* * *
Remy slipped into the back where he’d been sitting with Marnie and Daniel just as Charles got the meeting started. His phone was burning a hole in his pocket. He wanted to text Tara back, wanted to set a time to talk to her, but he wasn’t ready to face her rejection yet. It was pathetic, he knew that, but he’d been captivated by her from the start and had fallen in love too hard, too fast.
Marnie gave him a cross stare as he sat down but said nothing.
* * *
While Charles spoke, Tara flipped pages in her folder, keeping pace with his talking. Whenever someone asked a question about statistics or dates, Tara had the correct reference item at hand and passed it to him. She jotted notes in margins or on the pad of paper at her elbow.
The subject of the afternoon was the effective dispersal of information about werebears to counteract the propaganda that The Human Order was spewing everywhere. They’d agreed years ago on what information needed to be made public, the fact that they were not contagious being foremost, but their “marketing” campaign hadn’t kept pace with the times.
“That’s where the webpage comes in,” Charles was saying. “It’s a public and easily accessible place people can visit to get information about werebears. The billing information will all be listed under the name of someone who is already publicly known, preferably someone without children. We do anticipate this person becoming a target of The Human Order if they discover their identity because this person will be actively speaking out against misinformation and hate.”
That started up a discussion on using a fake name, or a front company to protect themselves. Finally Charles said, “Those are all good points and questions. We’ll direct them to the police officer who is coming to speak with us tomorrow so he can address them for you in his talk.”
* * *
One of the Chiefs drew Remy aside as the session was wrapping up to ask him about Brock’s run for Mayor and how having a werebear in local office was working out for them. When he finally made it to the restaurant, it was pretty crowded. Tara was seated near the window with an older lady, Marnie and Daniel were seated near the door and had saved him a seat – though they had ordered and started eating without him. Tara glanced up just as he came in and smiled.
He turned away and joined Marnie and Daniel at their table.
“What kept you?” Daniel said.
“Politics. Had to explain that the spotlight of public office came with as many if not more risks as rewards.”
“What did I say?” Marnie said, pointing her fork at Daniel. “Power hungry. I don’t like the way some of these conversations are going.”
“We’ll never get a werebear elected to anything higher than mayor,” Daniel said. “Too many people are worried about biased laws or letting ‘killer bears get away with murder’ or they’re just outright bigoted.”
* * *
Tara watched Remy walk in the opposite direction and sighed.
“What is it dear?” Mabel asked.
“Nothing. Just tired. It was a long day.”
“You did wonderfully. You’re such a help for your father. He must be quite proud of you.”
“Mmm,” she said. She wiped her mouth and dropped her napkin on her plate. “Excuse me, I think I’ll go up to my room for a bit.”
She left without approaching Remy but pulled out her phone as she walked. “Did I do something wrong? I really miss you. I’m going down to the pool if you want to join me. Promise I won’t try to drown you this time.”
* * *
Remy pulled his phone out and quickly read the message then tucked the phone away again.
“What’s up?” Daniel said.
“Nothing. So, tell me about the rebuilding that’s going on down there.”
Once Daniel got going on hurricanes, nothing could stop him and they passed the evening over dessert and wine discussing politics and infrastructure and the nasty string of storms that had recently been pounding the southern corner of the US.
Sunday
The conference room was still set up the same as Saturday but the stage had been rearranged. One of the tables was gone, as were most of the chairs. Someone had set up a laptop and projector and a projector screen.
Francis was speaking with a younger man in police uniform as the other Chiefs wandered into the room. Most of them returned to their seats from the day before. Remy still sat at the back but he’d moved over to the aisle edge so Marnie, in the aisle seat, could actually see.
This session was more important for her, since she was older and was actually dealing with a lot of blackmail and threats from The Human Order, a legacy left by her former Chief. Daniel too seemed very interested, though within his clan most of the members used computers only to keep in touch with family. Remy dealt with computers every day, as did Brock, so he was sure most of this session, the technical aspects at least, would be things he already knew.
Francis cleared his throat and said, “Good morning. I’m not sure if everyone has made it down from breakfast yet but we’ll get started. This is Officer Joseph McMillan and he’ll be leading this morning’s discussion.”
“Thank you,” the police officer said. “I’m Joe McMillan and I’m with the cyber-crimes unit of the Montana state police. I’ll be reviewing some technical stuff, like firewalls, website security, and such, but I’ll also be sharing some legal stuff with you. I strongly advise you to talk to a lawyer or police officer in your own state when you return home. Some of these laws are federally enforced and will apply across the board, but some states have different laws, or different requirements of proof, or other such things that you’ll need to take into account. Let’s jump right into some basics, shall we?”
