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“They’ve probably been stealing information easily from your servers, and the only way to get an idea past them is to record everything the old-fashioned way.”
I slam my fists down on the table, reflecting on all the times we’ve come up with key ideas in meetings, only to be beaten to the punch by our adversaries who not only took our ideas but improved upon them.
“Fuck! It makes so much sense!”
She eyes me sideways. “Good to know that temper’s not just for work.” She sits erect in her chair suddenly. “Hang on.”
No longer is she the indifferent Sloane fidgeting with the can, clearly trying to incite my rage. Now she's suddenly perked up and tuned in, but I can’t tell on what.
“What is it?” I can see the cogs turning, working over details in her mind. I hate to admit that I’m dying to know what that brilliant brain is cooking up.
“There is a way we can fool your rivals and know for sure who’s stealing your ideas,” she suggests.
I suddenly notice the tension in my legs and realize I haven’t breathed properly in several minutes.“If we just put up a fake idea and they take the bait, we’ll know for sure whose hand’s been in the cookie jar,” I suggest.
“So we leave our genuinely brilliant idea on a scrap of notebook paper, and we upload decoy ideas to the servers,” Sloane says. “That’s the gist, anyway. Got any old ideas lying around?”
I stand up from the table and bring her to my file room. I think I catch her staring at the drained liquor bottles sitting on top of metal filing cabinets, though she doesn’t say anything. We’re in the room for nearly an hour as I try to find coherent business ideas amid all the jotted novel ideas and doodles.
“No offense,” she says, running her fingers over one of the sheets of typing paper. “But some of these ideas are awful. Like I don’t think there’s ever any reason for kittens to wear mittens. And I’m not even sure what that has to do with your brand.”
I picture the look on Craig’s face as he genuinely tries to pitch that idea, and I almost burst out laughing. I was having a hard, drunken night when I wrote that one down.
“Eh. The worse the idea, the funnier it will be,” I suggest.
She sighs. “We need to at least offer a couple of legitimate ideas. That way they won’t suspect we’re toying with them.”
We walk out of the room with several sheets of paper, all detailing crude ideas that were deemed not good enough to pursue.
We have a proposition for AI technology that allows people to seem like they’re reading their friends’ minds as a prank. It would accurately predict and emulate human behavior based on visual inputs.
There’s a cloud-based piece of composing software that better converts raw sounds to midi files with associated instruments, allowing for easier digitization and editing of music even remotely.
There’s also a tool for developing digital and physical games, which coaches people through the process of making board and card games and even finds conceptually similar games based on filters and descriptors.
All of these were deemed poor ideas because of the extreme time and effort it would have taken my company to develop them. They also didn’t seem profitable enough to make into serious ventures.
I stop typing and then slam the laptop shut.
“Okay. It’s all uploaded. Every little idea’s on the server now, even the ridiculous ones.”
To my left is the untidily scrawled sheet of torn notebook paper detailing my company’s actual business strategy. This is something I’ve kept private even from Sloane until tonight.
Though as I laid out my real business plans for her, I realized it’s actually kind of fun to share them with someone. It’s not often I get to work with an assistant who can keep up with my ideas while also actively building upon and engaging with them. It feels refreshing not to have to explain basic concepts.
Perhaps I gave Sloane too little credit.
“Now I suppose we wait and see,” she says, picking up the can of soda and cracking it open before bringing it to her mouth and taking a sip.
I roll my eyes at her, almost refusing to acknowledge her defiance. “So much for not drinking soda.”
“Oh? I guess I lied.”
CHAPTER 7
Sloane
As soon as we step into the lobby of the hotel, I’m hit with an aromatic wave of lavender and pomegranate as classical music echoes off the walls. There’s artwork everywhere, from peaceful expressionist paintings of nature to intricate marble sculptures.
