Down the Brink

by Lisa von Biela

  “Place looks like he cleared out in a hurry. Took a bunch of clothes, toiletries. His computer. Left everything else. And it’s not like he went off to a fun destination. Tracker says he’s in a shithole little town east of here. I’d say he’s hiding out.”

  “Crap. Anything else?”

  “Nope. He left nothing behind that even hints at his plans. Sorry. What do you want me to do now?”

  “Keep me posted if he moves, where he goes. Leave him alone for now. I need some time to think about what to do. I’ll let you know.”

  “Okay.”

  Roy’s hands clenched into fists. How could he contain Winters without exposing MoonPop? First, he’d better head off any rumors.

  “Hello, Russ?”

  “Yeah, Roy. What’s up?”

  “It’s about your developer, Zach Winters.”

  “What about him?”

  “He resigned today, effective immediately.”

  “Resigned? Are you kidding me? He’s been doing really well. We need him for this next release.”

  “Go ahead and post the opening. Let me know if you have to delay the release because of it.”

  “Sure, but why did he resign? I thought he and I had a good rapport. If something was bothering him, I can’t believe he wouldn’t talk to me about it first.”

  “Said something about family problems. Out of state. He won’t be returning. That’s all I know.”

  CHAPTER 40

  Second Wednesday in November, 2021

  Los Lobos, California

  “’Bye.”

  Sammy dropped out of the conference call and slipped off her headphones. Usually she’d be excited, ready to jump into working on a new release, especially one so ambitious as this. But it was hard to even drag herself out of bed and into work anymore—let alone get excited about anything. Not since Zach disappeared.

  She sighed and stared at her cell. Text after text, unanswered. Emails, voicemails. All unanswered. Like he’d never existed at all. And at last week’s team meeting, Russ told them Zach resigned because of some out-of-state family problems. That he wouldn’t be back, so they’d be posting an opening soon. Just like that. Then he moved on to other business like it was no big deal.

  Bullshit.

  He wouldn’t just leave—for family issues or for whatever—without one word to her. Not without even a hint that something was going on. And then ignore all her attempts to reach him. Something wasn’t right.

  Sammy went to her office door and peered up and down the corridor. Clear. Everyone must be busy getting started on the new release. She slipped into Zach’s office and shut the door. Maybe she could find something that would explain what happened.

  Or not. Aside from a little dust here and there, his office looked almost the same as when he arrived for his first day. Like her, he wasn’t one to scatter pictures and trinkets around his workspace. They both embraced the paperless, uncluttered look. So it was pretty much impossible to tell anything just from looking around, let alone whether he really didn’t intend to return.

  She walked over to the desk and sat down in his chair, ran her hand along his desktop, thinking. Last time she’d seen or talked to him was a full week ago now, when she’d asked if he was coming to the Modernistic that night. At first, he just said he couldn’t make it. Only after she pressed him did he say he had an errand. Did he want to keep the errand from her for some reason? Otherwise, why didn’t he just say that in the first place?

  Then nothing from him, nothing at all. Like he’d vanished off the face of the earth after she left his office that night. It wasn’t like him. Since they got together, they’d become really tight, really fast, spending most of their free time together, texting constantly when they were apart. But they’d agreed to play it on the down-low during work hours so no one would think their relationship was interfering with their work.

  Sammy leaned down, checked the floor, checked around the computer cables, rifled through desk drawers. Office supplies, work papers. Nothing to go on.

  Sammy pulled into the parking lot at Zach’s apartment complex. Dusk had given way to twilight already with the time change, and the pole lights had come on. She drove over to his assigned spot. Empty. She parked and got out, staring up toward his apartment window. She hugged herself, shivering in the crisp fall breeze.

  Something was wrong. Very wrong. There had to be an answer, and she would find it, no matter what it took.

  Where the hell are you, Zach?

  CHAPTER 41

  Second Monday in January, 2022

  Washington, D.C.