As promised, he reviewed personal computer safety, like firewalls, IP protectors, secure network settings, the importance of regularly changing passwords, and how to craft strong passwords. As he reached the end of that section he said, “Talk to someone at a computer or electronics shop if you need help with any of this. They’ll help you get all your security settings updated or upgraded, and it’s a lot cheaper than dealing with viruses or data thieves. Now, social media. Let’s make sure you’re browsing and sharing safely.”
He reviewed privacy settings, and privacy clauses in user agreements, for the major social media platforms. Remy could tell by the gasps and mutters that some of this information was news to a lot of people and he wondered how many were genuinely unaware of how far their information could legally spread online or that they could have people following them without their knowledge. Quite a few people pulled their phones out and Remy guessed they were reviewing their settings and making changes.
“The internet is public, even if your personal settings are ‘private’,” Joe said. “By sharing a photo or status online, you are relinquishing your expectation of privacy. If you don’t want your boss, spouse, or enemy to know that fact about you, or see that photo of you or a family member, do not put it anywhere online. And while you can take a lot of it down, the internet never really forgets. Things don’t die on the internet, they never completely vanish. Sites are archived and stored all the time. But yes, taking down all your photos from your accounts, if you’re concerned about who’s viewing them, is a good place to start. Any questions so far?”
There were lots.
When the questions petered out, Officer McMillan started on the legal part of his presentation. Remy pulled the pen out of his pocket and started making notes. Beside him Marnie was scribbling away furiously. Joe went over reasonable expectation of privacy, liable, defamation of character, blackmail, stalking, uttering threats, physical assault and self-defense, verbal assault, and hate crimes. The presentation went well beyond the advertised ‘cyber-security’ and into personal safety.
“We’re getting close to lunch already,” Joe said. “And I’m certain I’ve left all of you in information overload, but I’m going to stop there and take questions.”
“There was a concer
n raised yesterday,” Charles said without even raising his hand. “We’ve been discussing starting up a website to distribute ‘anti-propaganda’ material about our organization and we are wondering how to keep the identity of the website owner secret.”
“You’ve got a few options,” Joe said. He went over those options in loose detail and then said, “Come talk to me afterwards, whoever is working on that project, and I’ll make sure you have the resources you need.”
The questions just kept coming and Marnie sat as patiently as she could, practically leaning into the aisle so she could be seen past all the taller people in front of her, but Joe seemed to be calling on everyone but her. Finally, Remy put up his hand.
“Yes, there’s a hand at the back.”
“Go ahead, Marnie.”
“Thank you. Once a person’s security has been compromised or they’ve been targeted for harassment or blackmail, what can they do to make themselves secure again?”
“I recommend deleting all accounts and starting from scratch, for one thing. And that includes your email, cellphone, and landline. Talk to the police about physical protection. Change your habits and routines, where you can. Bank at a different branch, for example, or move your accounts to a new bank. If there are children involved, notify the police and the school. They have policies in place to help. Any accounts you cannot delete, make sure they have new passwords and go through and update all the privacy and security settings as I already described. Take all the usual personal safety precautions if you think you are physically at risk, don’t travel alone, make sure someone knows where you’re going, and so on. Keep records of everything – every private message, every text, every phone call. Screenshot it, print it, record it. If you can’t tape record a phone call, make a written record as soon as you hang up. Keep a copy for yourself and give a copy to the police.”
He moved on to the next question. Marnie leaned over and whispered, “Thanks.”
Remy just shrugged.
* * *
When Remy sat down across from Marnie at lunch, he recognized from the intensity of her stare that he was about to get a lecture. His mother had looked at him like that often, generally when he got home from spending a day with Brock. Sometimes Remy was amazed he’d survived to adulthood. “All right, what did I do?”
“Don’t play innocent or ignorant with me,” Marnie snapped. “I can see what’s going on. What I can’t see is why.”
“Marnie, my head is swimming with all this cyber security stuff. Can you get to the point?”
“Why are you avoiding that nice young lady like she’s got the plague?”
“Never mind,” he muttered. “You can go back to dancing around the topic for a while.”
“Remy.”
He sighed. “She’s Charles Brown’s daughter. You know everything you’ve been saying about the power and patriarchy and money and arrogance of the council – he is all that, and he’s steps away from being on the Council. He is old money, the stuffy New England type old money, and he strongly dislikes both me and my father.”
“I didn’t see you rushing off to have lunch with Charles the other day. What’s this got to do with his daughter?”
“By now she knows who I am, what I am. I saw them at the banquet. She pointed me out to him and then they were foreheads together, probably discussing me. I work in a marketing department of a corporation owned by my second. She probably owns clothes that cost more than my car and spends more at a restaurant than I do on groceries in a month.”
“You don’t know that. Jane says your second, that Brock fellow, is pretty level-headed and he’s old money, too.”
