Dopamine

Act I — Chapter 2

Act I — Chapter 2

2

The applause reminded Danny of this one time in an alternate universe. His band played before an adoring throng of pink-haired girls and slim-hipped guys. His electric guitar screamed in ecstasy beneath his motion-blurred fingers, gushing chords like liquid lightning into the air of the arena. The song finished, and he spread his arms to embrace the spotlight as the crowd below worshipped him with cries of adulation.

Unfortunately, that never actually happened.

It should be louder than this, thought Danny. I gave a great performance. They should be whistling and howling and throwing their underwear at me.

Danny looked around and decided it’s best if they didn’t.

The smattering of polite, professional applause came from two dozen 50-something men. In place of tattoos and piercings were hair plugs and dental veneers. What should have been a stadium glittering with cellphone flashes was instead a bland conference room awash in the sickly light of fluorescent bulbs. Half of the audience were wearing gray suits, like Danny. The rest were in khakis and polos, doubtlessly planning to get back to their sailboats or golf courses after the meeting.

One attendee actually was wearing a concert T-shirt under his suit jacket — a Nine Inch Nails World Tour XL tucked into pleated pants, spread over a belly that had apparently gone decades without being subjected to a sit-up. The thinning remnants of his salt-and-pepper hair were gelled upward into what would’ve been a fashionable fauxhawk on a man half his age.

There was no microphone in Danny’s hand, only a laser pointer. No spotlight, only a high-resolution projector. No hit rock song, only a PowerPoint presentation describing a 4G cellular multiplexing algorithm by Claymore Communications.

Danny’s boss, Brent Thurston, stepped deftly forward. “That’ll conclude the technical portion of this meeting. And folks, I just want to say before we move on, that Danny and I really appreciate this opportunity to present this work to you. It’s great to see Claymore’s financial contributors showing a genuine interest in the engineering efforts of the company.”

“Oh, our pleasure!” said the man in the Nine Inch Nails T-shirt. “Danny’s presentation was amazing, but what’s even more exciting is his technology. What you’ve shown here is an upcoming wireless revolution, and I’m proud to help it come to fruition!” Later that day, NIN Man would buy Claymore Communications with his personal funds, and the company would go public. Danny would cash in his stock options to buy a downtown penthouse, and spend the next several years building Claymore into the world’s premier data systems provider. He would be featured in Time magazine as the face of digital communication in the 21st century.

Only, that never actually happened, either.

Instead, the man in the Nine Inch Nails shirt said cheerfully, “We’re glad you set up this meeting for us! Your man Danny here really knows his stuff.”

Brent beamed. “Yes, Danny’s been a great asset to the company. He’s been Claymore’s lead engineer for… How long, Danny? Five years now?”

“Six,” Danny said.

“He ran the Naval Base Kitsap project last year,” Brent continued. “He’s personally responsible for the firmware designs you guys saw here tonight. And you should see him bust a move on Dance Dance Revolution!” The investors laughed on cue.

“Would it be possible,” NIN man asked, “for Danny’s slides to be available after we finish?”

Danny answered on his own behalf. “Sure thing. I can put this up on the Claymore website right now…” His hand moved inside his jacket toward his phone.

The room erupted in murmurs of protest and clearing of throats. The one-percenters exchanged nervous glances and inched forward in their seats. Danny stood frozen with his hand halfway to his chest pocket as though caught drawing a gun. He blinked dumbly at Brent for help.

Brent returned Danny’s look with an embarrassed half-smile. “The company’s website is maybe not the best place for proprietary technical data, Danny.” To the investors, he said, “But we’ll be delighted to email this presentation to each of you as soon as we wrap up.”

“Please make sure I get a personal copy,” NIN man insisted. “You can reach me at Jason Tuttle at AOL dot com. That’s J, A, S...”

Brent assuaged him with a handwave. “You’ll get one, Jason. You’ll all get one. And I’ll send out Danny’s contact info for further technical questions.”

And just like that, Brent Thurston took the room. He launched his own set of PowerPoint slides, discussing things like potential partnership strategies and market penetration projections. Danny stood aside to let the big boys play.

In some alternate universe Danny would have gotten an MBA after finishing his master’s degree. He’d have moved to New York and quickly climbed the ladder at a multinational holding company, eventually starting a tech-heavy hedge fund. He’d date models, dine at fine restaurants, and light cigars with burning hundred-dollar bills. By night he’d don a cape and cowl and prowl the rooftops fighting crime.

In the real world, during his last trip to New York he’d dropped his phone onto a set of subway tracks. In reality, New York sucked.

Reality sucked.

“Reality sucks.”

Crap! I didn't say that out loud, did I?

