Uncle and Ants

by Marc Jedel

  Waving at him to calm down before someone noticed us, I said, “No. It’s just Valley slang for one of those lucky startups valued at not just one billion dollars, but ten billion dollars. When they go public, Rollag will be rich enough to afford his own vineyard and a house in the hills.”

  Raj’s eyes flashed wide. “I am wishing Rover was a unicorn.”

  I nodded in agreement with this shared dream of every engineer in Silicon Valley. How amazing it must feel to have options in a company worth a billion dollars. Even a small share would make Raj and me rich. “Right now, I think Rover is far from a unicorn.”

  Still standing in my cube, Raj looked around and sniffed the air. “Are you smelling something? Something that is rotten?” He moved his head from side to side as he tried to find the source of the offending odor. He was close enough to catch the scent of the fish sauce on my shoes.

  I’d meant to clean them last night but got busy working on my software code and then stumbled into bed very late. “Oh, I spilled some fish sauce on my shoes.”

  Question answered, Raj ignored my shoes and moved on, “Why did your sister is meeting … No.” He gave a frustrated shake of his head and started again. “Why did your sister meet with Jean Rollag?”

  I didn’t comment on the deterioration of Raj’s English skills. The excessive caffeine must have short-circuited some of the neurons in his brain. “Rollag’s a pig. He wasn’t any help.”

  Raj grinned broadly. “Unicorns, fish, and pigs, Oh my.”

  I ignored him and continued, “She’s told me before that she helps companies get their HR departments set up, helps others investigate complaints, and sometimes advises the Board of Directors.”

  Raj leaned over my shoulder. “Maybe you should search for ‘DroneTech’ and ‘investigation’?”

  I didn’t want him taking away my keyboard so I ran the search. This time the headlines for the top stories highlighted DroneTech’s upcoming initial public offering. I clicked on one of the links.

  “Let’s see … We knew they’ve announced they’re going public soon. Of course, they hired one of the big investment banks …” I traced my finger down the screen. “Hey, look at this.” I pointed to the screen.

  Raj leaned in closer, holding onto my chair for balance.

  I continued, “It says DroneTech’s venture capitalists are conducting a routine due diligence investigation of the leadership team before they formally file to go public.”

  Raj shook my chair with both hands. “Is that good? Is that bad? What does that mean?”

  He was well into my personal space now and still over-charged. “Raj, chill. I didn’t know you got so wound up after you have a lot of caffeine.”

  Self-conscious now, Raj pulled back a little bit. “So sorry. I do not drink caffeine drinks often.”

  I hadn’t meant to embarrass him. “It’s cool, just haven’t seen this side of you.” Before he would think I was upset, I continued, “That means they’re checking out the execs to make sure nothing bad from their background comes out in the press while they are going public. Maybe the venture capitalists hired Laney to help on that project?”

  Raj’s head bobble appeared with somber resolve. “It is possible. We should look at Laney’s computer. Perhaps she was checking out DroneTech?”

  We? Raj, robotics expert, ace programmer, and now an amateur private investigator. But it was a great idea so I took Laney’s computer out of my backpack. I knew it was unrealistic, but I’d hoped Laney might be doing well enough today that I could bring it home with her, along with her daughters.

  When I touched the screen of Laney’s computer, it flashed open to her home screen, a picture of Skye and Megan arm in arm at the beach.

  “There is no security?” Raj looked scandalized.

  “No, can you believe it? Yet her phone has the full retinal security controls activated. She’s never been very good with technology. I’m the engineer in the family.”

  “Sometimes I think we are all engineers in India.”

  The thought had occurred to me too. Unable to think of an appropriate response, I looked at Laney’s recent internet search history. “Yes, she was doing searches on DroneTech. And here,” I jabbed at the screen, “she was also researching Jean Rollag.”

  Opening the last link Laney had clicked, we started reading. It was an old story from the Stanford Daily, the university’s student newspaper. I skimmed the story, a typical graduation puff piece. Halfway down the article appeared a picture of a boyish-looking Jean Rollag with his arms around a young man and woman, all dressed in their graduation robes. The caption read: “Graduating seniors Jean Rollag, Howard Thomas, and Sierra Smith enjoy post-ceremony celebration.”

