by Heleen Kist
Because Justin and I were both joining, Grant had booked a room and even ordered coffees rather than hold the meeting informally around his desk, as was usually the case.
Grant stood by the screen, squinting. His presentation was only partially readable due to the angle of the sun, prompting his teammate to fiddle around with the blinds.
Justin typed on his phone, looking exasperated.
I sat far away from him. I’d limited our interactions to the minimum required, still raw from my defeat, still torn about his role, his intentions, throughout this whole thing. Still unsure we could ever rebuild our relationship, or if I wanted to.
Watching him out of the corner of my eye, and feeling the tension rise across my shoulders, I dreaded the moment we’d have to make peace. We’d have to work together for another two years after the acquisition.
Grant explained it had taken considerable forensic work by his team to establish what had happened and he took the room through the security protocol settings that had failed to raise the alarm.
‘Can we skip to your recommendation?’ asked Justin. ‘I have somewhere to be.’
‘Yes, of course. Let me jump to slide nine,’ Grant replied, seeming already frazzled by his delayed start.
I sipped at my water. Grant had been gracious in not assigning the blame of the incident to me too openly and stood explaining the new protocols he had designed for everyone to follow.
Justin snorted at his mobile and tip-tapped away with his fingers, his opinions punctuated by the occasional shake of his head and the odd tsk.
‘How do you spell “insolence”?’ he asked.
‘I-N-S-O-L-E-N-C-E,’ I offered automatically, wondering who had bruised his ego this time.
‘Ah, so it is with an “E” instead of an “A”. I always get that wrong.’
I thought it a strange word to get wrong. It seemed obvious to me. There was only one person I’d ever seen write it with an “A”.
My heartbeat quickened and the room grew dark. I clutched the table for support. Could it be? There was only one way to find out.
I sprung from my seat. ‘This all looks awesome, Grant. Well done. I’m sorry again you had to go through all this. At least we know it won’t happen again. But I’m sorry, I need to go. You’ll send me the instructions later, won’t you?’
Without waiting for an answer, I ran out the door.
The two occupants of the last-choice salsa room looked at me like startled owls as I yanked open the door. How could everywhere be full? Bloody open plan offices.
I drummed my fingers on the laptop clutched to my chest. Where could I go? The stationary closet wouldn’t do. Too cramped.
Retracing my steps, I double-checked there were indeed partial heads visible through the small glazed rectangles in the doors of every single meeting room.
Once at reception, I said to Liv, ‘I’m going out. I won’t be long,’
‘Sure thing, Laura. See you later.’
The wind propelled me towards the central square of the Quartermile. The cold air on my neck overpowered the stress-induced flush that coursed through my veins. The clash of temperatures hurt.
Through windows, I spotted an empty table in the nearest café.
The barista was slow. I danced on the spot, like a child needing the loo.
With my Earl Grey finally in hand, I plonked onto the wooden bench and woke my computer. Come on.
The WiFi needed a password. I checked all four sides of the promotional pyramid on the table and scanned the walls. A small blackboard invited coffee-lovers to sign up to their newsletter. Underneath, the password.
I accessed Twitter and searched for Justin’s account. He was an avid tweeter, averaging what I guessed was twenty tweets a day. Mostly about the company; mixing musings on industry news and events with an occasional glimpse into his private life.
A quick mental calculation told me I’d only need about seven months’ worth. That wouldn’t take long.
I entered the parameters in my scraper and let it loose on Twitter. I’d have to be patient.
The tea was soon gone. I twirled my ponytail around my finger.
Twelve minutes later, the scraper had captured all 4213 of Justin’s tweets from the selected period into a small database. I saved it onto my desktop.
I opened the giant database that held Emily’s Twitter abuse and extracted the account data I needed to confirm my hunch. My heart thumped at a furious pace. I navigated to a collection of models for Natural Language Processing I used frequently. I chose the one tailored for casual speech. It was one of many that formed the basis of Empisoft’s sophisticated product.
