Transparency

by Charles Royce

  “Where’s the big elephant?”

  West laughs. “If that’s a metaphor, I can certainly understand.”

  Josh sits down in one of the black leather club chairs, puts his elbow on the armrest, his pointing finger on his temple. “I’m listening.”

  “I can explain everything. In fact, I could use a friend right about now.” West walks to his desk, sits down. “Before I start, well, gosh, I hate to ask you this. Are you wearing a wire?”

  Josh stands up, unbuttons, unfurls his shirt like superman. He undoes his sleeves, pulls them inside out. He reaches down, grabs his bag, and dumps its contents on West’s desk. Then he plops the empty bag on top of West’s laptop, knocking over two pictures of his wife and kids.

  “I deserved that.” West picks up the framed photos, places them gently back in place.

  “You’re goddamn right you did.” Josh sits back down. “What in the actual hell, James?”

  “First of all, let me just say I appreciate the way you dropped it, came back to work. Freaking crushed it in the week you’ve been back. That shows me loyalty. I noticed.”

  “Am I supposed to thank you?”

  “Listen, you’re the one who fell off the face of the planet. Don’t forget I let you have that time off to sort it out. Three weeks is a long enough time to be off doing God knows what. All I could do was hope to God you wouldn’t do anything stupid.”

  “Stop it with the veiled threats. I’m not going to play that game with you.” Josh gulps a pool of saliva that had collected in the back of his throat.

  “Billy wrote the note, set the meeting up. All on his own. Once you got there, he thought you were someone else, someone who screwed us over more than anyone else.”

  “It was dark. I was yelling for you, scared half out of my mind. Yelling for you, Mr. West, not Billy. Billy wouldn’t answer me; I didn’t know what was happening.”

  “It was a case of mistaken identity, that’s all. He overreacted. His handling of the situation was abysmal.”

  “Is that why you killed him?”

  West looks up, eyes widening. The Élan sign is swinging wildly toward the window.

  “Jesus Christ!” West runs to the window, bangs on it just as the logo swings away. “Hey, be careful, you dickwads!”

  “What’s happening?” Josh leans forward but doesn’t get out of his chair. “Holy shit, that’s huge. And looks like it weighs a ton.”

  The sign continues to move away from the window, up toward the guys on the ledge with the blowtorches.

  “One and a half tons, actually. You know there’s a whole process to getting a crane up eighty floors? The crane has to build itself because it’s so high. Like literally build itself. You should google it, it’s mesmerizing.”

  “Do these guys know what they’re doing?”

  “We went with the lowest bid, and it’s showing. They have one operator, two crane builders, and two people to weld it into place. Three million dollars for five people.” He walks back to his desk, picks up the phone. “My foreman is helping out, but did you see that, Josh? It almost rammed into the window. All we need is another headline. Reed! Get in here!”

  Josh looks out the window to Reed’s desk, watches him hang up the phone and rush into the office.

  “Yes, Mr. West?”

  “Tell them to be more careful, would you?”

  “Who?”

  “The, the … good God, them!” West points outside. “Call the foreman, tell the sign people to hurry up, and be more careful.”

  “Do you have the foreman’s num—”

  “Figure it out!”

  “Yes, sir.” He leaves.

  Josh watches Reed approach his desk, walking and stopping, reversing and stopping, like a Roomba trying to figure out its next move. He laughs.

  “You miss Kimbo?” Josh asks.

  “Yes.” West says. “You?”

  Josh nods. “Still no word?”

  “None. Completely vanished. And no, I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Didn’t say you did.” Josh places his hands in his lap, interlocks his fingers. “Look, Mr. West, I could’ve left.”

  “I know.”

  “I should have left. Completely. I almost called you a hundred times.”

  “I wish you had.”

  “This is the best job I’ve ever had. I work with the best team I’ve ever assembled. They’ve been kicking ass since I’ve been back.”

  “I need you.”

  “How badly?” Josh asks.

  “The grand opening. It’s very important.”

