by Alex Schuler
“What’s the news?” Lori asked.
“Are you okay, boss?” Harry said.
Nico remained silent as Ted limped his way between the three of them, ignoring their questions. He went into his office, closed the door, leaving everyone outside. Wincing, he sank down to the floor and leaned back against the door. He rolled his head sideways, pressing his ear to the wood. He tried in vain to hear conversation on the other side. He waited in relief as their footsteps became fainter, followed by silence.
Gazing at the mess all around him, he struggled to his feet and walked over to the row of boxes lining the wall. He dumped the largest one out and brought it to his desk, scanning the stacks of papers and personal belongings.
He reached into his pocket to get his phone. As he sat in the chair, jolts of pain shot through his legs. He dialed Sam’s cell and waited for the call to connect. He hadn’t seen her since the night of the accident. She’d rushed to the emergency room, but Ted had sent her away as soon as he was discharged. He was so racked with guilt, he only wanted to be alone.
All week, he had kept her at a distance, despite her repeated calls and attempts to see him. Suddenly more than anything in the world, he wanted her touch. To hold her. Smell her hair. Kiss her. He felt so completely alone. A sense of helplessness washed over him with each ring. He felt his eyes well up with tears as he got her voicemail.
“Hey, it’s me,” he said, his voice quivering. “I thought you should know I just got fired. I guess it was inevitable. I’ve . . . I’ve never been fired before. I’ve always left on my own. There’s also a lawsuit. GSI is going after Where2—and me—about the tech we’re using. But I’m not blaming you, Sam. Even if . . . It’s not important. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you were right. You were right, okay? I was reckless and foolish. I was so much better when I was with you. We were such a good team. I screwed up. I ruined everything—my job—our marriage. I . . . I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
Ted pressed “end” and sat still. He felt nothing—almost like he was floating above his life and not fully connecting with any of it. He gently placed his phone on his desk and scanned the room. The project and test plans were taped to the wall. Ted’s dream of building a self-driving car was over. He felt utterly lost.
41
David Foster paced across the oyster-colored woven carpet in his office, staring across the Detroit River toward Windsor, Canada. The wind today was coming from the south, carrying damp cold air from Lake Erie. With Christmas less than a week away, the last thing David had wanted was a late-day meeting with his rivals. But recent events left him no choice. Brad Kenner fidgeted in his large cherry wood chair with green leather back and seat, as he checked e-mail on his phone. Both men turned when Robert Anderson from Chrysler entered the room.
“Sorry I’m late,” Robert said, groaning as he lowered himself into the chair next to Brad. “Holiday traffic out there is a real bitch. Couldn’t we have done this on the phone, David?”
“I thought it best to meet in person,” David replied. He remained standing, gazing out the window, his hands clasped behind his back. David leaned forward, keeping his nose less than an inch from the cold glass. “We need to talk about last month’s fiasco with Where2 and Tesla.”
“The crash?” Robert asked. He shook his head and smiled. “It just proves we were right. The technology isn’t ready.”
“I’m not so sure.” David returned to his desk, taking a seat across from the other two. He picked up a stack of newspapers and magazines. One by one, David began tossing them onto the desktop in front of Brad and Robert. “The New York Times. The Washington Post. Even Wired magazine. They’re not talking about the crash being a setback. They don’t even care about the people who were killed. Do either of you even know the name of the guy walking the dog?”
“It was, um, hold on.” Robert’s cheeks reddened and his eyes darted around the room. “I vaguely remember reading it.”
“That was a trick question,” David said. “It was a woman walking the dog.”
“What’s your point?” Brad asked.
“My point is that all the buzz is about how Tesla and Where2 have vehicles that can drive themselves. The press doesn’t seem to care about the accident. They all seem to be blaming the human drivers!” David rifled through the newspapers to find USA Today. With deliberate gruffness, he flipped through the newspaper until he came to the article he wanted. Adjusting his glasses, he read, “Where2 refused to comment on their long-term goals. However, they did confirm they believe the self-driving car is a future that can’t be ignored.” Turning and looking from one to the other, he said, “The article goes on to talk about GSI and the cars they are testing.”
