The Game Within

Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 11, 2027 1:09pm

(8:02:18:33)

The throbbing had started somewhere in the middle of the interview, that dull tease of something worse coming. Now it was here and had clearly brought friends. Her eyes felt too large for her face and scratched when she blinked, laughing at her discomfort somehow. Dropping the blinds hadn’t helped. The ibuprofen she had taken wouldn’t offer much relief for a while. Now the CSO was coming. The headache was going to get worse.

“Ms. Dillon,” the intercom said, “Mr. Spencer is here to see you.”

She took a deep breath and rubbed her temples one last time.

“Thank you, Amy. Show him in.”

There was that final beat when the intercom went silent, before the door burst open — because Spencer always entered in bursts — where for a second nothing irritating had started. She desperately wanted to stretch that precious quiet just another —

“Did you see it, Patrice?”

He always managed to be talking when he burst into rooms. Some instruction manual somewhere had taught him that the effect of bursting had more impact if you talked at the same time.

“Good morning, Adam. How are you?”

“Patrice, this is serious and you know it.”

“Adam, please, take a breath. I assume you are referring to the Westlake interview.”

“Of course I’m talking about the Westlake interview. Did you hear the stuff Helkar said? Are you buying any of that?”

“Buying what, Adam? That Marcus knows how to deal with the likes of Barb Westlake? That he had to trot out the same explanations he’s been repeating for years?”

“Excuses, Patrice. Not explanations. I don’t understand why you are always taking his side. How do you not believe he has stolen proprietary information? How do you listen as everybody reports his company moving into the number one slot and talks about us as some fading memory?”

“Some fading memory, Adam? Are you serious?”

“Just as serious as I should be. As you should be, Patrice. What’s wrong with you? Helkar stole our base code. He couldn’t have created his platform without that head start. Besides, he knows our systems. He built our network, for Christ’s sake. Don’t you get it?”

The throbbing was now stabbing. The scratching was now fire. So much for ibuprofen relief.

“Adam, the fact he developed our systems explains how he built his own as quickly as he did. He doesn’t need to steal code. It’s in his head. The concept, the architecture, the design. We can’t copyright his brain. He doesn’t need the head start. Why would he want it? If I’m him, I see all the flaws in my work, all the early mistakes, all the patches and work-arounds, and unknown memory leaks. Hell, I’m not going to build on that. I’m going to throw that away and start from scratch.”

“You would do that, Patrice. Probably Helkar would, too. So what? That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point, Adam?”

“He’s winning, God damn it,” Spencer yelled, slamming his hands down on Patrice’s desk. “He’s beating you at your own game.”

Patrice didn’t respond immediately. She let him cool down first. He had a strange habit of pursing his lips and c*****g his head to one side when he got angry. It was one of those blatant tells that gave away his loss of control. She had seen it many times, but not quite like this. The veins were standing out on his hands, his fingers bent as though he was clawing at the desk. More veins pulsed in his neck and his perfectly quaffed hair had mutinous strands sliding across his forehead, sticking to the layer of sweat springing up abruptly. In that moment Adam Spencer might have been madder than she had ever seen him. And over what?

“Adam,” she said, careful to keep the condescension out of her tone, “we’re okay. Business is good. Sales are up. Reviews are positive. Why are you worrying about this?”

She stopped there, waiting to see if it was enough to relax him. His first response was a strange sneer, and his eyes seemed to grow cold and threatening. He stood upright, his hands sliding across the top of the desk audibly as he straightened. It was uncomfortable. He was briefly more of a man than the weasel she usually saw him as. A bad man. A man capable of doing things the situation didn’t call for. Things exaggerated and cruel.

“You’re dismissal of this situation is unwise, Patrice,” he said. And he stepped away from the desk, turning his back to her. “You believe you are in control of this situation, that you get to make these decisions. You forget your place.”

He was four steps from the desk and he turned back to her. He smiled in that way that brings goose bumps to flesh and stands the hair on the back of the neck. The discomfort was almost physical. His anger had dissolved into something different. Not disappointment or concern. Dismissal. But Patrice Dillon was not so easily dismissed. His threats were hollow and his manipulation wasn’t going to work on her. But —

“You arranged that interview, didn’t you, Adam?”

“What are you talking about?” His eyes were still icy, but the smile flattened to the thinnest line.

“You coached Barb Westlake on that attack. You’re hoping Marcus will slip up, say something you can exaggerate or take out of context.”

