He saw that a stylishly prim Asian woman named Eva was leading the story. Justin stayed glued to her every word.
“Hektor Sambianco,” she reported, “was not the nicest man on the planet, but did he do anything to deserve a psychological audit? In a display of governmental and legal expertise far beyond anything he should have been able to muster, Justin Cord was able to bypass multiple safeguards, appeals, and barriers to get the audit done in record time, and all the power and resources of the system’s most powerful corporation could not stand up to him. . . .” Bullshit, thought Justin. All I did was submit the thing. Unless Manny . . .
“. . . The truly worrisome point for this reporter is that Mr. Cord appears to be immune to any counterthreat. As of right now there is not a single individual who has standing in any court to demand an equivalent counteraudit of Mr. Cord. For all intents and purposes, he’s untouchable. He can do whatever he wants . . . to any of us. And so this reporter is forced to ask the question previously thought to be in poor taste, but now taking on a greater sense of urgency—namely: When will Justin Cord incorporate?”
Justin sat staring blankly at the screen of his holodisplay. The din of his peers making comments and questions failed to penetrate. He eventually snapped out of his stupor.
“Will all of you please calm down?” he pleaded. “I need you all to stop whatever it is you’re doing and get back to my apartment ASAP. Can you all do that?”
They all nodded in the affirmative and broke off contact.
Little man got me good, Justin thought. Two points for Hektor.
Justin reviewed with concern the snippet from the Court News report as well as a few other similarly slanted pieces. He turned to his lawyer.
“Manny, correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t the psyche audit meant to screw Hektor?”
“You’re correct,” Manny admitted—a little too glumly for Justin’s liking.
“Then why do I get the feeling it’s me who’s being screwed?”
“Because you are,” seethed Neela.
“Justin,” added Manny, “I filed the request for the audit like you requested, and to be honest, forgot about it. It should have been laughed out of court the second any judge took a look at it.”
“Like you said it would,” said Justin.
“Correct. Now, it is possible that this might be some sort of internal GCI power play, and that someone else within the organization used your request to get at Hektor, but I don’t think so. The timing’s all off.”
“What do you mean?” asked Dr. Gillette.
“I mean,” answered Manny, “that it happened way too fast. All seven stages of hearing were reviewed and passed. The only way that could happen would be if all parties were actively trying to get the audit done. Favors must have been called in to get speedy hearings with the appropriate judges, because not one, not a single roadblock was encountered.”
“How can you be so sure?” asked Eleanor.
“Because,” answered Manny, “I filed less than two weeks ago. This process, had protocol been followed, should have taken months.”
“Why?” asked Neela. “According to your theory, if someone at GCI wanted Hektor out, then perhaps they arranged for the speedy process.”
“Possible. But not likely. Hektor’s much too wily and plugged-in to have let that happen. Even the most determined enemy of his would have come up against a fortress of class actions trying to push this through . . . if Hektor hadn’t wanted it.” Manny paused and stared out the window. It was midday, so air traffic was light. He followed the path of a “show” pigeon as it made its way to Justin’s windowsill. All the prestigious buildings had them. A real bird couldn’t have flown that high, but these birds could. “No,” he continued, “I’m afraid the reason for the quickness of the audit is far more insidious.”
“And that would be?” asked Omad.
“Hektor wanted it that way.”
Omad laughed. “Now who’s the crazy one?”
Manny shrugged.
Dr. Gillette cleared his throat. “Shouldn’t Justin or you have been informed this was happening, Manny? How could a P.A. take place without the individual requesting it being informed that it was taking place? I mean, it’s just . . .” His statement petered out as he went back to bemoaning the apparently disastrous consequences of his advice.
Manny, not known for an overabundance of sympathy, answered the doctor’s question matter-of-factly. “I’m sure we were informed. And if I were to check my junk mail files I’d be willing to bet Chairman stock to horse crap that six notices have been sent. But I didn’t tell my avatar to keep an eye out for all P.A. data, because I frankly wasn’t expecting any. Besides, why should they bend over backward to tell us we’re getting what we asked for? Our legal interests were being represented”—Manny paused a moment in personal thought—“quite brilliant, actually.”