My hands trembled as I set up the model to run on the two small databases I’d just created and pressed Enter.
Within seconds, the results began populating my screen. My eyes followed each line as it appeared. I knew from practice that the information I wanted would fall roughly two thirds of the way down
There.
A 91% match.
@JustinG and @chosenone2.
Both Twitter accounts used the same language to such an extent that they could only belong to the same person. The same words, the same grammar, the same quirks in their turn of phrase. The same misspelling: insolance.
I let out a great big sob and thrust my head into my hands, dizzy with a confusing mixture of shock, anger... and relief. To think I’d given up after all those days and nights exploring mazes, hitting so many dead ends. But here he was; the man who’d stirred the sexist Incel army into a frenzy, pushing, motivating and provoking their vile attacks on Emily from all corners of the Globe.
And it was Justin.
Justin was the Inciter.
Justin caused Emily’s death.
45
CLAIRE
In the toilets, Claire primped her hair and ran a thick pencil over her eyebrows. She fixed the collar of her white blouse, selected for the occasion. She took a mindful breath. You deserve this.
Her one page of notes lay on the marbled surface. A neat bulleted list of irrefutable evidence. When Darren confirmed she could have a word with HR about that pay rise she’d asked for, she’d done her research. She admired her reflection in the mirror. She had the memory of an elephant and never left a fact or detail unchecked. It’s why she was great at running events.
She glanced over the figures one more time. Her friends across the PR community hadn’t been shy about sharing their remuneration packages. They might all have snazzy titles like ‘PR Specialist’ and ‘Account Executive’, but the sector was notorious for underpaying. She’d fallen for it too, at first, like all the other bright-eyed and bushy-tailed juniors the agencies convinced were trading money for a life of glamour, and that greater reward would follow. But that was a long time ago.
She took her sheet back to her desk. It wasn’t quite time yet. Unfortunately, her peers’ roles were too varied to determine a clear, tight range of the salary she should expect; their client portfolios spanned the spectrum from tiny family businesses to global brands. It also made it difficult to check if there was any systemic gender pay gap, which must suit the bosses just fine.
She’d pilfered websites like Glassdoor where people could post their salary anonymously. It was depressing. Up here in Scotland you never got anywhere near the London dosh.
At ten o’clock she knocked on HR’s door.
‘Ah, Claire. Good.’ Linda’s papers and folders lay scattered on her desk like plaster from a collapsed ceiling.
How could she find anything?
‘Is it okay to move this pile?’ Claire asked pointing to the overflowing chair.
‘Yes, sure. Put it by the cabinet.’
Easier said than done. Claire left it on the floor, conscious she was not supposed to see some of the private documents peeking out at her.
‘First of all... Congratulations.’ Linda’s hands strobed together in a tiny gesture of applause. ‘How’s it going?’
Be positive.
<
br /> ‘Very well. I’ve got Empisoft’s conference in a few days and it’s going to be a belter.’
‘Good. And are you managing with the content? I certainly don’t understand half of what our clients do.’
‘Absolutely. I’m getting completely stuck in,’ said Claire, projecting a confidence that almost convinced herself.
‘That’s great. A hidden talent, because I would have thought you’d be more suited to Culture. And that’s where Emily thought you should go.’
‘Emily?’ Claire thought her ears has deceived her. It had been a while since she’d heard that name in the office. Her colleagues tended to pussyfoot around what happened, glossing over the event, and by extension, Emily’s existence. Although many had stopped going to the gym and nobody had moved to her desk yet.
Linda nodded. ‘Emily had caught wind of Jacob’s plan to move to London and came to give her thoughts on how we should reorganise briefs when he was gone.’
Claire straightened her shoulders. ‘And she said I couldn’t handle Technology?’