  “I know.”

  “Our stock is higher, no thanks to Tracy’s interview. But things are still shaky here.”

  “Your stock is higher all thanks to Tracy. She knew exactly what she was doing.”

  West bows his head in submission. “I need our donors back. I need our sponsors back. I need this grand opening to be a success.”

  “I worked with Miss Harriet right before I came up. We already got two sponsors back on board this morning. Both presenting sponsors. Now that they’re back, everyone should follow.”

  “Holy shit. You are a miracle worker.”

  “I need compensation.”

  West shakes his head as if something didn’t compute. “I’m sorry?”

  “Compensation. I want my salary doubled, and stock options starting today. Élan International is about to be on the rise again.”

  “Done.” West takes a pen, makes himself a note.

  “Thank you.”

  “That was easy.”

  “One more thing.”

  “Ahh, here we go.”

  “No more surveillance,” Josh says. “It’s sloppy, it’s desperate, it’s gross. I know you bugged Walter and Hillary’s home. I know that’s how you found out about the key, the blueprints. You almost got caught.”

  “Already done. We stopped everything right after your, um, incident.”

  “Good.” Josh leans back, throws up his palms. “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?”

  “I’m in. Use me.”

  West takes his pen, holds it in between his fingers, starts tapping his desk with it. “You already know far too much about this company.”

  “I do. But Élan’s success is my suc—”

  “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  C h a p t e r 4 2

  “AND THEN HE invited me to join the board, the CAAD thing. Tonight, eight p.m.” Josh stares at Shawn with a can-you-believe-it look.

  “You need to go see Jenna tonight.” Shawn places some folders in his office desk, locks the cabinet. “She’s lost without you.”

  “I know, I know. I’ve been kinda busy.”

  “I’m serious. She’s not doing well.”

  “I’ll go see her soon, I promise.” Josh is lost in a replay. “It worked just like Agent Pillsbury said. Wait, it’s okay for me to talk about this with you, right?”

  “Sure.” Shawn reaches into his gym bag, pulls out his tennis shoes. “I’m pretty sure attorney–client privilege covers confidential informancy.”

  “Oh, good.” Josh rethinks Shawn’s tone, then notices Shawn smiling. “Wait, is it? Are you just messing with me?”

  “I’m pretty sure informancy isn’t even a word. I have no idea if you’re covered, Josh, this is new territory for me too. What did Pillsbury say?”

  “I didn’t ask her.”

  “Maybe you should.” Shawn ties his shoelaces, smiles. “What’d you think of her?”

  “She’s a piece of work.”

  “She’ll be amazing to work with—smart as a whip, sees straight through the bullshit with just the right amount of empathy.” Shawn looks up at Josh, who’s staring off into space again.

  “You shoulda seen me, Shawn.” Josh looks at Shawn’s office ceiling, reliving the moment. “I was brilliant. Confident. I actually thought I was joining forces with James West.”

  “See? Those acting chops paid dividends.”

  J
osh cocks his head to the left, references a moment from the trial. “You’re not gonna pull out an eight-by-ten of me again, are you?”

  Shawn stands, bounces up and down in his tennis shoes. “You shoulda seen me! I was brilliant! Confident!”

  “Stop.” Josh watches Shawn take off his button-down, his dad body oozing out over his pants. “Where are you going?”

  “To our company gym, wanna come with?” Shawn throws on a T-shirt.

  “Where are your shorts?”

  “Honestly I have no idea. This gym bag has been sitting in my office for so long, I never knew I’d forgotten to pack shorts.”

  “Why go to the gym tonight?”

  “Because. Well, because I’m about to have a son.”

  “A son? Really?” Josh claps. “When did you find out it was a boy?”

  “A few weeks ago. Actually, I found out my wife told Micah before she told me. Gave her a slight silent treatment for a day or so, but we made up.” He shoves his button-down and loafers in the gym bag. “Who wants a dad that looks like he’s been sitting in a chair for the last ten years?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Before you go, there’s something I wanted to ask.”