Dr. Gillette spoke to Justin. “My dear boy, I am so sorry. If I thought for even a moment that my advice would’ve caused you so much difficulty I . . . I . . .”
“Doctor,” interrupted Justin, “you couldn’t have known this would happen. And from what you’re telling me, this has never happened before. So how could you be faulted for not predicting it? No, the only thing I don’t quite understand is what Hektor gets out of this.” He turned to Manny. “Manny, you’re saying he had to have done this himself, or to be more precise, to himself. But why?”
Manny nodded. “No idea. I’m good with the legal stuff, but this is something different. I would hate to have a trial against this guy if he had a chance to prepare it his way.”
Omad looked up from behind his bowl of buffalo wings, a treat Justin had introduced him to and one he’d grown to relish on every visit to his friend’s penthouse.
“You better prepare then, Manny,” offered Omad.
“For what?” the lawyer asked.
“Look, Manny . . . Justin . . . ,” continued Omad, “I only met Hektor a couple of times, but he’s good at bad, and it’s becoming clear he won’t stop. He wants you incorporated, Justin. It’s as simple as that. I don’t know if it’s personal or if he sees it as the only way to secure his career. Who cares? It’s what he wants, and he won’t stop until he succeeds. I suspect that this ploy was just a way of softening you up. Maybe he sees you as being too popular, so he needed to knock you down a peg or two.”
“With a P.A.?” Neela asked, still astounded. “Don’t you think that’s a bit over the top?”
“A, it worked,” answered Omad, “and b, everyone loves an underdog. Up until today the public thought of Justin Cord as that poor little unincorporated man versus the big, bad GCI. Well, guess what, folks? Today it’s the big, bad Justin Cord picking on poor, shell-shocked Hektor Sambianco, and, ironically—by extension—GCI.”
Dr. Gillette was livid. “The man’s evil.”
Neela gritted her teeth. “It’s what I’ve been saying all along.”
Justin raised his hand. “What we need to do is figure out how to respond to this. Dr. Gillette?”
Dr. Gillette appeared forlorn. Probably, thought Justin, trying to understand how his harmless, minor suggestion could have been used to such disastrous effect. Justin felt bad for him. He felt even worse for himself, as he’d started to rely on Dr. Gillette. But clearly the good doctor was out on this one.
“Why don’t we just go on the offensive?” asked Omad.
“I see,” asked Justin. “Launch an attack?”
“Well, not literally, but yeah, invite some reporters and tell our side, how we did nothing but put in the form, and he must have done the rest.” He paused. “Or we could just kill him.”
Everyone laughed.
After a moment Neela spoke. “I suggest we do nothing.”
Justin looked surprised. “Really? Just let Hektor get away with turning me into the bogeyman?”
“Bogeyman?” asked Eleanor, who until this moment had sat silently, unsure of what she could add to the conversation.
/> Justin thought for a moment. “Tax man.” Eleanor recoiled slightly. “Yes, I can see where that is exactly what he did to you.” Eleanor turned to Neela. “Child, how can you say that we should do nothing?”
“There’s nothing to do,” she answered. “Hektor won this round. But Hektor’s at his best when someone’s reacting to his actions. If we respond to the psychological audit, people will assume it’s a cover-up or a backpedal of sorts. The less we say on the matter, the more people and reporters will have to find answers elsewhere.
“Who knows?” she added with a sly grin, “maybe they’ll actually stumble onto the truth.”
“More likely they’ll make up something worse,” Omad retorted.
“I think Neela’s right,” added Justin, “but Omad has a point. We can’t not say anything. But whatever we do say will most likely play right into Hektor’s grand scheme . . . whatever that may be.” Justin remained silent for a minute, then spoke up. “Our best course of action is to only talk to reporters we know and trust—as much as anyone can trust a reporter—and hope they’ll give us a fair shake. But Manny, see if you can get the full transcripts of the psyche-audit hearings—all of them. Something strange was going on, and I’ll want the facts.” Though Manny gave a distracted nod, Justin knew it would get done. “And,” he continued, “I’ll tell all of you this—I’m through reacting to Hektor. The next time I have to deal with the man I will not underestimate him. And I suggest we all tread carefully from here on in.”