  Still hovering a bit too close over my shoulder, Raj pointed to the screen. “Your sister highlighted their names in the article.”

  “I see. I wonder if they were part of her research, too?” Impulsively, I said, “I should contact them and see if they know anything about Rollag and Laney.”

  Jiggling his leg, Raj shook his head in a different direction. “I do not know if that is a good idea. But I cannot stay. I must visit men’s room now.” Without waiting for a reply, he hustled away. If this is what he’s like with too much coffee, I wondered how getting drunk would affect him.

  I didn’t know how to contact Rollag’s Stanford friends. Scratching my head as I racked my brain, I finally came up with an idea on my own. It was wrong to check the Rover customer database to see if they had joined. I knew it was wrong. However, only last week the boss had told us in a brainstorming session there were no bad ideas. I knew company rules forbid it except in emergencies and it violated customers’ privacy. But, surely this counted as a safety emergency. In a narrow, technical interpretation of the rules, I could claim this might keep Laney safe from further harm. That would be my answer if legal asked me and I’d stick to it.

  I checked to see if Rollag’s former friend, Howard Thomas, had joined Rover. Yes! A member in the last year, he lived nearby in Palo Alto.

  Before I stopped to think about why I shouldn’t do this, I called him.

  “Hello,” answered a deep voice.

  “Hi, uh, my name is Marty. At Stanford, you and Jean Rollag were friends, right?” I should have stopped to think about what to say first.

  “What? Where did you say you were from? Stanford?” asked Howard.

  Oh, that’s a good idea. “Yes, from Stanford.”

  “And what’s this for again?” Howard seemed unconvinced and perhaps a bit confused, but that made two of us.

  “Ah… I had some questions for you about that picture of you and Rollag on the cover of the Stanford Daily from your graduation.” And a lightning bolt of inspiration struck me. “We’re doing a story, sort of a Then and Now-type piece, about friends after graduation.” Smug with pride for coming up with that lie on the spot, I leaned back in my chair. Now I’d get to the bottom of this.

  “For a story that’s eleven years after we graduated and almost three months after graduation?” asked Howard. More than skepticism had crept into his voice.

  Sweat broke out on my head as I started to panic. “Ah … Yeah … We’re a little late on our ten-year anniversary stories.”

  “Yeah, right.” And he hung up. Not very polite. It’s like he thought I was trying to scam him. Stanford graduates are smart. We should hire some at Rover.

  “I’ve got to get better at this,” I said to no one while still holding my now-disconnected phone.

  Better get my story together if I’m going to help Laney. I still sat there holding my phone and staring into space when, out of the blue, Raj asked, “Did you get an answer?” With his caffeine high dissipating, his silent ways had returned.

  I jerked upright in surprise. “No. He thought I was scamming him.”

  “That is the truth.”

  The truth hurt. “Yeah, but I’m just trying to help Laney, not steal something. I’m going to try one last time with the woman, Sierra S
mith, in the picture with Rollag. But I need to do a better job.”

  “I wish you good luck.” Raj sat at his desk and re-focused on his work.

  I sat for a moment collecting my thoughts, then looked up Sierra. My dad liked the old proverb: “in for a penny, in for a pound.” It wasn’t as if Rover could fire me twice for misuse of the customer database. My luck held, as Sierra also had registered for Rover. If everyone started to use Rover, perhaps we’d become a unicorn company too. Daydreaming about that pleasant thought, I lost a few minutes.

  Someone a few cubicles away yelled into their phone and snapped me out of my reflection. I don’t know how anyone could work in an open area like this without headphones. I concentrated on Laney’s situation and considered what to say. I took a deep breath and then called Sierra.

  “Hello, this is Sierra,” she answered.