  Ed Walters settled in at his desk with his morning coffee, then scrolled through his email, stopping at the one he’d been expecting from Steve Bixby. It was marked urgent. Steve never marked an email urgent unless it was bad news. He clicked it open and read the message.

  Ed,

  You were right. We have a problem. See attached for GSI’s fourth quarter and year-over-year numbers. Call me when you’ve had a chance to look at this.

  Just how bad were the numbers? Ed opened the attachment. He’d been anxious to see some near-term improvement. GSI’s October and November month-ends had been disappointing. Enough to hit the share price. Any more bad reports and the stock would tank—and the Board would be on his back for explanations and some kind of action plan.

  He scrolled through the report and nearly choked on his coffee. GSI’s numbers sagged even worse in December, throwing the year-over-year into the red for the first time since he’d been at the helm. He grabbed his phone.

  “Steve. Get up here now.”

  A few minutes later, his CFO appeared, his face chalk-white, and took a seat.

  “What the hell is going on here? We’re not operating at a loss—yet—but revenues are way down over the entire last quarter. Why?”

  Steve cleared his throat, but his words still came out tight, choked. “I dug through all the numbers and finally found something. Strange. Don’t know why, but the problem’s occupancy rates. Occupancy is way down—especially new inmates. And it’s not limited to a particular region. It’s the case at GSI facilities all across the country. Fortunately, we should make up some of the cash flow on penalties when they come due.”

  Ed got up and paced. “All across the country…so it can’t be that one jurisdiction or another is getting lax on enforcement, or some state passed a law that was soft on crime.”

  “I already asked Legal about that, and they looked into it. If anything, some states have passed even more stringent laws.” Steve shook his head, a puzzled look on his face. “I don’t know. Maybe after that rash of cops getting ambushed, they’re lying low and turning a blind eye to some opportunities.”

  Ed stopped pacing and smacked his palm with a fist. “But almost the entire fourth quarter is affected. That’s a long time for a slowdown like that. Cops need a reason to live—and that’s arresting people. Otherwise, why be a cop? That’s why they have budgets. To buy bigger and better ammo and protective gear than the bad guys.”

  “I suppose so.”

  Ed strode back to his desk and dropped into his chair. “I’ve got to make some calls. You work on a worst-case scenario. Use last quarter as a model, and project what revenues’ll look like when the low-occupancy penalties start coming in. At least then we can maybe see the bottom of this while we figure out how to reverse it.”

  “Will do.” Steve jumped up from his chair and rushed out.

  Might as well start with his biggest customer. Ed picked up the phone and called Governor LaRoux in Texas.

  “Hey Bill, how’s it going out there?”

  “Oh, can’t complain, how about you?”

  “Well, actually, Bill, I have a bit of a problem.”

  “What’s that?” LaRoux’s voice took a cautious tone.

  “Occupancy. Your numbers are down. Way down. If they don’t pick up real soon, the penalty clauses’ll kick in. I don’t think either of us wants to see that happen.”

&n
bsp; Ed paused to let his message sink in. Back when they were negotiating the new contract, LaRoux had sworn up and down there would never be a need for the penalty clauses. If they kicked in now, they’d cost Texas a lot of money and he’d look mighty bad to his constituents for agreeing to them. That should motivate him to take action.

  “I’ll get back to you.” LaRoux hung up.

  LaRoux liked to talk big, wheel and deal. But he did get the job done when he had to. Ed sighed and settled in for a long morning of similar calls.

  Austin, Texas

  “You’re all set. I was able to get the sheriffs from all but two counties on the call. Just press this button to change the volume if you want. I’ll disconnect everything when you’re done. Just come get me.”

  “Thanks for getting this arranged so fast, Becky. You’re the best.”

  “I know.” She smiled. “Good luck.”