“In other words,” said Neela, “it ain’t over.”
“It ain’t over.” Justin agreed. However, he did get up, indicating the get-together was.
Irma Sobbelgé was trying to figure out exactly what had happened with Sambianco’s psyche audit. It didn’t make any sense. She wasn’t buying Hektor’s act, and if, in fact, it was an act then the only person the audit seemed to hurt was Justin. The whole incident had the smell of a setup, and she knew she’d have to act fast if she had any hope at all of uncovering the truth. She also realized that if her suspicions were true, the harm currently being made to Justin Cord’s reputation might prove irreparable. But before she could figure out how to get ahold of Justin, he got ahold of her. Not just an interview, he suggested over the phone, but a full day with her and her team—in his apartment. Hours of tours, interviews, and, promised Justin, an explanation of his recent actions. A charm offensive if ever there was one, decided Irma, but not an opportunity to be missed. Thirty-five minutes later she arrived at his door, team in tow.
It proved a delightful afternoon. Justin and his old-style beer, Justin and his old-style coffee. Justin and his breakfast cereal (cereal!), Justin and his strange preoccupation with a television set. The fifteen-minute explanation of a wall socket and power cords was priceless. But it was the promised interview at the end of the day that she was looking forward to the most. She even pulled rank and edged out Michael for the one-on-one.
As the sun set, casting a beautiful gleam down on the clouds below, Irma and Justin made their way into a private chamber, where she soon found herself sitting across from him around a small dining-room table sipping coffee. There was, she noted, a wonderfully strong smell of ground beans wafting through the air. Whether the smell had emanated from the in-house olfactory system or from the actual article was of little importance to her; it was unusually entrancing.
“Justin,” she said, “let me cut right to the chase. . . .”
“Please do,” he said, smiling.
“The whole system is concerned about what happened with Hektor Sambianco of GCI.”
“The whole system has a right to be concerned, Irma. I’m concerned.”
She hadn’t expected that reply. Not defensive at all. Strange.
“About the bad press you’re getting?” she asked, testing.
“No,” he answered. “I deserve the bad press. What I did was wrong.”
Irma paused and looked intently at her subject. He was playing at something, but what? No one admits they’re wrong. No one on-the-record, that is. She felt she owed him something, though. Wasn’t sure why, maybe the guy just brought it out. She’d long since learned not to fight her gut.
“You realize, of course, this is being recorded?”
“I do.”
He knows what he’s doing, she told herself, so shut up and get it down for posterity.
“Please continue, then,” she said, picking up her coffee and letting her DijAssist do the rest.
Justin’s legs were crossed, and he’d moved a few feet back from the table’s edge. His arms were resting easily on the arms of the captain’s chair.
“With the request for a psyche audit,” he said, “the whole system saw me lose my temper and lash out with what seemed to be an amazing power. My economic invulnerability was, and is, I admit, frightening. It really doesn’t matter that I was provoked. It doesn’t even matter that this P.A. went through without a single hitch, and, I assure you, no help from me. To all the people out there listening, all they know is that I can hurt any one of them at any time, and they’re powerless to hurt me back.” Justin paused—shamefaced. “And those people are absolutely correct.”
Irma didn’t say a word. Justin had clearly prepared this speech for her and her audience’s benefit. She knew better than to get in the way.
“I’ve made some decisions, Irma,” he said, uncrossing his legs and leaning a notch forward. “Three, to be precise. If you’d be so kind as to pass them on . . .”
“Of course, Justin,” answered Irma, taken aback by the sincerity of the request. As if there were another possibility, as if she might decide not to go with his story. Unbelievable.