  I tried to project confidence as if I cold-called strangers every day and wasn’t a scam artist. “Hi. My name is Marty Golden. I’m helping out Laney Tran. I believe she contacted you about Jean Rollag and I wanted to ask you some questions too.” I felt pride that I had straddled the line between vagueness and clarity without explicitly lying.

  “What?” Sierra spoke with a nervous tremor in her voice. “Are you with the IRS too?”

  What?

  8

  Wednesday Late Morning

  What would our mother have thought of Laney pretending that she worked for the IRS? All those crime shows we watched together during childhood must have affected Laney’s judgment. Mine too. I didn’t pause before answering, “Yes.”

  Sierra sounded pained. “What else do you need to know?”

  As she spoke I saw our boss limping down the hallway toward our area. With a hurt leg that made him grumpy when he had to use it, the boss was on his way to his near-daily check-in of our team around the floor. I had to hurry. A crazy idea popped into my head, probably inspired by my imaginary action movie starring Mace Jackson. “Ms. Smith. Would you meet me at the San Jose IRS office at three p.m.? We can double-check that we have all the facts correct at that time.”

  Sierra stuttered a little. “Uh. Yes. Okay. I told Ms. Tran that I’d cooperate. I don’t want any trouble.”

  The boss closed in on me. Sweating, I hurried through my confirmation. “Ok. See you at three. Bye.”

  Our boss reached my cubicle right as I hung up. Raj looked at me with one eyebrow raised. Heart racing, I looked back at him with my eyes wide open, sending telepathic messages imploring him not to say anything until our boss left. Raj must have understood my silent pleas as he pulled the boss’ attention away from me and carried the conversation single-handedly, discussing schedules and testing techniques. I managed a few weak comments and after a longer visit than any of us desired, the boss limped away to his next victim.

  Raj waited until our boss left earshot. Then, he commented on my conversation with Sierra as if nothing had interrupted us. “I am thinking this is not a good idea.”

  I understood why he disagreed with my plan to meet Sierra at the IRS office, but I didn’t want to hear it. “Laney did it too.” I used my best big-boy voice.

  “Yes. Now she is in hospital.”

  Raj, speaker of truth.

  “I know.” I disliked the truth. “That’s why I need to figure out what’s going on. I don’t want Laney to get killed.” Breaking eye contact, I looked down at my computer screen and began searching online. “I think I have an idea how to make this work.”

  Raj popped over to watch my search. The caffeine high had dissipated, but when he saw the images of IRS badges on my screen, he became agitated again. “I am really thinking this is not a good idea.” He shook his hand at me as if to wipe away what I was doing.

  Ignoring him, I kept working. Creating a metal badge would be impossible in time for the meeting. Maybe I wouldn’t need one. A few clicks later, I’d created an image of a fake IRS employee badge with the IRS logo and added my photo from the Rover employee directory underneath. I sized the image to insert into my Rover employee badge holder attached to my belt. I printed the fake badge and tested it. It fit.

  I glanced up to see Raj pressing his lips firmly together. Turning back to my screen, I created a fake business card that could fit into my wallet in place of my driver’s license. My excitement built as I realized this would emulate those TV crime shows where the agents flash their credentials and no one scrutinized them. Hopefully, Sierra had seen those shows as well and wouldn’t subject my fake credentials to an up-close review either. And with any luck, none of the other workers at the IRS office would see my counterfeit badges either.

  Raj reached a definitive conclusion. Pointing at the badge, he said, “This is not a good idea.”

  I concurred. “Probably not, but I need to do it for Laney. I’ll send the boss an email that I’m not feeling well and need to leave early for a doctor’s appointment.” My head did hurt.

  “You will put our testing further behind.” Raj had given up on a personal appeal and now tried to reason with the engineer in me.

  The guilt trip almost worked. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up this weekend and work extra hours next week. Just keep your head down.”

  “As long as you do not give up your day job.”

  “What?”

  “It is an American saying I have learned. It is true because if you get arrested, you will not be able to work here.”