  Bill LaRoux stepped into the fancy-ass conference room and plunked himself down at the head of the long mahogany table. Goddamned gizmos. Much better to meet in person. Something about it brings out the sincerity in a man. Hiding behind these electronic things…not so much. But it was the only way to get hold of so many, so quickly. And after that call from Ed Walters, speed was critical. Something was wrong, and he had to get to the bottom of it. Or face the consequences.

  He glanced at the oversized screen full of faces and cleared his throat. “Good afternoon. I know you men are busy, so I’ll get right down to why I called this meeting. As you know, our prisons are run under contract with GSI. And without getting into a lot of detail, that contract requires we fill a certain percentage of the beds in those prisons, or else face financial penalties. It’s never been a problem. Until now. Arrest rates appear to be down statewide, so with the criminal rocket docket, that’s already translating to a drop in occupancy. You all are on the front lines, so I’m asking you. Why?”

  Most of the faces frowned back at him like they were doing a not-so-slow burn. After an uncomfortable silence, the sheriff at the top right of the screen spoke up.

  “Arrest rates are down in our county. But that’s not my deputies’ fault. They’re out there doing their jobs. Crime rates—particularly for violent crimes—are down. So go the arrests.” He inclined his head and narrowed his eyes as if daring Bill to challenge him.

  “Look, we all know these things ebb and flow to some degree. But arrest rates have been way down for the entire fourth quarter. This isn’t a simple statistical blip. Something more must be going on, and I need to find out what it is.”

  An angry face from the center of the screen spoke next. “Governor, are you implying our men and women aren’t working hard enough? We’ve already deployed all the drones we have. If you want more coverage to increase arrests, then we’ll need more funding.”

  All the faces nodded in agreement. It made for an unnerving image on the huge flat-screen monitor. Bill found it hard to believe that good Texas deputies would slack off, but he had to make sure for himself. Still…violent crime down enough to have this effect? Something fishy there.

  He waved an apologetic hand. “All right, all right, I’m not accusing anybody of anything. But the numbers are what they are, and I have to figure out what’s going on and do something about it, or the budget’s going to take a big hit. And that’ll just make things worse. For all of us.”

  A face from off to the left cleared his throat. “What are these penalties you’re talking about, anyway? Why should the state pay GSI more when there is less for them to do? This wouldn’t be an issue if—”

  “Let’s stay on topic, shall we? And that’s the drop in arrest rates.” Bill could feel his pulse ratcheting up and pounding through his body. This mess wasn’t doing his high blood pressure any favors.

  The faces all started talking at once. Bill raised a hand to stop them. “Meeting’s over. Let me know immediately if you find out anything that might explain the drop in arrest rates.”

  Nods and muttering all around as, one by one, the sheriffs dropped from the video call. When they were all gone, Bill ran his hands over his face and let out a deep breath. How the hell was he going to get to the bottom of this with everyone on the defensive? And the nerve of that one sheriff, questioning the contract like that in front of everyone. Threw the whole call into chaos, stirring everyone up.

  He leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. But why would the crime rate drop like it had? There had to be an explanation. Could it be that most of those with a propensity were already behind bars? He shook his head. That made no sense, otherwise occupancy would be steady, not dropping. Maybe recidivism was improving, though God knew why. They hadn’t changed the reentry program curriculum in years. Never worked before, why should it work now?

  The only other thing he could think to check on was sentencing trends. Maybe the courts were getting more lenient. Early releases combined with fewer incoming prisoners. That could cause overall occupancy to take a hit.

  He picked up the conference room phone and dialed his golfing buddy, Marty, a judge in Travis County with a heavy criminal docket. He was well connected with other criminal court judges throughout the state. He’d know.

  “Hey Marty, it’s Bill. How’s it going?”

  “Good, good. When’re we going to get out and play some golf?”

  “I’m not at my desk right now, but sometime next week’ll probably work. I’ll check my calendar and let you know. Say, Marty, I need to run something by you.”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  Bill explained about the occupancy rate problem and what he’d just learned from the sheriffs. “I just don’t understand it. Tell me, what’s been the practice in sentencing, in general, over the past year or so? Any changes?”