“GSI’s autonomous cars are low-speed vehicles,” Robert said dismissively. “They aren’t a threat to us. Where2 shouldn’t have been testing that technology on public roads. That accident will cost them dearly.”
“Not so fast, Bob.” Brad leaned back in his chair, dragging his fingers across his silver beard. He glanced around nervously. “We all know that Where2 raided a lot of talent from our companies. I’ve kept in touch with one of my engineers. I thought he would’ve stayed with Ford forever. Anyway, he told me that preliminary reports show the accident was unavoidable.”
“Bullshit,” Robert said.
“The black box data show that even a human driver would have struck that woman and her dog.” Brad stood up, shoved his hands into his pockets, and started walking in circles around a conference table a few feet away. “Where2’s Volkswagen was rounding a corner and had nowhere to go. That idiot was walking her dog in the middle of the road. At the speed those cars were going, there was nothing that could’ve been done.”
“Tell that to the lawyers,” Robert said. He stood up and walked over to Brad. “Speaking of, isn’t GSI suing Where2 for stolen tech? I heard that hotshot lidar engineer took a bunch of data with him when he jumped ship.”
“It’s worse than that,” Brad said as he stopped and leaned back against the conference table. “According to my inside guy, Where2 based their mapping software on GSI’s systems. The whole foundation of their AI engine relies on stolen mapping and lidar controls from GSI. Where2 modified the shit out of GSI’s systems without telling them. Where2 is screwed. GSI will devour them.”
“Where2 has very deep pockets,” David said. “All those venture capitalist investors will continue to back them. They’ll want a return on their investment.”
“Will they?” Brad said. “GSI is fifty times the size of Where2. This could easily turn into a costly and drawn-out lawsuit. Investors may decide to walk instead of spending years fighting with GSI. We’ve all been down this road before. Lawsuits take forever.”
“I’m not so sure.” David motioned to the empty leather chairs across from him and waited for Robert and Brad to sit back down. “Matthew Grant has built an empire—an extremely profitable empire. I don’t think that company has ever seen a bad quarter. All of us use GSI’s mapping systems in our vehicles. Like him or not, he’s got a very positive reputation in the industry. From what I know of Grant, I expect him to make this go away very quickly. He won’t want his company’s image tarnished.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Brad said. “A long legal battle is the last thing GSI will want. How do you think it will end?”
“I’m not sure.” David tossed his thick glasses onto the stack of newspapers and magazines. He rubbed his weary eyes and stared back out through his office windows. Without the clarity of his eyeglasses, the muted hues of the Canadian town morphed into a blurry sea of smeared colors. “But I give Where2 a fifty-fifty chance of being in business six months from now.”
“If Grant’s half as savvy as he appears to be, he should just buy Where2,” Robert said. “Take the good parts and throw away the rest.”
David and Brad both turned and stared at Robert, lookin
g somewhat surprised by his comment.
“What?” Robert asked. “That’s what I’d do. Besides, does any of this really matter? Do either of you really see either GSI or Where2 as a threat?”
“My concern, gentlemen, is we seem to be at risk of losing a seat at the table.” David slid his glasses back on and grabbed a copy of Wired magazine. “Do you know how many executives from Ford, GM, and Chrysler they interviewed for their article? None.”
“Tesla, Where2, and GSI are the darlings of the tech world,” he continued. “And they are dominating the discussions on self-driving systems. I’m worried we’re going to be perceived as being late to the party.”
“David, we’ve all been contacted about the Where2 accident,” Brad said. “Our communications team has been all over this debacle. I’ve personally given four interviews.”
“To the mainstream press, sure. But not to the tech industry.” David briefly studied the cover of Wired before letting it fall onto the stack of papers and magazines in front of him. “Kids today have different priorities. Times change. People change.”