The words had escaped under his breath. All eyes turned to Danny. Brent’s jaw caverned open.

“I… Sorry,” Danny said. “I was just… My mind was somewhere else.”

Brent stepped in diplomatically. “Danny’s been working hard to put this slideshow together for you guys. He stayed up late last night giving it a final polish. He could probably use some coffee. Right, Danny?”

Danny took the hint. As he fled the room, he heard Brent resume the presentation.

Reality sucks?

No. I suck.

The coffee pot in the company kitchen held Danny in rapt attention. It glowed with a shade of red slightly deeper than the visible spectrum: infrared. Every object in the universe emitted black-body radiation based on its temperature. Danny mentally computed the hot coffee pot’s emission spectrum, a relatively easy task using Planck’s Law: the power per unit area I of frequency v from a body at temperature T was equal to v cubed times…

A vibration on his chest broke his trance. His phone signaled an incoming email. Judging by the time, Brent’s Q&A had ended several minutes ago. The investors had probably cleared out and were already driving their Beamers and Lexi home.

From: Jason Tuttle

CC: Dorothy Eigen

Subject: FW: RE: Claymore Communications intellectual property auction

(1 Attachment)

NIN Man? thought Danny. The guy doesn’t waste any time… He expanded the message.

Danny, could you answer Dorothy's question?

Jason

---

From: Dorothy Eigen

To: Jason Tuttle

Subject: RE: Claymore Communications intellectual property auction

(1 Attachment)

Thanks for sending this, Jason. I'll study it tomorrow. One question, though. On slides 7 through 12, the diagrams show elliptical polarization, but they use different eccentricities. Is that intentional?

Dorothy Eigen

Senior Feasibility Engineer

Department of Mergers & Acquisitions

Verizon Communications

The email continued with a chain of forwards and replies by random corporate people. The attachment was the PowerPoint presentation that Danny had delivered less than half an hour ago.

“Sure,” Danny typed in reply. “Put simply, the phase angle deltas are part of the encoding scheme. To solve the obvious physical reception problems, we’ve developed a polyradial antenna”—

His fingers froze. A surge of doubt swelled from the back of his mind, eclipsing NIN Man’s request. It dawned on him that there was a much more challenging conundrum before him. The email thread was about dynamic self-calibrating quadrature amplitude modulation protocols in the ISM-band domain. The conundrum, on the other hand, involved social cues and verbal subtexts — something far more complicated.

Danny deleted his reply-in-progress and replaced it with:

To: Jason Tuttle

Subject: FW: RE: Claymore Communications intellectual property auction

Wait, can you explain something to me please? You emailed my presentation to an engineer in Verizon's Mergers and Acquisitions department? I don't get it. You guys freaked out when I tried to post the presentation on the Claymore website because you didn't want it publicly available. But now you're forwarding it to technical experts at potential competitors? What am I missing?

A reply shot back right away.

From: Jason Tuttle

It's not your concern. Please answer Dorothy's question.

Danny cringed, and went back to Jason’s original email in search of clues. Bundled with the forward was a long heavily-indented list of prior emails. Danny began scrolling.

From: Jason Tuttle

To: Dorothy Eigen

(1 Attachment)

Dorothy,

Per your request, please find the attached presentation of Claymore's technologies. Included are schematics, flowcharts, and results of field trials. This should be sufficient for proving that our asking price is justified.

---

To: Jason Tuttle

From: Dorothy Eigen

Jason,

I got a green light from my director. Verizon will join the auction for the intellectual property after Claymore's dissolution. However, we'll need detailed technical data about Claymore's inventions so we know what we are bidding on. Given our mutual nondisclosure agreement, can you provide this material?

Danny stared at that email. More dangled below it, with other Verizon personnel and Claymore investors. But Danny’s eyes kept rereading that message, bouncing off the bottom of the screen back to the top like a program caught in an infinite loop.

Eventually, he fought through his bewilderment to write one simple question.

To: Jason Tuttle

Subject: FW: RE: Claymore Communications intellectual property auction

> after Claymore's dissolution

Um. What?

Jason Tuttle’s answer appeared several minutes later. It came not as an email, but as a text message to Danny’s personal cellphone number.

Danny. This is Jason.

You weren't supposed to see that.

Danny responded.

Yeah well. I did.

I meant to just send you Verizon's last email.

I didn't intend to forward the entire thread.

I kind of got that.

All of those communications are highly confidential. There could be serious legal and financial consequences from the divulgence of that material.

Consequences for me? Or for you?

Just delete the thread and pretend you didn't see it, alright?