“I do what it takes to keep us competitive, Patrice. Something you should be doing. Something you need to start doing if you plan to sit in that chair.”

She stood abruptly at that, faster than she wanted to, but the effect on her visitor was still apparent. His demeanor faltered ever so slightly. He didn’t move, but his stance changed, shrinking somehow. Now it was her turn to lean on the desk. She did so deliberately, leaning forward just enough to make him feel it.

“Are you threatening me, Adam?”

He hesitated too long to hide his own discomfort, but caught himself, bolstered by some backing she could only suspect. He relaxed his stance and tugged at his cuffs, straightening the fabric of his shirt. His smile returned, more forced, less confident.

“A warning, Patrice. A heads up. We all answer to others. Even you. Stockholders, board members. We don’t run this place. We’re just pieces on the game board, Patrice. You know that. We do what we’re told. Your power is for show. So’s mine. The difference between us is I get it. I know my place. I know what’s expected of me and I do what I’m told.”

He moved back to the desk, hesitated, and sat in the chair across from her. He crossed his legs and plucked at the part in his pant leg before staring up at her again.

“Do as you’re told, Patrice.”

It was a demand for obedience and a plea for acquiescence. It threatened tremendous consequences and exposed a deep fear. He was a pawn thinking that would help him in some inevitable end. It was a most dangerous belief. She saw the turmoil in his eyes. He did answer to somebody else, but he knew somewhere in his heart it was a trap.

“I don’t answer to you, Adam. Perhaps you need to remember who you answer to,” she said. She sat down slowly, keeping her eyes tightly focused on his and allowing the slightest smile of her own. “We are beholden to others. You’re right about that. We owe our stockholders returns, our customers a rewarding experience, and we owe each other respect and loyalty, don’t you think?”

Now her voice dripped with condescension, beating back the trembling that so desperately wanted out.

“Loyalty is it?” he said in return, “loyalty comes from trust and compensation. Are you offering me those, Patrice? Because that would be a change. That would show some growth on your part. I’m sitting right here, ready to help, offering my help. I’m the God damned Chief Strategy Officer, am I not? Strategy includes threat assessment from people on the outside like Helkar and from insiders who are unsupportive of our goals or who have, perhaps, lost their way. Which are you, Patrice? Are you running this company or running from it?”

Patrice sat back in her chair and absorbed his comments. What was he after?

“What are you looking for, Adam? You don’t believe Marcus Helkar is a threat to our company. I don’t think you give a rat’s ass about him. No, you’re after something else. What is it? Is it the big chair? You looking to trade in that CSO title for CEO? Maybe you figure coming in here all hot you can make me do something stupid, get the board to vote me out, something big and public, scandalous even. Is that it? Is that what gets that little brain of yours whirling?”

He wasn’t as formidable as he wanted to be and it was showing. He was definitely in the hands of somebody, but whatever backing they were offering didn’t include any real confidence. His inner child, some bratty little kid, was creeping out around the edges of his poorly practiced veneer of power. He was that stereotypical lieutenant operating in the light for some mysterious dark master who never showed their face. His voice belonged to somebody else. It didn’t make him less dangerous. It just made him more sad.

“Stop wasting my time, Adam,” she continued. “Unless you have something real for me to worry about we’re done here.”

She stood again, pushing the button on her intercom as she rose.

“Amy, Mr. Spencer and I are all done. Please come in.”

She disengaged the intercom and brought her own threatening stare to her guest.

“Is there something else, Adam?”

He rose slowly, his smirk quivering just enough to betray his discomfort. He hesitated a second as the door across the room opened and Patrice’s assistant came in

“Are you ready for me, Ms. Dillon?”

“Yes, Amy. I have some scheduling changes I need to make,” she said, never letting her eyes leave his.

“Thank you for dropping by, Adam. If I need to talk to somebody about your questions, please have them contact me directly.”

With that she raised her arm, gesturing to her open door.

“Close the door behind you,” Patrice said, dismissing him. It was petty, but it made her smile.

A vein in his neck threatened to burst and the quiver in his lip seemed to escape to his hands as he turned and moved toward the door. He stared daggers back at her, but the look had no potency. Patrice gave him one last patronizing look and turned her attention to her assistant as she approached the edge of the desk. Adam Spencer quietly left the room, pulling the door closed behind him. As it latched Patrice dropped into her chair, the tension leaving her body.

“Is everything ok?” her assistant asked.

“Of course,” she answered even as she worried it wasn’t.