The Underwriting

by Michelle Miller

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’ll let you change, then,” he said, turning back to the door.

  Her brain was spinning: she didn’t want to be alone.

  “It’s my fault my sister died,” she blurted.

  Callum turned back. She didn’t know why she said it.

  “What?”

  “I was a match. For her bone marrow.”

  She looked at her manicured hands against the thousand-count sheets on the thousand-dollar bed in the thousand-dollar-a-night suite she’d done nothing to deserve.

  “What happened?”

  She shook her head, as if it would keep out the flooding images of the hospital and the needles and the doctor announcing that the transplant hadn’t worked and her mother starting to cry because Tara, the daughter they had had so much hope in, had let them all down.

  She saw Abigail looking over from her bed to Tara’s, clinging to her teddy bear and telling her big sister it was okay, and felt all the weakness of knowing that it wasn’t.

  Callum moved to the bed and she sank into his arms, letting the sobs come in heaving waves. His chest supported her as she cried and cried for the first time in as long as she could remember. He didn’t say anything: didn’t tell her not to cry, didn’t try to convince her it wasn’t her fault. He just held her. And when she stopped they just sat there, saying nothing.

  She finally broke the silence. “I’ve got to go.”

  He nodded, lifting her face to him and tracing a finger under her eye. “You’re going to need to re-do your mascara.”

  “Shit,” she forced a laugh at herself. “How bad is it?” She was conscious of how horrible she must look.

  “You’d make a very pretty raccoon.” He smiled. “Get changed. I’ll order you a car,” he said, and moved to the door.

  —

  TARA SLIPPED OUT of the dinner meeting before the meals were served so she could get back to the office and reply to all the requests that had come in that afternoon. She’d bummed an Adderall off of Neha to help her push Abigail out of her mind and focus on the cocktail presentation, and thanks to the dim lighting in Del Frisco’s, no one had noticed her bloodshot eyes. Todd was pissed at her, but she didn’t care: he could think whatever he wanted.

  Her phone buzzed with a text.

  Wish you were here. Hope it’s going well. Love you so much.

  Tara felt her heart catch. The message had a photo attached, of her sister, Lisbeth, and her husband-to-be, smiling at the rehearsal dinner Tara was currently missing, offering a piece of cake to the camera, with a sign that said FOR TARA.

  She paused on the street and swallowed hard. What must Lisbeth think of her? And Callum, now that he’d seen her at her worst? Tara suddenly saw herself from the outside, and missing her sister’s wedding for the deal didn’t make Tara seem incredibly important, it just made her seem . . . pathetic.

  She put the phone back in her pocket and shook her head to refocus. Work, she told herself. If she was going to make these sacrifices for her ambitious career path, she was sure as hell going to do it well.

  “How’s it going?”

  Tara looked up at the voice. Lillian Dumas, the gorgeous senior colleague who she’d been avoiding since she’d accused Tara of stealing the Hook deal, was standing over her desk, her thin lips smiling.

  “Hi, Lillian,” Tara said, turning her attention back to her computer, hoping she would take the hint to go away.

  “It’s not that easy, is it?” the woman’s voice pressed. “Being under the pressure to deliver a big deal?”

  “It’s fine,” Tara said.

  “Especially with Todd leaving you with all the work.” Lillian clicked her tongue. “Guess we know now who was using who.”

  “What are you still doing here?” Tara tried to keep her voice steady.

  “I’m waiting for Lucas to finish at the office. He had a call with Asia. We’re going to Le Bernardin. It’s our anniversary.”

  “Congratulations,” Tara said without looking up from her screen.

  “You should really get a boyfriend, Tara,” Lillian said.

  “Maybe after the deal.”

  “I mean, at your age, you really don’t want to be that girl working late on Friday nights.”

  Tara’s brain snapped, shooting the words to her mouth before she could keep them from coming out: “Because I’d rather be the one killing time at the office while my fiancé finishes a call with Asia?” she heard herself say. “Which is probably code for screwing his secretary.” She watched Lillian’s cheeks redden but didn’t stop. “All so that I can brag to a junior colleague who doesn’t give a shit that I’m going to a Michelin restaurant, where I order a salad with dressing on the side, which I throw up afterward so I can maintain my double-zero dress size that he doesn’t even enjoy fucking?”

  Lillian’s jaw dropped, her face pale. “What?” she squealed. “Would you like to apologize before I—”

  “You know, Lillian, I really don’t want to apologize? And now that I think about it, I don’t really want to spend my Friday night here at all.”

  She grabbed the suitcase that she hadn’t had a chance to take home since landing that morning. She left, neither fully conscious nor unaware of what she was doing or the ramifications it might have, just trying to preserve the feeling of freedom she felt pulsing through her veins as she exited the building and hailed a cab.

  “I need to get to Kennebunkport,” she told the agent at the airport ticket counter, “by noon tomorrow.”

  “My last direct flight to Portland was at 9:50, but I could get you on the 11:05 tomorrow morning.”

  “That’s too late,” she said. “What about Boston? I’ll rent a car.”