“Sure, but his dad and grandfather were also level headed – and all three of them married savvy, level-headed, strong-willed women. I’ve met Mrs. Brown, though I was thirteen at the time, and my mother always had a lot to say about her – spoiled, docile, snobbish.”
“She’s not her mother, either.”
“We’re the product of our environments.”
“We don’t grow up in bubbles. Is Jane anything like Laurent?”
“He wasn’t her father.”
“He had her for longer than her real father did.”
“Laurent was not nearly as rich as Charles Brown. And Jane had you.”
“So, is she the one obsessed about the wage gap between you two? Or are you?”
“You saw the dress she was wearing on Friday. There’s no way I can compete with the old money trust-fund suitors that must flock to her at home.”
“And yet she’s texting you.”
Remy put his fork down with a little force. “It’s not that simple, Marnie.”
“My husband died young, stomach cancer, didn’t know until it was too late. Everyone said we were too young to get married, too different, too much in a rush. But it was love, Remy. We knew from day one. It was a whirlwind they said, when they weren’t telling us we were being stupid and that it wouldn’t last. They were surprised every time we celebrated a wedding anniversary.” Her smile turned wistful for a moment. “Remy, trust me. I know love when I see it. Don’t let her father and her father’s money get in the way of at least trying.”
* * *
Most of Charles’ sessions had to do with business in some way – how to protect investments and business records, how to support werebear employees, how werebears could go about requesting the required time off for full moons without arousing suspicion, and so on.
Tara had little to no interest in her father’s business, which revolved around investments and stock options and trade holdings. She preferred computers, liked the way the code was both predictable and chaotic, much to her father’s fairly obvious disappointment. She wasn’t sure if her attendance at this conference was to keep an eye on her, or to rope her into his business dealings, which wasn’t working the way he’d planned.
She sat through the afternoon session with her folder and her notes and smiled at all the Clan Chiefs present and handed her father the information he needed to answer their questions. There were some questions for which he simply didn’t have detailed answers so he’d say, “That’s something to talk to your tech department about when you get home.”
I could answer those questions, she thought. I could probably find my way around their networks and systems faster and easier than they could. But she said nothing. She knew better than to upstage her father while he was grandstanding.
They wrapped up a few minutes early so the men could shake hands and exchange business cards and ask professional networking questions and try to arrange deals with each other. Even if this conference did little to protect the werebear population from The Human Order, these men were going to profit from these few days somehow. Tara shook her head and packed up her papers.
One of the younger Chiefs in the room approached her and cleared his throat. She looked up and forced a smile. “What can I do for you?”
“You did a wonderful job today.”
“All I do is keep track of the notes so Charles can talk,” she said. “It’s not much, really.”
“It’s very important. He’s lucky to have you. Do you work for him?”
“Not officially, no.”
“Are you looking for a job?”
“No. I have work back home. Excuse me.”
“I’ll walk with you. I’m Dimitri, by the way.”
“Tara.”
“What do you do?”
“Computer stuff, mostly freelance. I’m not looking for anything more right now.”
“Freelance, eh? Well, maybe I’ll get in touch with you then. I might have a few odd jobs for you.”
“Thanks for thinking of me.” They’d cleared the conference rooms and made it back to the lobby, so she stopped off to one side.
“You do websites?”
“Yes.” She nodded.
“Well, ours could use a good update,” he said with a chuckle.
“You’ll want to hire a graphic designer first,” she said. �
�Once they have all the new logos and banners and such ready, I can get everything plugged in and all your links up and running smoothly.”
“That’s good advice. Say, you want to grab a drink and talk about other opportunities?”
“No, thank you for the offer.” She took a step towards the elevators and he touched her arm, halting her.
“Come on, my treat, anything you want. I’m sure you’re a woman of many talents and I’d love to get to know you better.”
“We have the ceremony tonight, and the full moon. It’s already going to be a late night. I’d rather just have a quiet dinner and then get ready for the evening.”
“Sure. Like I said, my treat, anything you want.”
She looked him over. He was wearing an expensive suit, maybe not as expensive as her father’s but it was very good quality. He was younger than her father, but then most of the Chiefs were, and he was likely younger than everyone on the Council. He had flecks of grey in his hair, mostly at his temples, but that wasn’t a definitive sign of his age. She’d known guys in college who had started greying at thirty-five. No, it was the lines around his eyes and the weight he carried in his chin and mid-section that told her he was likely older than thirty-five, and probably by more than a few years.
She forced a smiled. “No, thank you. I’ll just order something up to my room.”
She tried to walk away again but he stopped her. “Breakfast tomorrow.”
“No, I’m planning on sleeping in late.”
“Come on, I’m trying to be nice here and offer you work. You don’t need to be so rude.”
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