by Joe Jarvis
Three
It was Thursday at 13:00 in Barry’s office.
"Mr. Barry. I came here to get answers for the questions that you left blank on the BER survey twice. Why have you not made available all company and personal earnings and holdings for fiscal years 2113 and 2114?"
"Did I offer you coffee?" asked Barry, pretending to be distracted by his hospitality, faking a polite smile, and acting a little too innocent.
"Twice, as well as tea, and water, and I am fine thank you. Do you intend to answer my questions?"
"You're so serious!" laughed Barry, forced and fake, "I am just trying to be cordial, smooth things over since you seem upset with me." His lips smiled while his eyes frowned. Barry avoided eye contact of more than a second or two, giving him the appearance of an awkward teen.
"I'm upset because my report is still incomplete, and Business Ethics Review prefers to have their articles submitted a full month before publication. It is now barely three weeks until the release date, and you seem to be taking very lightly the good possibility that your agency will be downgraded by BER."
Barry paused, still displaying his fake smile. His demeanor resembled the Grinch caught off guard by Cindy Lou Who asking why he was stealing her Christmas tree. So he thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick.
"I simply needed more time to collect my records, you see? I have my accounting department putting together a report, and I didn't want to miss anything on the form, otherwise it may look like I had intentionally mislead you, which would never be my intention! And as for my personal holdings, I'm not sure I am comfortable sharing that type of information with the world at large."
"It’s customary for men in your position to be an open book, so to speak. After all, a lot of people rely on your company for justice, and they deserve to know there are no outside influences contributing to the decisions and policies of Barry Arbitration."
Another pause. "To be honest Ms. Metis" (Molly almost rolled her eyes at the thought of Barry being honest, but caught herself and continued her powerful stare) "I was a bit self-conscious about some of my investments – er – not performing as well as I'd hoped. They have nothing to do with BA," he added quickly, "but could still give a negative impression to customers."
"I think customers deserve to know if the man running their arbitration agency is mishandling his own funds."
Barry finally dropped the fake smile and replaced it with an annoyed appearance, when he was actually more worried than annoyed. "Well I would hardly say I mishandled my money. Some bets just don't pay off as well – "
"There was a comments section in the survey you failed to complete. A simple explanation of why you made the investments and why their value has dropped would have quelled major fears of incompetence without raising suspicions that go along with leaving that section blank."
"You're right Ms. Metis," his fake smile and teenage demeanor was back. "I'll have my accounting department send you a full report."
"We need it from the bank." Molly would not yield.
Barry briefly considered offering Molly another beverage but decided this would just lead to more tension. This time the pause was too long and Molly further lowered her head and raised her eyebrows as if looking over spectacles that did not exist.
"So if you could call them now, and have that report sent to me..." Molly slowly articulated, annoyed, as if explaining something obvious to a student who could not follow simple directions.
"Yes – yes of course." Barry pressed a button on his receiver and was put through to the Bank of New England, the bank Barry Arbitration used for all their accounting and payroll.
BONE was one of many banks that stabilized currencies by buying up various currencies issued by stores and retailers, smaller banks, corporations, and stocks. BONE would then issue their own currency, the purchasing power of which stayed quite constant. BONE was the biggest bank in the northeast and therefore the most popular currency of most New England inhabitants, though a number of currencies were accepted virtually everywhere, and converted based on daily values of the companies, much like stock prices. For this reason some currencies' purchasing power changed daily, which is why stabilizing bank currencies were useful for people to save up without great risk. Company currencies were backed by the value of the company, and their assets, while bank currencies were backed by their holdings of various company currencies, spreading the risk. Company currencies were therefore generally less stable than bank currencies, and would come and go more often.
"I'd like you to send Molly Metis full reports from Fiscal Years 2113 and 2114 for Barry Arbitration."
"And your personal report," Molly added sternly, with an expression of exasperated disbelief.
"Right, and send along my personal report as well," Barry added, trying to keep his tone upbeat. "And there you have it," Barry added as he pushed the disconnect button, flashing the most plastic smile yet.
"And the only other thing I need is your complete insurance report, and expenditure claims from your agencies."
His smile did not return, fake or otherwise. Without acknowledgment Barry buzzed his secretary, "Send Ms. Metis my expenditure claims and insurance reports."
There was a slight pause from the secretary that Molly pretended not to notice, while making a very particular mental note about it.
"Yes sir."
"Thank you very much for your cooperation Mr. Barry, you can find the report on BER's website with the release date of Monday October 14th. We should have your rating by the 8th if you wish to inquire in advance of the release. Have a great day." And with that Molly closed her tablet, and quickly exited the office without another look at Barry.
Mr. Barry waited a moment after the door closed, and took the scotch bottle out of his desk drawer. Before he poured himself a glass, he looked out the window to see Molly descending the stairs to the sidewalk. He briskly walked to his office door and opened it enough to poke his head through. Checking to see that the reception room was empty besides his secretary, he asked, back to his usual curt and snippy tone.
"For God's sake tell me you sent her the redacted version."
