ShelfLife

by Barrie Seppings

  Trent’s phone chirped with an email. Meeting request from one of his mother’s assistants: 8:30 at the Vandten offices in Midtown. He sent back a counter for 12.

  Moments later his phone rang.

  ‘Mr Carlisle, it’s Jennifer from Susan Carlisle’s office.’

  ‘Jennifer, how are you on this lovely New York morning?’ Trent had never met this particular Jennifer, but he imagined she was similar to the rest of them. Long straight hair, serious glasses, a hint of a dimple and well-defined calves.

  ‘I’m afraid we can’t accommodate you today at twelve.’

  Perhaps she’d be friendlier in person. Probably had Susan prowling nearby and needed to demonstrate her ruthless corporate efficiency, something Susan valued greatly in her assistants.

  ‘Well, maybe something a little later in the afternoon? Actually, tomorrow would work better for me. Anything after ten.’

  ‘Mrs Carlisle has requested that you make the meeting as originally scheduled.’

  ‘Well, I’ve just landed from a red-eye, Jennifer, so although I’m still handsome, I really do need to freshen up,’ Trent wafted his collar. ‘I smell more like Texas than is reasonable right now.’

  ‘Are you still in the terminal?’

  ‘Just coming in through Brooklyn, thank God,’ said Trent.

  ‘I’ll let Mrs Carlisle know you’re on your way directly. We’ll see you at eight-thirty as scheduled, Mr Carlisle.’

  Trent slumped as the cab rumbled onto the Manhattan Bridge, rain blowing across the windshield in weak squalls kicked up by the passing trucks. He considered standing in the rain a few minutes before going upstairs to the meeting, just to make a point of how inconvenient the schedule was for him, then thought better of it. His mother was rarely moved by his plights, particularly when they were manufactured.

  Trent tapped on the partition. ‘Driver, take me to 48 and Park, thanks.’

  ‘Thought you wanted the Village?’

  ‘It’s not about what I want,’ said Trent.

  ‘Ain’t that the truth,’ said the driver, changing lanes to make the northbound exit.

  ***

  Trent found himself sizing up the receptionists (there were two, but neither was Jennifer), trying to decide which one he would ask out if only they didn’t work for his mother. After a couple of emotional on-premises showdowns his mother had issued an edict – and had it written into the boilerplate of his employment contract – that Trent was forbidden to dip his quill in the company ink.

  It was only when he was ushered into the company boardroom, rather than Susan’s personal office, that he started to wonder what this meeting was about. To be honest, he hadn’t talked with his mother much at all lately, so he didn’t have much to go on.

  The receptionist pushed against the heavy boardroom door and gestured for Trent to follow. The enormous room was brightly lit and empty, save for Jeffrey Small, a short and conservative man who was also Vandten’s long-term Head of Regulatory and Legal Affairs.

  ‘Ah, Jeffrey, I wasn’t expecting to see you here this morning,’ said Trent, unbuttoning his jacket and taking a seat at the expansive boardroom table a few places along from the older man.

  ‘A pleasure to see you again, too, Trent,’ he replied with a thin smile, getting up to pour himself a glass of water from the carafe on the credenza. Jeffrey chose a new seat, directly across the table from Trent.

  ‘Are we waiting for Madam President?’ asked Trent.

  ‘I want to show you something,’ said Jeffrey, clicking a small remote control.

  The upholstered wall of the conference room slid back to reveal a mammoth flat panel display, which showed a black and white image of a corridor, seen from several different angles in a split-screen arrangement. A small line of numbers tumbled over at the base of the screen.

  Trent struggled to make sense of the video until he saw a familiar figure stroll into view in the bottom right hand frame. He was watching himself, via security camera, wearing a long lab coat and wheeling a gurney.

  Trent’s glance flitted to Jeffrey, who had not bothered to watch the screen. Presumably because he was already familiar with the footage. Trent watched himself talk to the nurse holding the clipboard. Even in the jaws of imminent professional disaster, to be dispensed by his parents’ highly compensated litigator, Trent couldn’t help but admire himself in action. Jeffrey stabbed the remote again, freezing the onscreen Trent just as he was sticking his onscreen chest out to allow the nurse to inspect his onscreen badge.

