You Wish

by Lia Weston

  ‘On that topic,’ says Mica, pulling him down onto the couch next to her, sparking some strange flicker of annoyance in me, ‘how would you feel about working for a different company?’

  Alex’s gaze snaps to me.

  ‘We’re destroying IF,’ says Gen happily.

  ‘There’s a bit more to it than that,’ I say, and fill him in.

  ‘Huh,’ says Alex. He doesn’t speak at first. It’s weird to see his mouth not in motion. Even his fingers stop moving. ‘So Rohan, huh? Rohan was it, Rohan was the leak. That explains last night, you know, the . . .’ He points to his eye. ‘Bam. Kapow.’

  ‘We need your help deleting the files,’ says Mica.

  ‘I delete the files, I lose my job, right?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘we all do. That’s kind of the downside.’

  ‘Do you want to be responsible for people’s secrets getting online?’ says Gen to Alex, suddenly stern. ‘Do you want to stand in the way of like totally bad non-ethical behaviour?’

  ‘No,’ says Alex, looking slightly taken aback under Gen’s Children of the Corn stare. ‘I mean, yes. I mean, uh . . .’ He looks at me for help.

  ‘Just say “yes”, Alex.’

  ‘Yes. I mean, I’ll be there tomorrow night anyway for the cloud transition. It’s an overnight procedure, I mean, you know how huge the files are, some of them are crazy big.’

  ‘They’d planned to switch to the cloud this weekend?’

  Alex nods. ‘Weeks ago.’

  So Rohan and Kain were doing it anyway. So much for thinking I had any kind of say in it.

  ‘Are they going to be there?’

  Alex shakes his head. ‘There’s no need. Ro’s got a hot date anyway, says she’s pretty full-on.’ Alex grins. ‘Some cougar apparently.’

  Mica rolls her eyes, then catches sight of my face. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ I go to get three more beers plus a soft drink. ‘Fine, fine, fine. All right, let’s work out how we’re going to get this thing done.’

  We form a plan to meet tomorrow evening. Now all Alex has to do is act completely normally until then.

  What are the chances?

  The one good moment comes when I walk Mica outside. The wind cuts through the car park like a thousand needles. I pull the collar of her Mordor coat up against it.

  ‘Rohan told everyone you’d taken an early holiday,’ she says. ‘In case they were wondering where you were.’

  ‘How’s his eye?’

  ‘Even through a metric fucktonne of concealer, it’s bad,’ she says. ‘I’m pretty sure you broke his nose too.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’

  The street light glints off the streaks in her hair. I escort her to her car and close the door for her. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  ‘Let’s hope we don’t fuck it all up,’ is her cheery parting shot.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Saturday dawns black. Even at 8 am there’s not a chink of sunlight. The sky is heavy with the promise of rain.

  ‘Morning!’ Gen is not only awake but sitting at the kitchen table with two bowls. She stayed up ridiculously late, buoyed up by two entire blocks of chocolate and the excitement of destroying my future. ‘I made breakfast.’

  I look at the bowl of white and lumpy . . . something.

  ‘It’s porridge. Oats are good for sustained energy release.’ Gen is doing her most adult voice to match the day’s gravitas.

  I give her a passing hug by smushing her face into my side.

  ‘See? I learnt something from Mum after all,’ she says, wrestling her face away.

  ‘How much water’s in this?’ I say, after thirty seconds spent unsuccessfully trying to force my spoon into the bowl.

  ‘Maybe not enough,’ says Gen, stabbing her porridge with a knife.

  We give up and eat toast and peanut butter instead.

  Dad is taking Gen trampolining this morning, which means unlimited joy for Gen and a potential back injury for Dad.

  I, however, have somewhere else to be.

  Just like having the police turn up, Felicity’s first reaction to seeing me on her doorstep is concern. I’ve never come to her house before; why would I be here if things weren’t terribly, drastically wrong? As much as I’d love to tell her that Kain and Rohan have come to grief in an unfortunate golf buggy accident, it’s not why I’m here.

  She invites me into her environment of polished concrete. No knick-knacks, no magazines, no keys on hooks. One single impressionistic painting and a stack of surgically aligned books. Everything in the house is streamlined, sleek and aerodynamic. Felicity is wearing black high heels, an interesting choice for a casual Saturday afternoon at home.