  “Go for it.” Shawn crosses his arms, leans against his desk in front of Josh.

  “Agent Pillsbury said they already had enough to put West away.”

  “I should say so, the information on those six black flash drives pretty much nails his coffin shut.”

  “Wait, the ones from Phish?"

  “That contained the decrypted information from the 4JFK file, yes.”

  “You still have them? The drives?” Josh’s face is distorted, confused. “I thought you said you gave them to Pillsbury.”

  “I said I sent them over to her.” Shawn moves to behind his desk, opens a drawer. He dumps the flash drives on the desk. “It’s cute that you think I’d give the originals to the FBI.”

  “You did not.” Josh picks a couple of them up, moves them between his fingers.

  “Like I told you that day we all FaceTimed, we found tons of information on these. Items of note include financial documents with fabricated numbers labeled WASHINGTON, whatever the hell that means; another group of videos and documents showing much of the funds from the Élan Trust has been diverted overseas.”

  “Wait, seriously? He’s using his own trust to pay his investors?”

  “I have no idea what the money is for, but it sure looks that way.”

  “Poor Miss Harriet. She has no idea.”

  Shawn grabs a flash drive with a red circular sticker on it. “This one. This one is weird. It contains one gigantic file that’s inaccessible, says I can’t open it because I don’t have the right program. You should take it back to Phish before you head to the CAAD meeting.”

  “You take it back to Phish.”

  “Buddy, you need to know everything about this company before you hop into bed with the FBI completely.”

  “I don’t trust him.”

  “Just do it. Phish is harmless. And I guarantee you he’ll be able to open that file.”

  Josh holds it in his hands. “Agent Pillsbury has pretty much dismissed the stuff on the flash drives, said there’s bigger fish to fry.”

  “I would agree. This organization, Cod. Or whatever you call it. Spying on everyone and their dog.”

  “CAAD, not Cod. CAAD, like bad or mad. West said they’ve stopped the spying, no more illegal surveillance. I believe him.”

  Shawn laughs, grabs his keys. “Don’t hold your breath.”

  “Something else is bothering me.”

  “What now?” Shawn turns.

  “West agreed to double my salary without a blink, then invited me into his inner circle. And the FBI is using me as a confidential informant.”

  “Yeah? So? Spit it out.”

  “I’m just wondering why me? I’m just a glorified event planner.”

  “Oh, good grief.” Shawn stops leaning, stands, then bends down to pick up his gym bag. “Because the FBI needs help from someone with access to West? And West needs a partner, somebody to help him? He probably feels naked and vulnerable without Kimbo.”

  “He pretty much said as much.”

  “Then there ya go. Now get out.”

  C h a p t e r 4 3

  “GET. OUT.” JOSH’S mouth gapes open as Phish pulls up the file.

  “Pretty cool, huh?” A beautiful 3D image of the entire new Élan building appears on Phish’s giant monitor. He uses his stylus to move the image around, flying above it like a drone, going inside it like a virtual tour. He clicks a side button. The image turns to a blueprint, the outlines of the building transparent, glowing. “This is the world’s most expensive program. It’s called ArchEngine, $2.5 million for the full version. I hacked a copy about a year ago, just to play around with it. This is stupid. I love it.”

  Phish clicks another side button. The screen switches back to photorealism. People are now walking in the spaces.

  “They look so real.” Josh touches the screen. The people turn away from his touch. “Did I just do that?”

  “Yes,” Phish says. “This is freaking incredible. Touch interaction, nondestructive re-importing, Python scripting, automatic LOD, Proxy Geometry; I mean, holy shit. They took advantage of everything. I’m surprised something this detailed fit on a two-terabyte flash drive. It must have some built-in compression I’ve never seen.”

  “I’ll take your word for all of that.”

  Phish clicks another side button. The image zooms out in slow motion. The entire skyline begins to come into view. The Staten Island Ferry is now passing in the forefront, the Hudson River flowing, water glistening. He presses again, the day turns into night, the sun flowing across the sky like a comet, disappearing off screen toward Brooklyn. The new Élan International building is now completely lit up against a Manhattan nightscape.