"Does a bear crap in the woods?" his secretary snapped without looking up.
Mr. Barry felt a twang of rage in himself before it was quieted by the comfort of having a competent and complicit, though somewhat entitled, secretary. He was grateful that she knew to send along the version of the report where certain items purchased and covered were redacted. This alone would not be cause for alarm among customers and investors, as it was fairly typical for a man in his position to block out some details about purchases, acquisitions, and insurance coverage. Still, Barry knew he was pushing his luck, and was worried that his company's revenue would nose dive if it was downgraded once again.
He silently ducked his head back into his office and gently shut the door. Slowly he walked to his desk and poured himself a tall glass of scotch.
That night Mr. Barry and Mr. Drake met for dinner. Drake had suggested Hillside, but Barry insisted on a less popular restaurant where he wouldn't run into as many familiar faces. Of course formal attire was required, so Mr. Drake and Mr. Barry were dressed similarly to their work attire, but classier.
Formal clothes were reminiscent of just before the collapse, but with some notable differences. Blazers and suit jackets didn’t have any buttons, and were hardly ever made to close, but when they were, it was with poly-melding-elastomer. This synthetic rubber-like material was made to bond and fuse together to form a seal, but could easily be touch activated to release to its old form.
Poly-melding-elastomer replaced zippers and other fasteners, and its use extended beyond clothing. Many high-end windows and doors would seal with poly-melding-elastomer for more efficient insulation. Reusable food containers made of poly-melding-elastomer had become quite popular lately, forming to the food and sealing without air pockets, or molding to any shape needed to fit in the refrigerator or storage and remain firm.
But the material could always return perfectly to its initial state.
Whole garments were made of poly-melding-elastomer as well. For sports and physical activity, the clothing would regulate how much air was allowed through the garment based on body temperature. A shirt would increase ventilation during hot weather, and seal shut if it got too cold. Poly-melding-elastomer was a favorite for chiseled men and well endowed women, who's clothing would form fit and seal to accentuate their features. And they never had to buy a new size, as the material would expand or contract naturally, as needed, even as they breathed. poly-melding-elastomer gloves and belts always fit perfectly. There were even anti-rape poly-melding- elastomer undergarments coded to unseal only under specific circumstances. It would be hard to find a home without something made from the new high tech material.
But any poly-melding-elastomer that Drake and Barry wore was well hidden, so that they would not appear tacky. The collars of their shirts were much thinner than pre-collapse collars, or sometimes only an outline with a different material, flush with the rest of the jacket. Dress shirts were also closed with poly-melding-elastomer so that there were no buttons, and only smooth cloth could be seen down the front of the formal shirt. The neck was wider, collar less prominent, and no one wore ties anymore. Instead a "badge" would be worn on the center of the chest, about three quarters of the way up the dress shirt.
Badges attached magnetically or with poly-melding- elastomer, depending on the design of the badge and shirt. Some were small like an old tie clip, but others, especially for formal occasions could be quite large. Most companies had their own insignia, in various sizes and styles, which employees would wear for work; however for personal wear, badges were quite varied.
Drake wore a pure silver badge – except for the poly-melding-elastomer back that attached to a strip of the material on the front of the shirt – which bore his family crest. The coat of arms was engraved with a dragon holding a sword in one hand, and scale in the other. The seal was created by Drake’s grandfather when he adopted the family name Drake in the late 2030’s after Food Corp operations expanded beyond its walls. Drake’s grandfather had been ashamed of how his family raised him before the collapse, and disgusted with the things they did to survive after the collapse. For a range of reasons it was common for people to take a new last name after the collapse, with a strong influence of history and mythology.
Barry wore a badge the size of a large coin that had a black sapphire set in glazed Brazilian rosewood. Barry was a pre-collapse family name, his grandfather was on the board of directors for Food Corp and never suffered much upset during the collapse and New England Renaissance.
"All I need is for the wrong person to see us together and there will be more wild accusations about collusion." Barry hissed.
"For God's sake Barry we aren't the first arbiter and security CEO to ever eat dinner together." Drake said looking up from his touch screen menu as Barry sat down, glancing around to make sure no one he knew was in the dimly lit basement bistro.
"Well with the way BER is up my ass it wouldn't take much right now, with their...erroneous and... flippant..." Barry stumbled as he searched for words to express his anger in an intelligent sounding way.
Drake calmly set his menu down, and offered an amused smile; though a smile on Drake's face was hardly detectable. Slight dimples could be made out however, and his bulldog cheeks were raised, ever so minimally.
"Well I wouldn't exactly call it erroneous... You did take the bribe after all."
"And why shouldn't I? I work hard everyday, aren't I entitled to a bonus? Don't I deserve to offer my services outside of the typically expected products arbitration can deliver?" Barry shot back quickly and defensively as 3 slow chuckles made Drake’s head bob. "And you'll drop me as soon as the report comes out, don't try to claim otherwise."
"Well," Drake shrugged, "If you get downgraded I might have no other option. Believe me Barry, I am not too keen on the idea of spending more money for less favorable arbitration outcomes."