For a second Danny thought about explaining that Gödel’s Incompleteness Theorem made it impossible for any data-processing system, including a human mind, to operate under the premise of not having a datum that it did in fact have. But there was a bigger issue to address.

So, um...

"Auction?" "Dissolution?"

What does all of this mean?

Even as he typed the question, he realized he was simply fighting his own denial. He knew exactly what it meant.

The investment board made a decision recently.

Claymore has never turned a profit.

Danny swallowed hard.

I know.

We've been focused on research and development.

And that research is valuable. But you haven't managed to productize it.

We need more time.

You've had six years.

You've been living off of our generosity.

Who do you think provides the funds that your salary comes from? Benevolent gods from the ancient empire of Moneypotamia?

We're investors, Danny. We need a RETURN on our investment. We can't wait indefinitely for some ship that never comes in. We have other projects with better potential ROI. It had to happen eventually.

Danny found himself fumbling the phone’s on-screen keyboard as his fingers trembled.

How long?

One week.

We've already pulled the plug. The operations account is frozen.

Your next paycheck will be your last.

That's it then.

I'm afraid so.

And what about all the work I've done in the past six years?

Claymore has been MY LIFE, Jersey.

Jason. Sorry. Autocorrect.

I thought that this company would finally be the one that I could ride to the top. I poured everything I had into this. Doesn't any of it count for SOMETHING?

My chip designs?

My patents?

My open-source driver patches?

Sunken costs.

He stared at Jason’s answer. Fury and self-pity knotted together in his gut. The screen grew watery before his eyes.

You used me.

You f*****g USED ME.

Danny, this really isn't personal.

I know this must hurt. I really do. But it's just business.

You had me put that presentation together just so you could lay everything I've ever done for you on the chopping block. Without that presentation, you wouldn't have been able to set up an auction for Claymore's inventions. MY inventions.

You tricked me into being my own executioner.

You and the rest of the investors.

And Brent?

Does Brent know? Does everybody know?

Jason’s reply was slow to come.

No. Nobody's allowed to know outside the investment group. Certainly not the employees.

Your knowing is highly problematic.

Oh gosh. Too bad.

So, if I was to update Claymore's website right this minute with this news...

Jesus Christ Danny please don't do that.

LOL what, you wouldn't like that? How about I just post it on f*******:, then?

That's not funny.

I could get in unbelievable trouble for letting this information slip.

The other investors could sue me for the full value of the sale.

Danny let out a cold, bitter laugh.

Well I certainly wouldn't want THAT to happen, now would I?

Especially not after you manipulated me into throwing away six years of my life.

It's not throwing away! You got paid every month! You had the means to eat and pay rent. You give us your brain, we give you money. That's how it works.

Fuck. You think this is about MONEY?

Is it?

Because if it is, I can be persuasive.

I can make it profitable for you to just forget this entire conversation.

Are you serious?

Are you trying to BUY MY SILENCE?

LOL! This is f*****g great! I've never been bribed before!

Please don't use that terminology.

Do we have a deal?

You're a f*****g i***t.

Danny pressed his shoulder blades against the wall and slid down until he sat on the floor, his head dangling between his knees. A silent minute ground by. Then his phone vibrated again in his hand.

I know it's not about the money, Danny. I'm sorry for implying that that's all it was.

Believe it or not, I've been in your shoes. I know firsthand that there are other things at stake. Deeper things.

Dignity. Pride. A sense of accomplishment.

So here's what I'm thinking.

Remember I said how all of us in the investment group each have other projects of our own?

I personally have one very hot iron in the fire.

It's high-priority for me, it's urgent, and it's EXTREMELY sensitive. I already have personnel selected, but none of my current picks is suitable for the role of lead engineer. The role you've proven yourself in for the last six years. Now that I think about it, this unfortunate situation could potentially work out very well for both of us. I could really use a man of your talents.

Danny sat transfixed as the messages rolled in. He scanned the kitchen. The coffee pot, the fridge, the OSHA notices, the community corkboard with postings from his coworkers looking for babysitters and carpool partners. In a week, it would all be gone.

It certainly wasn’t the first dot-com he’d seen die with a whimper. And, though it stabbed him through the heart to think it, it probably wouldn’t be the last.

Are you offering me a job?

You're yanking one job out from under me, and offering me another?

Yes.

Not so much a job in the sense of W-2s and dental benefits. More of a one-off consulting project. With cash payment.

Instead of a bribe? So basically you still want to shut me up with money, but this way I have to work for it.

Basically.

You know...

I don't know why that should make me feel better.

But it does.

Give me details?

Not over phone or email.

Do you know the Mercury club on Capitol Hill?

Meet me there in an hour. We have much to discuss.