  ‘You’re into Dale Frank?’ I point to the painting.

  Felicity swivels to survey it. ‘I love the textures of his work. You just want to touch it but you can’t.’ She smiles. ‘Is that another party trick, naming artists?’

  ‘You know me. I don’t go to parties.’

  At Felicity’s gesture, we sit and face each other across a low lacquered coffee table.

  Felicity never wears jewellery – no rings, no earrings, nothing. The lack of accessories somehow makes her look expensive. I can guarantee that all the women in her family will have this aesthetic; it’s usually a handed-down skill set, like cooking or shooting.

  ‘I’m here on behalf of my mother,’ I say. ‘She was very impressed with your work ethic.’

  Felicity blinks, then dips her gaze to her lap, clearly thrilled from hair to high heels. ‘Thank you for telling me.’

  ‘If you’re ever looking for a change in career, I –’

  Her smile evaporates. ‘Why would I be looking? Has there been . . . What I mean is . . . Is it about the arrests? Is it about using the photos as evidence? Because I’ve been doing some research and I don’t think they’re admissible.’

  ‘It’s not about that. Besides he can’t claim they were married. There’s no record of it in the registry of births, deaths and marriages. All we’d need to do is submit the original photos and the layers. It would be easy enough to prove, if not cause considerable doubt.’

  Felicity clasps her hands in her lap and exhales. ‘I am so relieved. I hardly slept last night.’

  ‘You’d never guess.’

  She accepts the compliment graciously. (Another family-taught skill.)

  ‘Anyway, I wanted to tell you that you’re the reason that everything runs so well at IF, but if you ever need an alternative, my mum would be very happy to hear from you.’ I hand over a business card, with Mum’s private number pencilled on the back.

  Felicity takes the card in both hands, her golden ticket out of explaining to Kain for the umpteenth time why homophobic jokes aren’t appropriate, or fetching Rohan’s CrossFit socks from the drycleaner. ‘Wow.’

  It’s so quiet that I can hear the low burr of the air conditioner. Above Felicity’s bent head, the enamel of the painting swirls in blue and black pools. Felicity’s fingernails are almost white, the palest polish slipped on like water. There’s a faded scar on her knee, probably an ACL repair. Faster and faster I search for details. Four books on gardening though she doesn’t have a garden. Two piercings on her right ear, grown over. Always sits on the left side of the couch. Never uses the remote.

  I won’t be able to do this any more. I won’t be able to take these pieces and make them into something concrete. I won’t be able to correct other people’s mistakes, fix their bad luck or turn facts back to front and inside out.

  ‘Mum likes rooibos tea in the morning and chamomile at night,’ I say.

  Felicity, still holding the card, is smiling properly now, and for the first time since I’ve realised what I have to do tonight, I feel completely and utterly bereft.

  Darkness has eaten the city. The blackness that was brewing this morning has spread to muffle the sky. We walk in silence through streets towards IF. Well, except for Gen, who is b
ouncing along backwards in front of us.

  ‘This is so cool. It’s just like a movie.’

  She’s wearing a black T-shirt with Ninja on it.

  ‘Nothing says “ninja” like having to advertise,’ murmurs Mica.

  We take the back gate. Alex punches in the new code. He’s already sweating despite the cold. Subterfuge; not Alex’s game.

  We split at the staircase, Mica to go downstairs and begin eliminating any material not already allocated to the client folders, Alex and I to go upstairs to start downloading any client files we want to keep, Gen to . . . do cartwheels in the lobby, apparently.

  ‘If something happens, I’ll create a diversion,’ she says, her feet in the air.

  ‘How are you going to do that? Set fire to a bin and roll it out the front door?’

  Gen flips upright and indicates her backpack. ‘I came prepared.’

  ‘Just don’t blow anything up.’

  Kain and Rohan’s doors are shut, the mezzanine floor in darkness except for Alex’s office, which softly glows.

  The row of figurines waits for us by his monitors, weapons in immobile hands.

  ‘Ready?’ I say to Alex, who nods, the muscles in his jaw tight.