  “ArchEngine is huge now. They started out as a gaming software, so people could create photorealistic creatures and people, then work on developing them so they could seem more real. Most of these game designers are hackers. But whoever did this? Damn.”

  “They used the old logo.” Josh touches the Élan façade. The image zooms in so much that the logo takes over the whole screen. “Aagh!”

  Phish zooms back out, clicks on another view labeled FB. A password prompt appears. “Hmm.” He clicks another just below it labeled SIM. Again, a password prompt. “Some of this is protected, want me to figure it out?”

  “I need to bolt. Just give me the program, I’ll figure it out.”

  “You sure? If this is from the same place as the underscore file, this company uses some weird encryption shit.”

  “Just the program please.”

  “Not to mention it’s a robust program. The processor on your normal shitty laptops and computers won’t be able to run it.”

  “Just the program please.” Josh stares at him, snaps his finger. “I have trust issues.”

  “That’ll be $2500.” Phish puts the screen to sleep.

  “What? For something you stole?”

  “Dude, it’s one-thousandth of the actual price.”

  “No way, I’ll pirate it myself.”

  “I guarantee you don’t know where to hack this shit, or how to cover your ass while you do it.”

  “A thousand, that’s all I can afford.”

  “Bullshit. Two grand.”

  “Fifteen hundred.”

  “Done.”

  Josh pulls out his wallet. “You’re such a prick. Hurry up and copy it over, I’ve got a late meeting.”

  “Shall I erase your existing flash drive so it’ll fit, or will you be purchasing another?”

  C h a p t e r 4 4

  “BABY, WE PAY the housekeeper a lot of money to do that.” Shawn walks up, hugs Haylee’s legs from behind.

  She’s cleaning the upper bookshelves in Shawn’s study.

  “Careful, honey, the ladder.�
�� Haylee bends down, kisses him on the side of the cheek. “Ew. Is that salt?”

  “I worked out.” Shawn flexes downward, tries his own version of a bodybuilder pose.

  Haylee lets out a single laugh, her mouth contorting, nose scrunching.

  “What the hell is that look?” Shawn smiles. “What? I work out now.”

  “Okay.” Haylee looks at what he’s wearing.

  “I know, I know, I need to invest in some workout gear.” He flicks his pants, looks back up at his wife. “Seriously, baby, you’re pregnant, get down from there.”

  “I’m almost finished. She never dusts up here, it’s been bothering me.”

  “We pay her enough—you can tell her to do the bookshelves. Seriously.”

  “Baby, why do you keep bringing up money? We’re good, right?”

  “Yes. We’re good.” Shawn sits down on a black Eames lounge chair in the corner of the room, pats the arm.

  “Honey, don’t sit there, you’re sweaty. That’s the most expensive piece in this office.”

  “My office.” Shawn flashes his pearly whites. “You do you, babe.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll clean it next.”

  “You talking to me, or to yourself?” Shawn leans back, puts his hands behind his head. “I think you’re right about the money. Didn’t realize it was on my mind. After Micah’s case, I felt like I was on such a high, you know? Now I feel like everything I’m working on right now isn’t furthering my career.”

  “Explain.” She squirts some dust spray in a towel, reaches for the top shelf.

  Shawn grimaces as he watches his wife on the ladder. He closes his eyes. “Josh is pro bono, which is fine, I wanted to help, and honestly it’s not that much work. Except listening to him. And poor Jenna. Just sitting there. Waiting. Her parents can’t afford bail. They’re sending me meager contributions for her defense. I think they are struggling a bit, wiring money from some teeny tiny bank in rural France. It’s fine. I’m still getting in some hours.”

  “What you just said makes me prouder of you than I already was. It’ll come back around.” She steps down a rung, starts working the next shelf. “Speaking of money, I’m thinking about transitioning a bit with the counseling.”