  “There’s a flight leaving in thirty minutes.” The agent looked up at Tara. “Do you have anything to check?”

  “No.” Tara indicated her carry-on, handing the agent her credit card. “I’ll take it.”

  JUAN

  FRIDAY, MAY 9; NEW YORK, NEW YORK

  Beau hadn’t apologized after their fight in London. Nick hadn’t remembered anything from the night, and Todd had only acknowledged it by playfully teasing Beau about his failed conquest of Fiona. Juan couldn’t believe it.

  He didn’t know why he’d shown Neha the database in London, or why he’d expected her to think they ought to tell. She was just like the men in the other room: all she cared about was the deal going well so she could collect her promotion and her paycheck. Her line about him being some kind of hero was just that, a line, like all the other lines the bankers used to make people believe what they wanted them to believe so they’d do what they wanted them to do.

  Juan came out of the restaurant’s restroom and found Neha waiting for him.

  “Did you erase it?” she whispered.

  “No, Neha,” he said, annoyed, “I didn’t.”

  “But you heard the man in the lunch meeting,” she said, skipping to catch up with him. “What if—”

  “He’s not going to find out, okay?”

  “No,” she said, “what if he’s right? What if Nick sells the data?”

  Juan stopped and turned to face her. Her eyelids were puffy behind her glasses, and the bags underneath weighed them down. Her skin had cleared, though, and she’d gotten a new suit for the road show that looked less like something she’d borrowed from her grandmother.

  “He won’t,” he said. “He thinks it’s gone. And you heard Tara: every app has this kind of information. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Can you at least find out who the other user was? The one who was with Kelly?”

  “Why do you suddenly care? What about supporting the rich men so you can keep your job and climb up the ladder?”

  “I didn’t get the promotion,” she said.
<
br />   “What?”

  “They sent the e-mail announcement today. I didn’t get it.”

  “That’s bullshit. There’s no way anyone works as hard as you.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You have to find out who the other user was.”

  “The path is corrupted,” he said. “It’s a moot point.”

  “You’re the best programmer for the best tech company in Silicon Valley. You’re telling me you can’t figure that out?”

  “I don’t want to know, Neha, and I don’t want to tell,” he said. “I just want this to be done so I can get my money and not have to deal with any of these people anymore.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because if you meant that you would have deleted the database.”

  “We need to get back in there,” he said, moving past her to the dining room, ignoring her point.

  NICK

  SATURDAY, MAY 10; NEW YORK, NEW YORK

  American investors were proving more difficult than the Europeans. It was past midnight now, after a day of meetings in New York that had been full of serious questions about the long-term health of the app market, sparked with speculation that the entire thing was a bubble.

  That was New York, though, Nick reminded himself. New York investors got caught up in things like revenue and profitability. They didn’t recognize that the number of users was the new currency, and that once a company had that piece worked out, like Hook did, the rest was cake.

  Todd was talking on the phone, his voice serious. “You know what’ll happen if he does this. You have to talk him out of it.”

  What’s going on? Nick mouthed to Todd, who held up a finger.

  “Fuck you, Tom. I’ve got to go.” Todd hung up the phone. “Fuck!” he said to the car.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Antony van Leeuwen’s issuing a negative report.”

  “What?”

  “He’s setting a price target of two dollars a share, and issuing it ahead of the IPO.”

  “Two dollars?” Nick’s chest tightened. “Is that a joke?”

  “He’s trying to get attention for himself,” Todd said. “It’s bullshit.”

  “Who told you?”

  “My friend Tom. He runs a fund that just got the tip from Antony and is now thinking of taking a short position,” Todd said. “Fuck him—he’s trying to build his career by fucking up my deal.”

  “Your deal?” Nick’s jaw dropped. “Todd, this is my company. If he puts out that report and people listen to him . . .” Nick blinked his eyes, his head spinning. Their target was twenty-six dollars. If the price went to two dollars, he wouldn’t even have enough to pay back the loan he’d taken to exercise his options.

  “They won’t,” Todd said. “He’s got nothing to back it up. Just his stupid conspiracy theory that location-based apps are going to go bust. The problem is that if guys like Tom take his side, it doesn’t matter whether he’s right or not. Which means we just have to do a better job convincing them of our view. Jesus fucking Christ, I do not need this.”

  The car stopped at the hotel.

  “I’m going back to the office,” Todd told the driver. He turned to Nick and took a deep breath. “Don’t worry,” he said, calming his voice for Nick’s benefit. “We’ll figure this out.”

  “You better,” Nick said angrily, getting out of the car and slamming the door behind him.

  This couldn’t possibly be happening. Two dollars a share? And a hedge fund shorting the stock? Nick wasn’t having a good time anymore. The questions were intense and he was hungover from all the drinking and Tiffany still hadn’t tried to make out with him and no one was “liking” his Instagram posts. He needed something he could control.

  He spotted Juan in the lobby and grabbed the programmer’s arm. “Can I talk to you?”

  Juan frowned but followed him to a corner in the hotel bar.

  “It’s gone, right?” Nick said sternly.

  “What?”