“We adapt as well,” Brad said. “We always have.”
“Twenty years ago, GM did a pilot electric vehicle program with the Impact,” David said. “We turned that into the EV-1 and ran a lease program in California.”
“I remember,” Brad said. “You guys caught all of us by surprise. That little car had quite the cult following—until you killed it.”
“It wasn’t profitable. The battery technology back then was much too limiting. As you know, we caught a lot of shit for ending that program and destroying those vehicles.”
“I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit,” Brad said. “Everything you learned on the EV-1 led to the development of the Chevy Volt.”
“Be that as it may, Brad, we both know we sell the Volt at a loss.” David sighed as he shuffled through the newspapers and magazines strewn across his desk. “It hasn’t become the Prius-killer we’d hoped for. Long-term, we expect profitability to change. We’re just not there yet. My point is that all the buzz around EVs is centered around Tesla. GM pioneered it, but we aren’t in the mix. As I said, we’re not even in the discussion.”
“Tesla has yet to make a profit,” Robert said. “Who knows if they ever will. That car they’re building has to cost them a fortune to make. They lose thousands on every unit.”
“Even so, they’re stealing market share from Mercedes and BMW.” David flipped open a copy of Automotive News and tossed it to Robert. “Everyone seems to be trading in their S-Class or 7-Series for the Model S. Gentlemen, we can no longer dismiss Tesla as a minor distraction. I recommend we also begin to view GSI and Where2 as major threats.”
“But why?” Robert flung the paper back at David without bothering to read it. “Neither one owns an auto manufacturing plant. They have no idea what it takes to build a car.”
“And neither did Tesla,” David said.
The three men sat in silence, awkwardly glancing from one to the other. Outside, the brutally cold December wind blasted across the Renaissance Center, whistling loudly against David’s office windows.
“I hear Apple is thinking of doing a car,” Brad said softly.
“Jesus.” Robert grabbed the copy of Automotive News he’d just tossed back to David, turning to another article about the Where2 accident. “If Where2 is investing in self-driving technology, what about all the drivers they employ? What happens to them?”
“More importantly, who buys the cars?” David rotated his chair to take in the spectacular view through the bank of windows. “Think it through, guys.”
“People order a Where2 instead of driving themselves,” Brad said, his chair squeaking as he shifted from side to side. “So down the road if self-driving cars become a real thing, will people even want to own cars? What will happen to dealerships?”
“That, gentlemen, is why I called you here.” David turned back to his desk and leaned forward. “What if Where2 perfects their self-driving taxi? What if GSI decides to follow in Where2’s footsteps? What if Tesla perfects its Autopilot system and successfully ramps up its Fremont plant to half a million cars or more? Electrification. Battery technology. Autonomy. Artificial Intelligence. Transportation as a service. It’s time we accept the inevitable. Given our expertise in supply chains and manufacturing, we lead. We do not follow. We need to become major players in this future world. At all costs.”
42
Ted smiled as he glanced around Donovan’s Pub, remembering the times he’d spent here with Sam and others when he had worked at GSI. He thought about the great team they’d assembled for Project Courier. During his employment at Where2, he had never made the time to come to Donovan’s, or for that matter, meet up with his old co-workers. He closed his eyes and tried to think back to the last time he’d been here. He wasn’t sure, but he knew it had to have been with Sam. The restaurant was quiet. He was alone. The bar was empty except for pair of busboys scampering around the pub, doing a final cleaning of the tables. He glanced at his phone—10:20 p.m.
A couple sitting at a booth near the jukebox stood up, gathered their belongings, and walked out. Ted was the only one left. He looked over at the darkened music player and frowned.
“Would it be possible to get some music?” he asked Stacey, the bartender. He’d been chatting with her over the past forty-five minutes. “It’s kind of quiet.”
