Hot Shot

by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

Sam nodded. "Just five lines of code, but that's all it took."

  "We have so many checks and balances built into our procedures," she said. "A test team, code reviews among the engineers. How could this happen?"

  "Maybe Fiella somehow managed to switch the listings at the last minute." Sam walked to the refrigerator and pulled out another Coke. "You know, I'm almost glad you found out. I was getting tired of having all of you look at me like I was Benedict Arnold or somebody."

  Mitch slipped his glasses back on. "This is why you started pressuring the board to sell the company."

  "If Databeck buys SysVal," Sam said, "the board swap is their problem. We're out clean and we have the money in our pockets to start a new company. Databeck is a big conglomerate. The loss will hurt them, but they can stand it."

  "There are laws against that kind of thing," Susannah said wearily. "Once those machines start to die, they'll sue us for fraud."

  Sam slammed his unopened Coke can down on the counter. "No they won't. That's the beauty. It'll be months before we see anything more than a few isolated failures, and I haven't left any loose ends. They couldn't even come close to proving that we had any previous knowledge of the defect."

  Susannah dropped her eyes to the tabletop. "So we dump the company on them, take the money, and run."

  "Something like that," Sam replied with a shrug.

  She looked up from the table and stared him straight in the eye. "That's shit, Sam. That's really shit."

  He gave her the black scowl he always used whenever she uttered a vulgarity. She looked away in disgust.

  Mitch's tone was cool and impersonal. "We at least need to discuss the possibility of selling out to Databeck."

  Susannah felt a prickling along the back of her neck, and she turned toward him angrily. "The only way Databeck will buy SysVal is if we don't tell them about the bug."

  "They have a lot more resources than we do," he said calmly. "There's a slim possibility that they could save SysVal. We already know that we can't."

  Her skin felt cold. Mitch was going to betray her, too. Her friend had become a stranger. She thought she knew him so well, but she hadn't known him at all. Feeling as if she had just lost something precious, she turned toward Yank. When she spoke, her voice trembled. "Yank, what do you think?"

  He returned to her from a very distant place. His eyes met hers and his expression was deeply troubled. For a moment he did nothing, and then he gently, almost accidentally, brushed the tips of her fingers with his own. They tingled slightly, as if she had been touched by a greater power. "I'm sorry, Susannah," he said softly. "I'm still processing the information. I'm sorry, but I'm not ready to offer an opinion yet."

  "I see."

  "I'm not offering an opinion, either," Mitch said firmly. "I'm merely pointing out that we need to discuss all the options."

  She didn't believe him. Mitch was a black-ink man, a homebred, bottom-line capitalist. They could discuss all the options in the world, but in her heart of hearts, she was certain he would eventually side with Sam.

  Sam began to pummel them with facts and figures. Mitch grabbed one of Angela's scratch pads and took copious notes, filling up one page and then quickly flipping to the next.

  Susannah listened and said nothing.

  Eventually her silence grew oppressive to Sam. He planted the flat of his hand on the table and leaned down. "We've already seen what happens when we splinter, Susannah. For chrissake, we have to work together on this as partners. We have to speak with one single voice."

  "And I'll bet you think that voice should be yours," she snapped.

  "That's crap, Susannah. Why don't you stop taking potshots for a while and start acting like a team player?"

  "All right." She stood up and walked over to the kitchen counter. "All right, I'll be a team player. I'll reduce all this discussion to one simple question-the only question. Are we going to tell Databeck about the bug or not?"

  Mitch looked down at his notepad and drew the outlines of a box. He traced the border over and over again with his pen.

  As always, Sam declared a spade a spade. "Databeck would snatch that offer back in a second if they knew about these machines. Unless we keep quiet, there isn't any offer."

  "Then that makes our decision simple, doesn't it? Are we liars or aren't we?"

  Mitch slammed down his pen. "Susannah, I have to tell you that I resent your condescending tone. You don't have any special pipeline to heaven."