  He ducks behind a computer and pulls out a couple of cords. ‘Have you identified what you want to keep?’ His sweatiness is now gone, replaced by a focus that makes him seem much older.

  I shut the door and pull out a list. ‘Let’s start with the Fox files.’

  Alex fits the first USB and starts downloading. I pace behind him while he types.

  Gen is no doubt practising her ninja rolls downstairs. She’ll make a diversion with glowsticks or try to rugby-tackle an intruder, a tiny furious flea. Hopefully she hasn’t taken my bin idea seriously. For a moment, I wonder if we should actually set fire to the building.

  No, too far.

  One set of images down. Click click click. Pieces of IF disappearing into the ether.

  I feel as if every nerve is lit, the ends glowing like fibre optics.

  There’s silence through the rest of the building. The progress bar looks like it’s frozen, it’s going so slowly. I know the files are big, but when you’re watching the clock, you realise exactly how stupidly big they are. It doesn’t help that each image file also has three versions – the layered one, the flattened one and the finished printable image. After ten minutes of pacing and watching the download bar, I realise that I probably should just be keeping the finished files.

  ‘Do you, uh, need every single one of these?’ says Alex, looking at the list.

  ‘I just picked my favourites.’

  ‘Were there any you didn’t like?’ says Alex. ‘For real? I mean, there’s a lot here.’

  ‘This is seriously only a fraction of what we’ve got.’

  ‘Yeah, okay, for sure, I get it,’ says Alex, ‘but if we download all of these, it’s going to take like a lot longer than anticipated.’

  ‘When would we be finished?’

  ‘Tuesday,’ says Alex.

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’

  ‘Maybe we can cull it? A bit?’

  I boot the edge of the door and snatch the list off the table. ‘You know, it would have been really helpful to know that earlier.’

  ‘Sorry, dude. I should have checked the file sizes.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’ I thump down in a chair and start slashing names. Panic and pressure settle tightly across my ribs. Every moment longer we’re here is a step closer to either discovery or things going horribly wrong.

  Mica sends a text from the basement. How’s it going?

  Not great.

  There’s a click as Alex finally deletes the first client file off IF’s server. There’s a second click that I don’t register at first.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  Fuck and double fuck. Kain, wild-eyed and in the doorway, clutching a pillow.

  ‘Nothing,’ says Alex, toggling the screens to a picture of an aquarium.

  ‘Alex, get in my office,’ says Kain, keeping his distance. He’s wearing pyjamas for some reason. ‘This man is dangerous.’

  ‘He’s just –’

  ‘Assault and battery, Tom,’ says Kain. ‘I saw what you did to Rohan.’

  I get up. ‘Kain –’

  ‘Stay back!’ He hurls the pillow at me, which bounces off my chest and falls limply to the floor. ‘I’m calling the police.’

  ‘No, wait –’ says Alex, scrambling to his feet, but Kain has already bolted back into his office. ‘Wait!’ Alex runs out into the corridor.

  Another folder has downloaded to my USB. I hastily find the original files, delete them and begin the next download while Alex pleads with Kain. Next thing there’s a scuffle and a slam.

  ‘Right,’ says Kain, coming back in, armed with a phone and a stapler, which he holds up like a cross. ‘Trespass and assault and battery. I always thought you were a loose cannon.’

  ‘I’m not the cannon. It’s Rohan.’

  When I take a step forward, Kain retreats into the hallway, still brandishing his stapler cross. ‘I told you to stay back.’

  ‘Did Rohan tell you about ConText?’

  ‘A new client,’ says Kain. ‘They’ve ordered six books for their staff as Christmas gifts. You think I have no idea what goes on around here, don’t you? And don’t change the subject. Tell me what you’re up to.’

  ‘Trying to stop us all getting sued into oblivion.’

  ‘Spare me.’ Kain squints past me to the desk. ‘Did you unplug the router? You unplugged the router. This is absolutely typical. I knew it. I knew you’d find a way to sabotage our progress.’

  ‘Kain, ConText’s not a client. They’re an image bank. They’re buying finished composites.’

  ‘No, they’re not.’

  ‘They’re going to use our clients’ pictures for advertising. Where anyone can see them.’