“Thank you,” he continued. “First, I hereby now publicly apologize to Hektor Sambianco. Whatever the provocation, my request for the psyche audit was wrong, and I regret my abuse of power. Second, I hereby promise to give the one share of Hektor Sambianco I purchased for my despicable purpose back to him. It is his, not mine, and I was wrong to own it. If Hektor does not want it back I will sell it and put the money toward an account that’ll pay for an investigation into how the justice system could’ve failed him so badly as to approve a frivolous P.A. in less than a week. Not even The Chairman, with all the legal resources of GCI, could have done that, Irma. How I, as a novice with one share of stock, could do it points to a criminal lapse with regards to the safeguards that were supposed to protect everyone.”
Irma nodded, the seriousness of the allegation and confirmation of her suspicions made manifest. “And number three?” she asked, more as a reminder than a question. She needn’t have bothered.
Justin had the look of a man who with utter certainty was about to deliver an incontrovertible truth. “Third,” he continued, “I have been recently informed that as a matter of course some of my investments had me owning stock in people. No more. It’s all been given back—all been divested.” He paused a moment to let his last comments sink in, and then looked deep into Irma’s eyes, lest she doubt the sincerity of his forthcoming declaration. “I, Justin Cord, hereby promise the system this: I will not be owned by anyone and I will not own anyone. A free man must not own another and I will be free. Since owning is just as dangerous as being owned—more dangerous, actually—I will give it up. I may be the one free man left in the system, but I will not allow that freedom to be abused again, especially by myself.”
Justin sat back. Interview over. Gauntlet thrown. If the very definition of freedom was to be the stakes he and Hektor were playing for, then Justin had finally found the hill he was prepared to die on.
Hektor was watching the interview attentively. Part of him was as mad as hell at Justin for having so deftly turned his carefully planned public relations disaster into a public relations coup. The other part was applauding the move. But even Hektor had to admit he was beginning to worry. Justin kept getting stronger—more dangerous. And it was already too late to kill him. Or, at least, that’s what his contingency programs were telling him.
It still didn’t mitigate the fact that Justin Cord was becoming an active threat to the corporate system—a threat that needed to be stopped. And there was nothing more dear to Hektor Sambianco than the incorporated world. It was perfect. It let an individual know who was who. How else could he ultimately sneer at all those who thought they were better than him and have them know they were his inferiors? And most of those mindless drones from his past were his inferiors. They just didn’t know it yet.
The irony, realized Hektor, was that Justin was obviously superior but had no idea. Still, he had to be stopped, and Hektor was just the man to do it. Although he had the help of Janet Delgado, he knew it would not be enough. He’d need more power, money, and information. And Kirk Olmstead had all three, didn’t he? Hektor just needed to figure out a way to get at it.
One of the advantages of Kirk being V.P. of Special Operations was that he had had his back covered long ago. Hacking into his records was useless. And blackmail was out of the question. Anyone he cared about either was well protected or had had their stocks held by Kirk or his associates. There was no effective way to bug his office, and his secretary of over thirty years was about as likely to give up information as a nun would be to give up her chastity.
Still, he wondered. On the occasions Hektor had seen Kirk’s chief administrative assistant, a mild-mannered wallflower whose only claim to fame was his boss and his loyalty, he’d always been treated rudely—dismissed like some mangy pup begging for scraps. In fact, thought Hektor, following his gut, he never once heard about Kirk’s secretary getting any special trips or bonuses that office gossip and quarterly reports always laid bare. Just to be sure, Hektor checked and found that the man hadn’t gotten any bonuses, had been paid the minimum for someone in his position, and took no vacation days. Using a fairly ingenious spy program, he checked the financial records and saw that Kirk’s assistant lived like a penny. He hadn’t subscribed to any entertainment channels, took no trips other than on GCI business, and rented nothing having to do with sex—male or female. He’d even, if the automated pizza receipt records were to be believed, spent the last thirty Mardi Gras in his studio apartment. That made no sense to Hektor. Kirk didn’t pay his secretary much, but he was certainly paid enough to live better than a penny with a bad line of credit.
The Unincorporated Man Page 39