  “Ok. Good tip. And, I don’t think the boss will come back this direction now that he’s finished his drive by.” Our boss preferred the “management by walking around” method instead of holding regular one-on-one meetings with us. This way he avoided feeling obligated to help solve any meaningful problems or talking with us about any personal issues.

  Raj frowned for a few seconds without moving and then slowly shook his head. “Ok.”

  “Thanks.” I thought I was safe but didn’t dare thank him for not ratting me out. That idiom would take too long to explain.

  I once read that you build closer relationships by discussing personal topics. “By the way, what’s your full name. It’s not Raj, right?” That was a personal discussion, right there.

  “My first name is Rajendrakumar. In Hindi, it means powerful king. My last name is longer. You should call me Raj, I think.”

  “Yes. I think I will.” Powerful king of coding, that’s for sure.

  I had to leave if I wanted to get to my appointment early to scope out the place. It was time my alter-ego, Marty Golden, fake IRS agent, made his appearance.

  9

  Wednesday Afternoon

  The San Jose IRS office, located downtown just a few short blocks north of Plaza de César Chávez, bore the common government architectural design of concrete and glass from decades ago. I could see only the edge of the grassy park as the Rover car dropped me off at a nearby corner at a quarter to three. Beads of sweat started forming on my forehead as my nerves returned. My idea better work. Getting arrested was not on my to-do list for today.

  Sitting quietly in a corner of the IRS lobby, I waited for Sierra Smith to walk in. From LinkedIn, I’d printed a more recent picture of her so I would recognize her as soon as she arrived. My luck held as a lot of pedestrian traffic flowed in and out of the building. The guards looked bored as they sat at the other end of the lobby, scanning people’s bags and badges as they passed through the metal detector that led to the elevators. I was counting on them not noticing me.

  A few minutes before three, Sierra walked into the lobby and paused to look around. I recognized her from her pictures. A little older than her graduation picture, but she looked pretty much the same.

  I jumped up and strode to the lobby entrance. I called, “Ms. Smith? Ms. Sierra Smith?”

  She turned her head when she heard her name. A few other people in the lobby looked up at my voice. The guards remained occupied watching people walk through the security scanner and paid no attention to me. I closed the gap to reach Sierra’s side before she�
�d wonder why I recognized her when we’d never met before.

  “Yes. I’m Sierra.” Speaking with a soft voice, she shifted her weight and hunched her shoulders, not at all the image of the self-confident Stanford student from the long-ago newspaper photo. The IRS was one scary place.

  “Good afternoon. I’m Marty Golden.” Projecting a confidence I didn’t quite feel, I reached out my hand and gave her a firm handshake. Taking out my wallet, I flashed my fake business card resting where my driver’s license usually sat. “Our floor is under construction right now and quite noisy, so I thought, since it’s a beautiful day, it might be nice to take a short walk and talk in the park nearby?” I held my breath, hoping she’d go for my big plan. I hadn’t figured out plan B yet.

  “Uh, sure, I guess.”

  “Great. Well then, I won’t be needing my employee badge to go outside.” I forced a chuckle as I retracted my hand holding the wallet and moved it down to my side. Her eyes followed as my hand unclipped my fake employee badge from my belt and moved both my wallet and badge into my pocket. I hoped my minor attempt at humor and drawing her attention to my badge, however brief, would suffice to convince her that I worked for the IRS. Not wanting other workers or the armed guards inspecting my fake credentials, I moved toward the door, now eager to get out of here. Holding the door open for her, I said, “After you.”

  Crime shows must be accurate, or influential. She believed me and headed out the door. Phew. Maybe I won’t get arrested today. At least not yet.

  The short walk to the park made me realize I’m glad to be a software engineer rather than a real IRS agent. Although most people don’t understand what I do, at least they’re not especially awkward around me. As we walked the short block to the park, Sierra’s strained face looked like she wished she could be anywhere else but with me. I tried to keep up a steady stream of meaningless small talk, but weather, the Giants, traffic, and weather again used up my entire supply. Sierra had nothing to contribute to the conversation. Even in the best of circumstances, I don’t discuss much with strangers besides the Giants and technology.