  “No change, Bill. Remember, the legislature put that mandatory sentencing scheme into effect a few years back. No judge I know is willing to risk sanctions by deviating from the mandate.”

  “So everyone gets the maximum sentence, every time?”

  “That’s right. And conviction rates are still as high as ever. So high it’s driven most private defense attorneys out of practice. And there’s a pretty high suicide rate among public defenders. Must be a miserable, futile job for them.”

  “Damn. Then what the hell could be causing occupancy to fall like this?”

  “I don’t know, Bill. Maybe the long mandatory sentences are finally having an effect. Used to be, the average criminal thought he wouldn’t be caught, and even if he was, that he’d get off with some light sentence and be on his way. Those days are gone—and have been for a few years now. Maybe it’s finally sinking into their thick skulls.”

  “Well if it is, then we have a different sort of problem. If we can’t get occupancy rates back on target, then the penalty clauses with GSI’ll kick in and we’ll take it in the shorts. Maybe we need more laws, even longer sentences. Maybe some misdemeanors should be reclassified as felonies.”

  “That’s between you and the Legislature, my friend. The judicial branch’s hands are tied. You know we don’t make the laws.”

  “I know. I was just thinking out loud. Well, I’d better get going. I have some things to figure out. I’ll check my calendar and let you know on the golf.”

  “Looking forward to it. Maybe place a little wager, eh?”

  “Yeah, maybe. It’s a fool’s bet, though. You always beat my ass.”

  “You’d play better if you practiced more.”

  “I know, but I don’t see much of that in my future. Not until I solve this problem with GSI.”

  Bill hung up and stared into space. And just how the hell was he going to solve this? Even if the Legislature cooperated, passing new laws took time—much more than he had.

  CHAPTER 42

  Second Tuesday in January, 2022

  Los Lobos, California

  Roy Benetti pulled his black Mercedes Roadster to the curb and cut the engine. For some reason, Walt Trumbull refused to meet him at his office. Someth
ing about being a little under the weather. He glanced at Trumbull’s modest house, its worn blue paint dulled even more by the mid-morning overcast. Odd. All the money they’d paid him, and he chose to live in this tired old neighborhood on the outskirts of Los Lobos.

  Even at that, it had taken the better part of a week to settle on a day and time, despite the urgency of the matter. What else did the guy have to do all day? Roy shrugged and strode up to the front door, bracing himself for what might be an expensive visit.

  “Come in.” Trumbull opened the door and stepped back, a little unsteady on his feet.

  “Thanks for seeing me. I’ll try to keep it brief.” Roy wrinkled his nose as he followed the old man into the living room. The place smelled stale. Not dirty stale. Sick-ward stale.

  Trumbull pushed aside a sleeping cat and lowered himself into his tattered recliner with a grimace. “So what’s going on that’s so important?”

  The guy must never listen to the news. “MoonPop’s still the most popular game app in the U.S., and, if anything, average play hours per user are up. But there’s been a major downtick in violent crime—and prison occupancy rates.”

  Trumbull scowled. “Are you trying to say my module isn’t working?”

  “Well, don’t you think a major dip in the crime rate at least raises the question? Maybe heavy users eventually develop a tolerance.”

  “Look, you got what you paid for. The module delivers the maximum behavioral payload possible under unsupervised conditions.”

  “But it seems to have stopped working. Can’t you just tweak it some to give it a little more juice? If the module isn’t delivering, GSI’ll have no further use for MoonPop. They’ll shut us down.”

  The cat purred as Trumbull absently rubbed its chin. “If I…tweaked…the module as you suggest, the results would be unpredictable. I designed it to promote violent behavior. If it were made stronger, the violence would be uncontrollable. Users would have zero impulse control. They’d likely self-mutilate and kill themselves right after executing the module. That wouldn’t exactly help your cause, now would it?”