  "We had a mission," she said, her voice catching on the last word. "We set out on an adventure together, and we've always been true to it. We didn't lie. We didn't cheat or steal or take shortcuts. And we made money beyond our wildest dreams. But making money was never what the adventure was about. It was only part of it. The adventure was about pushing ourselves and finding our own excellence."

  Mitch stood up. "Those are wonderful words, but we're trying to decide the future of thousands of people here."

  "They're not just words!" she exclaimed, her heart pumping in her chest, as she tried desperately to make them understand. "We've been put to the test."

  Mitch made a dismissive sound and scowled.

  "People are put to the test everyday," she declared. "Just not as dramatically as it's happened to us. A clerk puts too much change in your hands. Do you give it back? A friend tells a racist joke. Do you laugh? Are you going to cheat on your taxes? Water down the liquor? When does a person take a stand? When do we say, 'Stop! That's enough! This is what I believe in, and I'll stand by it until I die.'"

  The corners of Sam's mouth twisted sardonically. "Don't you love this? Listen to the rich girl talk. Only someone who has never been poor could be so morally pure."

  The muscles in the back of her neck ached with tension and her palms were damp as she pleaded with them to understand. "Don't you see? We've slammed right up against the morality of our own lives."

  "This is business," Mitch said. "We're merely discussing a business deal."

  "No," she retorted. "It's a lot more than that."

  He gazed at her with a combination of pain and wonder. "You want us to hang on even if those beliefs are going to take us on a death ride?"

  "Yes. Yes, I do." She walked closer to him, until only the corner of the table separated them. "Ever since I was born, people have been telling me what the rules of life are. My grandmother, my father." She gazed over at the man who was still her husband. "And you, Sam. You, most of all. But none of those definitions ever seemed quite right to me. Now-today-right at this moment-I know exactly who I am. I know what I believe in. And I believe in our mission. I've always believed in it. Our mission statement isn't just what SysVal is about. It's what life is about. Quality, excellence, honesty, taking pride in what we do no matter what that might be, and standing by it. That's what makes life good."

  Sam's face had grown rigid and Mitch looked shaken. She turned toward Yank so she could judge his reaction, and saw that his expression was as blank as a sheet of white paper. While she had been spilling out her soul, he had been in a world of his own, not paying the slightest bit of attention.

  Sick at heart, she moved away. The edge of the counter dug into the top of her hip as she sagged against it. They were going to end the adventure. She could sense it. Their brave and daring adventure was going to be transformed into something loathsome and unclean. She wanted to hurt them for what they were doing, and the only way she could hurt them was to make them speak the truth aloud about themselves.

  "I'm calling for a vote." Her voice was hollow. "Are we going to tell Databeck the truth or not?"

  "A vote between the four of us means nothing," Mitch said. "It's obvious that we're going to be splintered."

  "No! I want a vote. I'm putting all of us to the test. Right now. Right this moment. We've slammed against the wall, and each one of us has to take a stand. We have to declare what we believe in."

  Mitch reached out toward her. The gesture was awkward, almost as if he thought he could stop
her flow of words with his hand. She moved past his reach, determined to see this through to the end.

  "Yank, how do you vote? Do we tell Databeck the truth about the machines or not?"

  Yank blinked and looked faintly befuddled. "Well, of course we tell them. It would be dishonest not to."

  She stared at him and absorbed his absolute certainty. At that moment, comprehension swept over her, an awareness so new and yet so old she couldn't believe that she hadn't understood it long go. The vision of excellence and integrity that Sam carried like an evangelist into the world had come from Yank. Sam had merely found the words to define everything that Yank believed in.

  She gave Yank a shaky smile and looked at her husband.

  As she stared into his eyes, one part of her still yearned to reach out to him, but she understood with absolute certainty that was no longer possible. "Sam? Please, Sam."

  "Sometimes the end justifies the means," he muttered.

  "What about our mission? Please," she begged him. "Think about our mission. Think about what it means."

  "Too many people depend on us," he said flatly. "Too much money is involved. I vote no."