“We’re closing soon,” she said. At barely five feet tall with cropped dark hair, Stacey looked like a little doll in the universal bartender uniform—black slacks, white button-down shirt, and black vest. Her sleeves were rolled up, exposing a colorful set of tattoos covering her arms. “You’ve been here for a while. Did someone stand you up?”
“No, stuck in traffic,” he replied.
“Oh, all right,” she said. “I’ll play you some music while you wait. What’s your poison?”
“Thanks so much. Rock. Classic, if you don’t mind.”
The jukebox stood almost as tall as Stacey. She reached behind the rear leg and flicked a switch. The machine, though digital, was styled to resemble an antique player—arched front corners with curved glass tubes filled with faux neon lights. One by one, each light flashed to life. The solid oak sides and front were slotted with rounded brass grates. She studied the touchscreen nestled into the front of the player, scrolling as she decided what to play before pressing the selection and making her way back to the bar.
Ted waited patiently for the music to begin. After a few seconds, “Drive” by The Cars began. He sighed and let out a low laugh.
“What?” She asked. “This is old, isn’t it?”
“It’s fine. Thank you.” He slid his empty glass away just as she went back behind the bar. “One more. Please?”
“Are you driving? This stuff is strong.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Ah, Where2.” She pulled out a bottle of Chivas Regal and poured some into his glass. “You gotta love em’, right?”
“Right.” He unlocked his phone. His Lyft page was still up. For a flash, he wondered if they’d be following Where2’s push into self-driving cars. He shrugged it off and swiped through his screens, lamenting the excessive number of apps he’d accumulated. He paused when he noticed he still had the Where2 app on his phone, frowning as he pressed his thumb on the icon and deleted it.
The front door to Donovan’s swung open. Ted swiveled his head and felt his heart in his chest. A smile spread across his face as Sam hurried across the restaurant.
“Hi,” she said, pausing beside him. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Did you get my text? Traffic was awful.”
“No apologies necessary.”
He felt a wave of relief as she took the stool next to him and spun it to face him. He looked straight into her sparkling green eyes and was struck, as he had been so many times before, at how
beautiful she was. They hadn’t seen each other in almost four months, since the night of the accident. He wanted to pull her close and kiss her, but he didn’t know what she was thinking or feeling. Before he could make up his mind, Sam leaned forward and gave him a gentle kiss on his cheek.
“You look good,” she said as she fidgeted in her seat, trying to get comfortable. “Are you fully recovered?”
“Excuse me,” Stacey said. “Last call. Can I get you anything?”
“Chardonnay, please.” Turning back to him, she looked concerned. “So, how are you, Ted?”
“I’m . . . I’m better. Finally.” He pulled his gaze from Sam and stared into his whisky. The doctor’s appointments, stitches, X-rays, and physical therapy sessions paraded before him in his mind. “It’s been quite a process.”
Sam grabbed the glass of wine Stacey poured for her and took a huge gulp. “I know we haven’t spoken. . . . I’ve been worried.”
“I just needed time. I had a lot of things to work through. One of them I just finished.” Sitting on the counter to the left of him was a white sealed envelope with Sam’s name scrawled across the front in blue ink. He slid it to his right until it was resting beside her glass of wine. “I know this is way past due.”
She picked up the envelope and briefly inspected it. He was surprised to see that she still wore her rings. He looked down at the wedding ring on his own hand. After all these months, neither had removed their rings.
“Are these the divorce papers?” she asked.
“I’ve been meaning to sign them. There’s just been so much happening.”
“Ted—”
“It was unfair of me to make you wait so long.”
“Ted—”
“Sam, when I first got these papers, I tossed them aside and just took for granted I’d be able to change your mind. I kept thinking once that final road test was completed, I’d be able to focus on us and win you back. I didn’t know how utterly stupid and blind I was being. I’m surprised you put up with me as long as you did. After the accident, I lost my job. Hell, I pretty much lost everything. I have no one to blame, though, except myself.”