‘Quite the opposite,’ replied Linda. ‘She had only good things to say. Thought you were wasted on Charity. Told me you were passionate about the arts, film, TV, and knew everything that was going on.’
‘She did?’
‘Don’t sound so surprised. She was a big fan.’
Claire blinked. She and Emily had jousted for position. Was she wrong about their rivalry? It made no sense. Had Emily’s throwaway ‘You can do better than that, Claire’ comments been meant as encouragement all along?
‘So what happened?’ Claire asked. ‘I mean, not that I’m not happy with Technology, but I’d like to know why Otto got Culture.’
Linda grimaced. ‘After the thing with Adam Mooney kicked off, Darren didn’t value Emily’s opinion anymore.’
‘He was cross, wasn’t he?’
A stony smile spread across Linda’s face. ‘Anyway,’ she said, rubbing her hands together. ‘It’s all fallen into place, and we are here to talk about your pay rise.’ She looked around the desk, searching for a document.
Get in there.
Claire leaned forward. ‘Before you tell me your thoughts, Linda. I wanted to share some of the figures I’ve seen for similar types of roles. I think it’s important we recognise market rates.’
Linda smiled and nodded. ‘You’ve done your homework.’
‘I think it’s important to know your worth.’ Claire handed her research over. When Linda extended her arm to receive it, her elbow bumped a heap of paper that flooded the floor.
‘Oh dear,’ Linda said, keeping hold of the next, tottering heap.
Claire sprang out of her chair. ‘Let me.’ She crouched down and swept the various documents together, their corners jutting out at clumsy angles. She spotted a big, bold title Termination Letter. Unable to contain her curiosity, Claire peaked at the name of the addressee. Her stomach churned. Emily Nairn.
She climbed to her feet, her heart beating against the stack of papers she held by her chest. ‘Was Darren going to fire Emily? For what happened?’
It would have been easy to miss Linda’s gulp, but there it was. ‘You know I can’t comment, Claire.’
‘Did Emily know?’
‘Again, I can’t comment.’
Claire should’ve been happy. She’d negotiated a tidy package for herself. But she couldn’t help thinking Linda hadn’t put up much of a fight and wondered if she’d caved a little too easily to make up for Claire discovering the truth about Emily’s dismissal — to buy her silence.
Instead of a sweet rush, Claire tasted bitterness as she closed Linda’s door behind her.
A hubbub rose from the far end of the office, where colleagues stood huddled around a series of posters for the launch of a publisher’s new book.
Had any of them known?
She walked to Emily’s empty desk. Claire had collected the various gadgets relating to their technology clients, out of necessity. It seemed that others had gradually plundered the pens and pencils, the paper clips and the stapler without any qualms. An abandoned whiteboard eraser rested on the corner, ready to delete her altogether.
Surely, you couldn’t fire someone on a whim? She’d been off sick. Well, Claire supposed ‘sick’ was the closest thing you could call it: Emily just stopped coming. And it was true that the company’s reputation had suffered once the Internet trolls had worked out who Emily was. They took down the website. They even came to the door shouting abuse. Claire suspected Darren had been most upset that Pure Brilliant’s name was mentioned whenever someone wrote about her sexual assault story. It was definitely not true what they say; that any publicity is good publicity.
Still... What nonsense reason could they have used? Gross misconduct? A PR man, of all people, should have known it would pass. Why sack Emily, when she was such an asset? And, as Claire had just learnt, such a team player. A champion.
Claire returned to the toilet. She ran her wrists under the cold tap and bent down to take a sip. She wiped the water from her chin and caught sight of her pale reflection. She pinched her cheeks and rubbed her lips with her finger.
Let it go.
But she couldn’t.
With her colleagues still distracted, she collected her things and put on her coat.
Outside, she turned to the more private side of the building, where security had left Darren to recover that fateful day. She squeezed her eyes shut and held her forehead. After a deep breath, she secured her hair behind her ear and took out her phone. Laura’s number was among the recent dials.