  Some precious spark of optimism, a naive belief in the invincibility of the human spirit, died within her. Her throat felt tight and swollen as she turned to Mitch and uttered his name.

  His face was pale, his words clipped. "This is ridiculous, Susannah. Completely meaningless. There are complexities here, subtleties that need to be examined and discussed."

  All the confused emotions she felt for him were choking her. "I'm putting you to the test, Mitch," she whispered. "Do we tell them or not?"

  He dropped his head. Stared down at the floor. As she saw the stoop to those broad shoulders she had so often leaned upon, she was overcome with a sense of her own arrogance. Who was she to hold Mitch up to judgment? He was a good man. She had no right to do this to him.

  He spoke, his voice low-pitched and sad. "Yes. Yes, we tell them the truth."

  A rush went through her-hot and cold at the same time, the birth of something new and strange.

  Sam slumped against the wall. His shoulders hunched forward, his head sagged. Everything about him spoke defeat. She walked over to him, her sneakers making soft little squeaks on the floor, and this time she touched him, the lightest brush of her fingers against his hand. "We have a few months," she whispered. "Help us make a miracle."

  "No," he said belligerently. "No, there aren't going to be any miracles."

  She laced her fingers through his and squeezed them, trying to pass her strength to him as he had once passed it to her. "You can find one if you want to. You can do anything. I believe it, Sam. I've always believed it."

  "You're a fool. A stupid, self-destructive fool." He dropped her hand and gazed at her with bleak angry eyes. "You'll have my letter of resignation on your desk Monday morning."

  A murmur of protest slipped through her lips.

  "I'm quitting," he said. "The terms of our partnership agreement give the three of you sixty days to buy me out. I'm going to hold you to it."

  She wanted to be angry with him, but instead she experienced a splintering sensation of separation. Lifting her hand, she cupped the cheek of the man she had once loved so well and so unwisely. "Don't do it, Sam. Don't walk away from us. The adventure isn't over. Stay and fight with us."

  But no sparks flashed in those deep dark eyes. Something essential had left him. He stood before her-a visionary with no vision, a missionary who had lost his faith. Gently, he removed her hand from his cheek. Then he turned on his heel and left them alone.

  Chapter 29

  Susannah was cold with fear. She couldn't imagine SysVal without Sam. He was SysVal. He was the energy that propelled them, the force that guided them. Yank was gathering up his tools, and Mitch absentmindedly fingered his car key. She couldn't stand to have them leave her. "Come back to my house. I filled the freezer yesterday. We can find something to eat."

  Apparently they were no more anxious than she to be alone, because they immediately agreed to her suggestion.

  They drove separately. Mitch and Yank parked in front, while Susannah drove into the single-car garage. As she came in through the kitchen, she heard Paige's throaty laughter in the foyer.

  "Well, well, well. If this isn't my lucky day. Tell me. Have you boys ever considered a sexual threesome?"

  Susannah quickly made her way toward the foyer. She heard Mitch give a chuckle that sounded thin at the edges. "Sorry, cupcake, I only work solo."

  "It figures. I'll bet you leave your socks on, too."

  Susannah arrived in time to see Paige sauntering over to Yank. "Feeling left out, slugger?" She began to move closer, only to have him shoot out his hand and grasp hers, giving it a solid shake that effectively kept her at arm's length.

  "It's good to see you again, Paige."

  Paige's presence proved a welcome distraction. She picked up their somber mood, but she didn't ask any questions. Herding them into the kitchen, she began putting together a platter of cold cuts and making sandwiches.

  Paige's position as a major FBT stockholder prevented them from discussing the crisis that was uppermost in their minds, but all of them seemed to welcome the respite. The next day would be soon enough for them to pick over the bones and see what they could salvage.

  Yank was quiet and distracted throughout the meal. In contrast, Mitch teased and bantered with Paige as if he hadn't a care in the world. Once again Susannah wondered what it was about her sister that produced such a transformation in her stodgy partner.

  Over scoops of vanilla ice cream smothered with homemade butterscotch syrup, Paige shifted her attention to Yank. She gave him a mischievous smile. "Do you know why female pygmies don't like to wear tampons?"