"This whole thing is just a big mess I don't want to have to deal with! And now my retirement is in jeopardy! I can't even sell the business if I get downgraded, I'll get peanuts, I'll be destitute!"
"You could always move into an adap." Drake joked dryly.
Barry's stare burned of indignation as he spoke a bit too loudly, "Could you take this a bit more seriously Drake! Aren't we friends? I could use some support!"
"Of course, of course," Drake glanced quickly around and made a calming motion with his hand, telling Barry to take it down a notch.
Barry lowered his voice, leaned in, and continued venting. "There's too much competition these days. Remember 20, 30 years ago how easy it was? We were still the first kids on the block, and people needed us! We were running the world and should have done something to keep it that way while we had the chance. Now we're just slowly bleeding to death while these go-getters pull the carpet right out from under us!"
"Speak for yourself, bleeding to death," Drake drawled without glancing up from his menu.
"Ha! I know how your business is doing Drake, you're just as doomed as I am," Barry picked up his glass of wine and gestured to it before taking a sip, "We should enjoy this while it lasts. Pretty soon we'll be swigging little more than spiked grape juice."
Drake was annoyed, but his annoyed expression looked pretty much like his normal expression, and only slightly drearier than his "joyful" expression.
"Well to be honest, I had been thinking about the same thing. Running a business these days isn't like it was when my grandfather started NESA. No one knew what was going on back then, and people like him were able to corner the market. Took a long time for anyone to catch up."
"Yes," replied Barry darkly, happy to have Drake agreeing with him. "And before that, in the days of government, people in our positions never had to give up what we had earned. Men like us were set for life, pensions, tenure, the treasury of a whole continent at our disposal. But today, despite the years of service, we can still be pushed out and left to die in the cold like a stray dog!" Barry finished dramatically, biting into a fresh caught crab cake brought over by a silent waiter. Still chewing Barry continued, "Of course, some places still have governments. Things would be different if we were born in Korea or even Texas."
"Yea but Korea’s a shit-hole, and in Texas judges and security chiefs couldn’t pay for this dinner with a month’s salary. Even ruling those countries wouldn't put us where we are now."
"But how long can we stay where we are now?! I thought that million I put into Transcend Space Travel would pay off, but they’ve had setback after setback. They said they would be able to travel to Mars by now in under a week." He was talking with his hands, one still holding half a crab cake, and a full mouth, crumbs dropping onto the table. "I can't keep my company afloat with today’s competition! I've been racking my brain and I can't think of what to do! If only that bitch Molly would – " He stopped himself.
"Would what?" Drake chuckled.
"Die!" Barry blurted out loudly, laughing; it became apparent to Drake that Barry must have been drinking since noon.
A slightly more detectable smile crossed Drake's face. But he let a good time pass before speaking, just in case Barry had attracted any attention.
"We do seem to be in a unique position to help each other out. You know there is one particular firm that has been sucking up my customers."
"Atlas no doubt", Barry chimed in obliviously, helping himself to another crab cake.
A shudder of fury boiled up inside Drake, and he closed his eyes for a moment to quiet it before speaking.
"Yes. Atlas. But I see an opportunity for us both to benefit, Barry." Drake said his name because he wasn't sure Barry was paying attention. Here Drake was, trying to propose a solution, and Barry seemed to care more about hors d'oeuvres and wine.
"What's that?" replied Barry, mouth full, his moments-earlier bad mood seemed to have been quelled by good foo
d and good wine.
"Well..." Drake briefly considered dropping the subject, but continued. "Atlas is prosecuting that murderer, Ted, from the Cape. The real sick one with the trust fund. It’s an open and shut case. He obviously did it. But Atlas just so happens to own some stock in Ted's daddy’s brewing and distilling company, Illicit Liquors."
"So how's that going to help us?" Barry was beckoning to the waiter to bring more wine, so Drake, annoyed, waited for the waiter to leave the area before continuing.
"So if it turned out the case wasn't so open and shut, it may look like Atlas wanted little Teddy to be prosecuted, to save the business from crumbling when he takes it over."
"Well that doesn't really make much sense, unless Atlas owned some big percentage of the company. How much stock does he have?"
"Practically nothing, but it doesn't need to make sense, it just needs to be widely believed. The story is that Atlas owns a piece of the distilling company, and wants to make sure it succeeds at all costs. We can get the story out, and if we repeat it enough times, people will believe it. You should know that from all the history books you read."
Barry chuckled, "Yes, but in the history books, everybody and their brother didn't own a news website. They just had to get a handful of people to agree, and the world would believe whatever they passed down to their minions."
"We can handle the media," said Drake who owned a controlling stake in a popular area news site, News of New England, and had some connections to others with Internet companies. He figured he'd just pay off the right people, and reimburse himself later by extorting money from Ted's family for the favorable outcome.
Barry put down the knife he was using to butter his roll, finally catching on to Drake’s plan. His stressed out demeanor returned as he realized this meal was meant for more than fraternizing.