‘Hey, it’s Claire. Have you got a moment?’
‘Is it urgent?’ Laura’s tone couldn’t have been colder.
‘Look, I’m probably not your favourite person at the moment, but I think you want hear this.’
‘Okay. What is it? Be quick.’
‘Are you sitting down?’
‘Jesus, Claire. Spit it out. Is it the conference?’
‘Sorry. No. It’s... You were right. I know you’ve been frustrated trying to figure out why Emily would kill herself. Needing someone to blame. And we all know it was a whole bunch of things, all coming together, and...’ Claire balled her fist. ‘I gave you a hard time for saying Darren had anything to do with it. But you were right. I’m sorry.’
‘What are you saying? What did he do?’ Laura asked.
‘It wouldn’t have been enough in and of itself, but it might have been what tipped her over the edge. Darren sacked Emily... I promise I didn’t know.’
Laura gasped. ‘Oh my God.’
‘It makes sense, doesn’t it?’ Claire said. ‘Why else would she have gone through all that trouble? Coming into the gym that morning...’ Claire pressed her hand against her churning stomach. ‘She knew he would be in next. He’s regular as clockwork. She must have wanted to punish him.’
Claire heard Laura’s laboured breaths, and feet running. Where was she going?
‘Laura? Are you okay?’
A muffled roar replied. ‘I can’t believe it. That bastard.’
‘I’m shocked too. To think I was starting to regret our little trick on Darren because it had spiralled, but—’
‘We didn’t give him nearly what he deserved,’ Laura spat.
Claire took a second to think. ‘We still can.’
46
ME
That afternoon, I paced in Empisoft’s reception area, waiting for Suki to show up. The marketing team were busying around me, inspecting full-size banners for the conference that had just been delivered. Justin’s canvas face rose from a metallic strip on the ground and towered over me as it was hooked into the top of the frame.
‘Everything okay, Laura?’ Liv asked.
‘It will be.’ I hoped that was true.
Suki’s silhouette approached across the street, from the direction of Tollcross. She must have walked from her office. I willed her to speed up. Suki reached the glazed entrance, her head cocked in a puzzled expression. I
was practically jumping up and down.
‘Hey—’
‘Come,’ I said. I took her by the hand and dragged her to the meeting room I’d reserved to go over the absolute last due diligence matters.
Suki tottered on her heels. ‘Steady. I can’t go that fast.’
I activated the frosted wall and threw Suki into a chair.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked.
‘I’ve been waiting all day to tell you. You’re not going to believe it.’ I continued to pace flapping my arms to shake my hands loose, to release the energy that had built up inside. ‘They’re all bastards. They’re all guilty.’
‘What are you taking about?’
‘Emily.’
Suki looked down and let out a deep sigh.
Did she not care?
I grabbed both her armrests. ‘Justin. Darren. They’re both responsible for Emily’s death. It’s not these random, anonymous trolls. It’s them. It’s people we know. It’s people she knew.’
Suki frowned. ‘I don’t understand. Justin and Darren sent the dildos?’
I shook my head. ‘Do you remember me telling you about the Inciter? The Twitter account. Network Impact identified the main agitator behind the torrent of abuse she got? The one who egged people on to do all these horrible things online — and in her home.’
‘Yes, I remember.’
‘It’s Justin. Justin is the Inciter.’
Suki’s jaw dropped. ‘How did you—’
‘He’s the one behind all this venom that came at her from these horrible strangers. Unrelenting. Attacking, attacking, attacking. And she already couldn’t handle it. Then to top it all off, she got fired by her boss.’
‘No way.’ Suki’s hands flew to her mouth. ‘How do you know?’
‘Claire found out. She called me. And she apologised for acting like I was nuts when I thought Darren had mistreated Emily. Turns out I’m right. And I’m a hundred percent certain I’m right about Justin. And I have had it.’ I slammed on the table.