  "Oh, Lord," Susannah groaned, losing interest in her ice cream.

  Paige waved her to be quiet while Yank appeared to think over the answer. When nothing was forthcoming, she leaned toward him. "They trip on the strings."

  Mitch chuckled. Yank's forehead wrinkled as if he were trying to sort out the physics of the whole thing.

  "Paige, that's gross," Susannah protested.

  The three of them gave her varying looks of disapproval, until she felt like an old maid schoolteacher with a prim mouth and chin whiskers. Slapping down her napkin, she got up from the table. "You people can party all night if you want to, but I'm going to bed. There's a cleaning lady coming in the morning, so leave the dishes."

  Mitch stood up. "It's getting late. I think I'd better be getting to bed, too."

  Paige lifted one eyebrow mischievously. "Why not climb in with Susannah? Now there's a combination of live-wire personalities guaranteed to set the sheets on fire. I'll bet the two of you could bring up the temperature of a bedroom-oh, maybe one and a half degrees."

  "Paige, shut up, why don't you?" She scowled at her sister and escorted Mitch to the door. Even though she knew it was silly, Paige's taunt had made her self-conscious. "In my office at eight on Monday, okay?"

  He nodded and deposited a chaste kiss on her forehead. "You take care, hear? We'll work things out."

  She shut the door behind him and walked upstairs to her bedroom. If only it were that easy.

  In the kitchen below, Paige made a great show out of clearing the table. With far more force than was necessary, she snatched the dessert bowl out from under Yank.

  He gently clasped her wrist. "You were rude to your sister."

  "I'm always rude to Susannah. She wouldn't recognize me if I turned nice."

  He maintained his grasp on her wrist. To punish him, she deliberately dropped down into his lap, where she wedged herself between the edge of the table and his thin, wiry body. "How's the celibacy trip going, lover boy? Ready to break your fast yet?" She wiggled the tip of her fingernail in between two of the buttons on his shirt and lightly scratched his bare skin.

  He removed her hand.

  She sighed dramatically and extracted herself from hi
s lap. "Whenever I'm around you, I feel like Mary Magdalene trying to tempt Jesus."

  "It's not the right time, Paige."

  "And you're not the right man." She had intended to say the words lightly, but they came out with a sharp, vicious edge. She tried to cover up with a laugh, but it rang hollow.

  He came up behind her as she walked over to the sink. "Please don't worry."

  "Who me? Not a chance."

  "Everything's quite difficult now. We have a crisis."

  "Not my problem, slick. And by the way, our deal is off as of right now."

  "That's not a good idea."

  "Stick it, okay? I'm serving notice. Before the month is over, I'm going to tumble your good-looking buddy into a big double bed and screw his brains off."

  He stood absolutely still. "You want to go to bed with Mitch?"

  "Wouldn't any woman in her right mind?"

  She waited for some reaction, prayed that he would yell at her or shake her or tell her he'd lock her in a room before he'd see her go back on the promise she'd made. Instead, he regarded her with great seriousness. And then to her astonishment, he leaned back in his chair and smiled in the deeply satisfied manner of a man who has the world under his absolute control.

  "As long as it's Mitch, it's all right."

  She wanted to slap his geeky, nearsighted face. He might just as well have stabbed a fingernail file right through the center of her heart. At that moment, she hated him, and so she gave him her bitchiest cat's smile. "Wanna watch?"

  For a moment he looked so thoughtful that she wondered if he was actually considering the idea, but then he patted her arm and, as he got up to leave, told her she needed a good rest.

  That night as she climbed into the guest-room bed, she heard the echo of the devil's laughter.

  I can't get no…

  I can't get no…

  Sam's resignation lay on Susannah's desk when she arrived at work Monday morning. She stared down at it, unwilling to touch it with her fingers. The neat black and white letters swam in front of her eyes. She pushed the paper away and covered it with a folder. For now, at least, she would pretend that it didn't exist.