  ‘Can you tell me, Mr Carlisle, what is the nurse looking at in this frame?’

  ‘She’s admiring my pecs, I believe.’

  ‘The correct answer is: the hospital identification badge belonging to a Dr Shane Robertson,’ Jeffrey tapped the remote on the table. ‘A face reconstruction specialist at Stamford Hospital. Can you explain to me how Dr Robertson’s badge came to be attached to your lab coat?’

  ‘Before we go on, I’d just like to state for the record,’ Trent leaned forward and pointed at the screen, ‘that is not my lab coat.’

  Another stab of the remote shut the flat-screen down and closed the panelling. Jeffrey took a large envelope from his compendium and slid it across the boardroom table.

  ‘What’s this?’ Trent asked, placing a hand on the envelope, as if trying to stop its advance.

  ‘Your termination notice.’

  ‘Termination? From what?’

  ‘From Mediclinical and from all other companies and entities associated with The Vandten Corporation. Effective immediately.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Jeffrey– ’

  ‘You’re lucky you aren’t terminated from the Carlisle family as well.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous. You can’t fire someone from their own family.’ The lawyer allowed himself the faintest of smiles and raised an eyebrow.

  ‘That’s legal?’ asked Trent.

  ‘Perhaps you should apply yourself to the study of law if you are so interested in its reach, Mr Carlisle.’

  ‘I think it might be best if I spoke directly with Susan on this matter.’ Trent started to wave Jeffrey off as he opened the envelope and flipped through the pages.

  ‘I assure you, I have Mrs Carlisle’s complete authority to execute her instructions.’

  ‘You’re enjoying this aren’t you, Jeffrey?’ said Trent.

  ‘I assure you there’s very little enjoyment to be had when the largest public healthcare network on the East Coast is threatening a complete ban from their procurement process for up to two years,’ Jeffrey tapped the remote on the table to underline his point. ‘You don’t seem to appreciate the situation you’ve placed us in. And we’re extremely fortunate they’ve decided not to press charges.’

  Trent slumped back into his seat. ‘They were going to charge me?’

  ‘You? I have no idea,’ Jeffrey placed his hands together underneath his chin. ‘It’s entirely possible they will pursue criminal charges against you as an individual. I happen to know the lead counsel for the healthcare network in question, who has given me her assurance that Mediclinical will be in the clear, once we’ve established that you were not an employee at the time of the offence.’

  ‘Oh, but I was,’ Trent scrambled for a defensive foothold. ‘The security footage proves it.’

  ‘The security footage proves only that you were at the scene of the offence.’ Jeffrey removed an expensive pen from the breast pocket of his suit jacket, studied it for a moment and then returned it. ‘This termination agreement, however, is dated prior to the incident you are referring to. I strongly recommend you sign it.’

  ‘I’d love to, Jeffrey,’ Trent patted his pockets. ‘But it seems I’ve misplaced my pen.’

  ‘Allow me to do you the favour of translating the offer into terms you can understand: your resignation will apply from the third of the month, the day before this recording. You will not set foot in any healthcare facility, nor any property owned or operated by the Vandten Corporation or
its subsidiaries. In return, you will receive a lump sum of forty thousand US dollars and a week to vacate your parents’ apartment in the West Village. We will also take steps to ensure formal criminal charges are not brought against you.’ Jeffrey straightened his suit as he stood. ‘I recommend you locate a pen, Mr Carlisle.’

  Trent sat in the enormous boardroom, tapping his fingertips together and breathing deeply. He thought about watching more of himself on the security footage. Then he thought about hurling one of the leather-lined chairs at the screen. Then he considered his mother was watching on closed-circuit. The door opened once more and the receptionist poked her head in. ‘I’m very sorry, but I need to reset the room for the next meeting.’

  Trent looked around at the rows of perfectly aligned chairs, the clutch of glasses on the credenza, the orderly row of whiteboard markers and eraser beneath the recessed whiteboard. Apart from the glass of water that Jeffrey had poured and then abandoned, the only thing that needed resetting, evidently, was him.

