, clad in expensive suits and designer gowns, and wanted to throw something at them. Here were the same people whose companies, businesses, laws and policies had helped keep her mired in poverty, along with millions of others. Now they were right in front of her, dining on their ill-gained profits.
“I’ve got nothing against people being successful, but getting rich at the expense of ordinary people isn’t fair. Somebody should hold them accountable, all of them. Hamad, Rynehart, Tucksworth... especially Tucksworth...” Zenaida said. “Maybe I should go give him a piece of my mind.”
“Don’t even think of it. The man is a freaking tyrant, tough as nails and mean as shit. Tucksworth didn’t beat Peeper’s competition, he obliterated it. To this day, everybody is terrified of him. I personally know people who have left meetings with him in tears.”
“He doesn’t look so tough to me,” Zenaida said skeptically.
“Jack Tucksworth is worth over a billion dollars,” Angelique said. “Do you get what that means? You have enough money to book a private jet, but Tucksworth simply buys planes outright. He has several, worth tens of millions of dollars each. Not to mention the full-time pilots, flight staff, hangars. And then there’s the boat, the houses, the cars….”
“Alright, I get it. He’s richer than me,” Zenaida said.
“At least twenty times richer,” Angelique added. “And if tonight’s dinner is any indication, his wealth will soon become exponentially larger.”
“What do you mean?” Zenaida asked.
Angelique turned and nodded in the direction of Tucksworth’s table. Sitting directly across from Tucksworth was a forlorn looking Asian man in his late forties. The man looked like he would rather be anywhere in the world rather than at that table. Zenaida watched him prod an uneaten steak with a fork, despair writ large on his face.
“That mopey looking fellow is Takeshi Nomura. Genius software developer and the only person to ever reach Level 12 on Google’s coding skill chart,” Angelique said. “Nomura quit Peeper because of their lax attitude towards user privacy, then went on to develop some crazy, revolutionary new program called DataVortex. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime paradigm shift in data analysis. The software combines facial recognition, body language, jumbled digital data, then uses it to track and identify people with 99.99% accuracy. Nomura wanted to use DataVortex to identify missing children.”
“If Nomura quit Peeper, what’s he doing having dinner with the Peeper CEO?” Zenaida asked.
“Because Peeper claims that Nomura developed DataVortex before he left the company. That makes the program 100% Peeper property. Their lawyers filed a lawsuit, so the program is being kept in court custody until a judge can decide who it should go to.”
“I’m guessing Tucksworth has other plans for DataVortex,” Zenaida said.
Angelique nodded. “Data is the oil of the 21st century. With that program, Peeper would become the greatest surveillance power on the planet. Imagine every public outing, every trip to the mall, every drive down the street, being observed, scrutinized, and analyzed. With DataVortex, Peeper could pull it all together into one massiv
e, omniscient system.”
“All I can imagine is the nightmare when some hacker steals all that data from Peeper’s barely secured servers,” Zenaida said. “Can’t Nomura fight back? Appeal the judge to get his program back?”
“He can try,” Angelique said. “But I wouldn’t bet on it. Peeper’s legal team is absolutely brutal. I suppose we’ll find out soon: the hearing is only a month from now. Then, either Nomura gets his program back, or it goes to Jack Tucksworth.”
Zenaida fell silent, poking at her food with a fork. Angelique watched with a wary frown.
“Zenaida, tell me you’re not thinking of doing anything stupid,” Angelique said. Zenaida gave only a vague, non-committal smile, then motioned the waiter to refill their glasses.
“Seriously Zenaida, don’t cross Tucksworth,” Angelique said. “You won’t win. Men like him overturn industries, revolutionize markets, and topple governments. You’ve finally reached a point of economic security— forget these jerks and try to enjoy yourself.”
“Alright Mom, I get it,” Zenaida laughed. “You’re right, let’s lighten up and enjoy the night. For example, tell me about Hunter. What kind of shared history do you guys have together?”
Angelique burst out laughing, and soon they were deep in conversation. Zenaida nodded and smiled in all the right places, but her attention remained several tables over.
Jack Tucksworth’s company had created an identity theft nightmare for her and millions of other users, yet the man had suffered zero repercussions. Now he was trying to acquire a program that would increase Peeper’s reach a thousandfold, making him even richer and putting everybody else even more at risk. Like so many of the ultra-rich, Tucksworth had gotten away with far too much. Zenaida thought it was bullshit.
And finally, she realized she had the power to do something about it.
Zenaida invited Davey to her new apartment later that week. As they walked inside, the lights came on and the curtains automatically slid open. They revealed full wall windows that overlooked the entire city, twinkling in the late afternoon sun. Zenaida’s living room was decked with stylish furniture and she’d hung trendy artwork on the walls. She grabbed Davey a drink from the fridge, then began the grand tour.