  “What do you mean, ‘what’?” Nick whispered angrily. “The third database.”

  Juan looked down.

  “You erased it, like I told you to do?” Nick said, getting angry again. How was he supposed to operate a company if his lead engineer didn’t follow directions?

  Juan shook his head. “I found something.”

  “What?”

  “Kelly Jacobson was on it when she died.”

  Nick’s throat tightened. That didn’t matter. Lots of famous people were on Hook. “You’ve been looking up user information?”

  Juan nodded.

  “Do you have any idea what would happen if people found out that a Hook engineer is looking at individual users’ information?” Nick’s voice got angrier as he said the words. If Antony van Leeuwen was threatening a bad report on conspiracy theories, what would he say if he knew programmers were stalking users?

  “I didn’t know what to do,” Juan said. “I think Kelly—”

  Nick could feel his chest start to constrict. He couldn’t breathe. He’d taken out a loan. He’d launched a public reputation. He’d broken up with Grace. Juan’s lips were moving, talking frantically, but Nick couldn’t make out what he was saying.

  “. . . and so I think Robby Goodman is . . .”

  “You’re fired,” Nick heard himself say.

  Juan paused, his mouth ajar. “What?”

  “You’re fired,” Nick repeated more confidently, his nerves starting to resettle.

  “What are you talking about?” Juan asked, as if Nick were crazy.

  But Nick wasn’t crazy. He was back in control, rebalanced, and the engineer’s flippancy gave him even more certainty in his decision. “You signed a nondisclosure agreement, saying you’d keep the data you saw to yourself, which you violated when you showed Phil Dalton. That was strike one. Now you’re violating user privacy by looking at their information.”

  “Nick, I—”

  “I can’t have people like that working for me.”

  “But what I found . . .” Juan’s eyes were wide. “It means—”

  “I’ll have Tiffany book you a ticket back to California, and we’ll pay you out through the end of the year. You can keep any options that you’ve exercised.”

  “I haven’t exercised any options.” Juan’s face was white, panicked.

  Nick lifted an eyebrow. “You’re joking.”

  “I was going to wait for the IPO and sell enough to . . .”

  Nick shook his head, laughing in disbelief. “You should have been more responsible.”

  “I—”

  Nick looked down at the laptop case Juan was carrying and grabbed it. “I’ll need that.”

  “Are you seriously firing me?” Juan asked in disbelief.

  Nick straightened his spine. This was good, actually. If Juan hadn’t exercised, that meant two hundred million worth of shares back in the pot.

  He stuck out his hand, remembering the etiquette he’d learned at Harvard Business School about how to behave when you fired people. “It’s been a pleasure working with you, Juan. I’m sorry it had to end like this, but I wish you all the best.”

  JUAN

  SATURDAY, MAY 10; NEW YORK, NEW YORK

  “Juan!” Neha called. “Juan, wait!” She grabbed his arm. “Juan, what’s going on?”

  Juan shook his head and kept walking, quickly, away from the hotel.

  “Juan, stop! Where are you going?”

  Juan didn’t stop.

  “What were you talking to Nick about? Did you tell him?” She scrambled to keep up.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “And? What’d he say?”

  “He fired me.”

  “What?” Neha stopped. Juan walked another step, then he stopped, too, closi
ng his eyes and feeling his chest rise and fall. “Nick fired you?” Neha repeated softly.

  Juan let his head drop. “Shit, Neha.”

  The community center would never happen now. His mother wouldn’t get her new house. And who else would hire him? Nick would get rich and Todd would get rich and all those guys in suits in the meetings would get even richer and he would go back to being nothing, like Neha said. They’d won.

  Neha caught up and stood in front of him, looking straight into his eyes. “What are you going to do?” she asked softly.

  “Can you get me onto one of L.Cecil’s computers?” he asked. “Nick took mine.”

  She nodded.

  Neha used her security badge and passed it back to him while she checked the elevators to make sure no one was there.

  “Only employees are allowed up here,” she explained.

  “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

  She shrugged. “Let’s not think about it.”

  The elevator doors opened and Neha led him to a corner conference room. Beau and another analyst were at their computers, but neither noticed. She pulled her laptop out of her bag and logged in, then passed it over to him.

  Juan sat forward and started typing. Neha sat by his side at the desk while he worked, hacking through layers and layers of code to figure out where the corruption in the mystery user’s profile had happened.

  “This doesn’t make any sense,” Juan said after half an hour.

  “What?”

  “Kelly never matched this user,” he said, squinting at the screen. “But he was able to see her full profile anyway,” he said. “That’s not supposed to happen.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Juan stopped, remembering Neha hadn’t used Hook since the first version. “The way it normally works is the app gives you people nearby and you ‘match’ who you like, and if they match you back then you can communicate with them. You can search for people to see their ratings, but you can’t see their full profile, or their location, unless they allow it by matching you.”

  Juan looked more closely at the screen and went on, “But the system thinks they matched at midnight, even though there was no communication from Kelly’s device.” He looked back at Neha. “I think it was manually entered,” he concluded. “I think someone hacked in so they could find out where she was.”