  Trent smiled at the receptionist. ‘Do you have a pen that I might be able to borrow?’

  Girl, I’ll haus you

  ‘I know you’ve all worked very hard to get us to where we are today and I want to thank you for that. Sincerely, I do.’

  There was no response from the crowd of young tech workers pressed into the large meeting room.

  ‘As some of you may have heard, thanks to reports in the business press this morning,’ said the tall, lean Swede as he adjusted his designer eyewear, ‘all that hard work has not gone unnoticed. They say that imitation is the most sincere form of flattery, but I’m here to tell you that it isn’t.’

  The Swede smiled and made deliberate eye contact with people in at least three different parts of the room. ‘In this business, acquisition is the most sincere form of flattery. Our main competitor likes what we’ve built here at Opod. They like it so much, they’ve decided to buy us.’

  He spread his palms wide as if delivering great bounty, but encountered only stony faces and crossed arms. He wavered for a moment until a solid-set balding man in blue chambray and khaki chinos stepped in to rescue him.

  ‘Yes, hi. My name is Matt. You’ll be seeing more of me around the place in the coming weeks so don’t be shy,’ he made a small wave. ‘I think what Lars here is trying to say is that we have an exciting new chapter of growth ahead of us at Opod and we think you’re going to be, ah, excited by what’s ahead.’

  ‘Yes! Exciting stuff! For all of you,’ the Swede added.

  ‘For most of you,’ said Chambray Shirt, with far less enthusiasm. ‘Are there any questions at this time?’

  ‘Who are you?’ a voice came from the back of the room. Shanti turned to see it was one of her coding team, Paul, a younger guy who wore his hair in a perfect London punk-era mohawk. She made a zipping motion across her lips. It was too late.

  ‘Excuse me?’ said Matt, blinking and cupping his ear.

  ‘You said we would be seeing more of you in the office. Why? Who are you?’ said Paul, turning a simple question into a threat. Shanti covered her eyes and tried to shrink. She’d been criticised about her team’s immaturity before. Paul was not helping the cause.

  ‘Okay, well, valid question, I suppose. So let me start by asking you a question.

  How long have you been at Opod?’

  ‘Three months. Going on four,’ Paul folded his arms.

  Matt nodded at Sven and made a writing motion with his hand. Sven blinked and then scurried off to locate a notebook.

  ‘OK, great chat there,’ Matt offered a thumbs-up to the back of the room and turned to the crowd. ‘Sorry we don’t have more time, but you know my door is always open.’

  ***

  Paul wasn’t the only coder in Shanti’s team to return to his desk and discover their login was no longer valid. Hands were thrown up, moans uttered and threats to head to the pub were made. Calls to IT rang out. Around ten minutes later, building security arrived and the full picture emerged.

  A couple of people cried; a few were angry. Paul muttered something about reaping and sowing. Shanti asked everyone to calm down while she went in search of answers. Matt’s door, contrary to his earlier proclamation, was well and truly closed. She could see through the frosting that he was keeping company with at least two of the Swedes. She could tell by listening that they were also keeping company with several bottles of champagne. Matt’s PA asked her to come back later in the afternoon.

  ‘Can you believe this?’ Shanti found the CFO trotting for the fire stairs, phone in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the other. ‘And since when were you a smoker?’

  ‘Shanti, I know you’re a bright kid,’ said the greying man as he rushed through the door. ‘Just keep your head down, don’t say anything dumb and you should be fine.’

  She shook her head and power-walked back to her department. Paul and the others were already gone.

  ‘Five minutes,’ a pimply teen sniffled. ‘That’s how much time security gave them. No backups, no goodbyes, nothing. Told them to pack their stuff and go.’

  ‘That’s outrageous,’ Shanti placed her hands on her hips and looked around the department: eight desks, jammed together and sectioned off from the rest of the floor by a low partition. ‘How are we going to get the commerce engine from Flightenator patched in?’

  ‘Is that all you’re worried about? The patch?’ The teen wiped his face and stood up. ‘What about Paul and Gretchen and Tran? They’re all out of a job. Don’t you care about them?’