  Kain stares at me for a few seconds. ‘They’re not,’ he says, more uncertainly.

  ‘Want to ask Ro?’

  There’s a thump from the adjoining wall. ‘They are, Kain, for real,’ says Alex’s muffled voice.

  ‘Did you lock Alex in your office?’ I say.

  Kain lifts his chin. ‘It’s for his own protection.’

  ‘Couldn’t you just lend him your pillow?’

  He narrows his eyes. ‘You still haven’t told me what you’re doing.’

  ‘Kain, Rohan’s gone against everyone. Our clients, our ethics. We have to shut IF down. There’s no way to repair this.’

  ‘But you can’t . . . You can’t.’ Kain glances at his office door. ‘It’s my company too.’

  ‘Is this the kind of company you want to operate? Do you want to take money from people who trust us, knowing that their private lives are probably going to end up on a bus stop in Thailand? I know you, Kain. You’re a pain in the ass, but you’re not that kind of person.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me about this?’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me about the AI?’

  ‘It was just a long-term plan. Nothing had been put in place. Rohan said you were thinking of leaving anyway.’

  ‘I wasn’t.’ I glance down into the lobby. There’s no sign of Gen. ‘Rohan has . . . made things difficult. In terms of my family.’

  He uncrosses his arms, and it’s the first time Kain has looked at me with something close to sympathy. ‘I see.’

  ‘I don’t have a choice, Kain. None of us do.’

  Kain glances at his office door again.

  ‘Please help me.’

  It’s the deciding factor: no one fucks over a family member. ‘You’ll need my access to close off the banking.’

  There’s a beep from Alex’s phone, which he’s left on his desk. I know that alert. Rohan’s here. Shit.

  There’s a bang from downstairs, then a shrill scream.

  Gen.

  I push Kain sideways and sprint towards the stairs. Smoke is billowing from the lo
bby. Rohan advances up out of the cloud, dragging a terrified Gen. In the half-light, the bruising across his face looks like a mask. Mica was right; I did break his nose. I wonder if he told Mum it was a kickboxing accident.

  ‘You fucking idiot,’ he says.

  ‘Let go of my sister.’

  ‘Like this?’ Rohan shoves Gen towards the steps so she teeters over the edge. ‘How’s that? Is that better?’

  ‘Ro, stop.’ I put my hands out towards him, carefully. ‘Calm down, okay?’

  ‘I knew it. I knew you’d try to fuck it all up for me.’

  Gen squirms under his grip, then squeals when he tightens it.

  Kain begins, ‘Rohan, I don’t think that’s –’

  ‘Shut up,’ Rohan snaps. He switches back to me. ‘This is all about the ConText thing, isn’t it?’

  ‘I can’t let you do it.’

  ‘How convenient to decide to have morals now you’ve been superseded.’

  ‘People change.’

  ‘Fascinating. Anyway I’ve got actual work do to. Go home, Thomas. Take this thing with you.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t do that, Rohan.’

  Rohan looks at Gen and sighs. ‘See? I try to help, but he never listens to me. Let’s hope you take more after your mother than your useless big bro.’

  Gen spits in his face.

  Rohan recoils, then shoves her down the stairs. There’s a groan as her body smacks against the handrail.

  I launch myself at Rohan, feel my shoulder collect his neck. We hit the floor and roll until we slam into the wall of Kain’s office. I’m on my back, pain jarring through my eyes. Kain shouts in the background. There’s a crushing weight on my chest. Rohan has pinned my arms, his knees mashing my elbows. I try to twist him off, but he’s too strong.

  ‘You know what running’s good for?’ says Rohan, sitting on me quite comfortably. ‘Not much when it comes to self-defence.’

  ‘Look, this really isn’t –’ says Kain.

  ‘Stay out of it,’ snaps Rohan.

  I wrench my legs to the side again and try to push off the wall.

  ‘Okay, this is just sad now,’ Rohan says. ‘Do you think you might want to admit defeat? I do have other places to be tonight. Nice throwback on the Space Odyssey quote, though. Appealing to my sentimental side – you’re trying everything, aren’t you?’ He bends and puts his face uncomfortably close to mine. I smell Mum’s perfume in his hair. ‘Well, it’s not fucking working.’