  ‘Of course I do, Herman.’

  ‘Herbert.’

  ‘Herbert, shit, I’m sorry. I’m just trying to figure this out. Where are you going?’

  ‘I’m going to the bar with everyone else,’ Herbert said, slinging his messenger bag. ‘You should come and talk to them. You hired us all, remember?’

  ‘I will, but we have to sort out this migration first,’ Shanti tapped her keyboard to wake the screen and started scanning her emails. ‘Otherwise we could wind up in a real shit storm real quick.’

  ‘You’re a really awesome coder, Shanti. We all learned a lot from you,’ said Herbert, taking his coat from the back of his chair. ‘But what’s the point of working so hard if these guys are just going to throw us away?’

  Shanti watched Herbert walk out of the cubicle. How could she help Paul and the others if she herself didn’t know what was going on? If they didn’t deliver the migration on time, as promised, she could very easily wind up boxed as well. And then what help would she be? It frustrated her how illogical people became when faced with uncertainty. Start by working on the parts of the problem you understand. Simple logic, really.

  ‘Umm, Shanti?’ came a small voice from the corner of the office. ‘Do you still want me to compile those tables?’

  She turned to see the only non-drinker of her team, another young Indian coder who had worked with her in London. Shanti had been able to bring him across to Munich to help scale Opod’s commerce platform.

  ‘Excellent. Yes please, Krishnan. See if you can get all those query terms matching up by this afternoon.’ At least someone in her team was still thinking straight. ‘I’m going to find HR. See if we can get some freelancers in here.’

  ***

  ‘What are you going to do?’ asked Shanti’s cousin. ‘Will you lose your job, too?’

  They sat on boxes of produce in the restaurant’s cool room. The back door hung open onto the laneway, the afternoon light fading and the temperature of the Munich air starting to fall.

  ‘Oh god no,’ replied Shanti, toying with the swing top on an empty beer bottle. ‘They’re just shuffling things around, trying to reduce the head count before they take the business public. Bosses do that sometimes to show that they’re in charge. What I do is very specialised, it’s really technical. They’d be in a world of hurt if I decided to leave.’

  ‘Well, whatever happens, you know Appa always has a job for you here with us.’

  Sha
nti laughed, but it was more of a wince. ‘I’m very grateful to your father, Amira. He helped me when my own father couldn’t. That’s something I will never forget,’ Shanti checked they were alone and lowered her voice. ‘But I don’t think it’s something he’s ever going to let me fully repay. Sometimes it feels like he wants me to work for him forever.’

  ‘Don’t you want to stay with us?’ Amira threw her a wounded look. ‘You’re not going back to India to live with your father, are you?’

  ‘No, I don’t want that either. I’m trying to bring my little sister out as well. It’s not good for her to be living alone with my father,’ Shanti took Amira’s hands. ‘Haven’t you ever felt like you wanted to go out and do something for yourself? Make something on your own?’

  ‘But I do. And I am,’ said Amira, shaking both of Shanti’s hands with excitement. ‘I’m going to study optometry next year.’

  ‘Is that what you really want to do? I’ve never heard you talk about it before.’

  ‘Why not? Appa says you can make more money than a regular doctor. You can sell spectacles and lenses as well. Just four years of study if I do the accelerated program, then I’ll have my own clinic. Appa is already looking to buy one for me.’

  ‘Oh, Amira. Life is all mapped out for you, isn’t it?’ Shanti stroked her cousin’s hand. ‘Just make sure you’re happy with the destination, okay?’

  ***

  As much as Shanti was fond of her cousin, she knew where the loyalties in this family lay, hers included. Shanti’s uncle had not only covered her London boarding school fees, he also gave her room and board when she earned a part scholarship to a German university. She studied computer programming during term, Indian restaurant management during holidays. By the time she graduated, her uncle was preparing to install her in one of his newer restaurants, but a tech recruiter offered her a position with the financial startup in London. She persuaded her uncle to let her go, partly by agreeing to send back a substantial cut of her meagre paycheck each month.