He straightened, a marionette with fraying strings. The game was lost, but that was the least of it. He’d bared his teeth at the ref, tasted blood on his knuckles. Loved a father who’d taught him both how to hit a puck and how to shatter a family.
Here he was, barely holding it together, wondering when everyone would finally see through him. Harriet deserved someone whole, not someone who kept searching her face for the moment she’d realize he wasn’t enough. Wasn’t worth the effort.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The ping of an incoming message cuts through my concentration. I blink, pulling myself out of the intricate maze of code I’ve been navigating for the past few hours. The chat window on my second monitor blinks insistently.
Come to my office.
Tony’s message is brief, almost curt. I frown, a knot of unease forming in my stomach. We don’t have our weekly one-on-one scheduled for today. In fact, I distinctly remember Tony mentioning he’d be in back-to-back meetings all afternoon.
I glance at the clock: 3:47p.m.Too late for a casual check-in, too early for end-of-day emergencies. Something’s off. Normally, he would just swing by my desk if he needed a quick word.
I take a deep breath, trying to quell the flicker of anxiety. Maybe it’s nothing. But as I stand up, smoothing down my slightly rumpled blouse, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s very wrong.
The walk to Tony’s office feels longer than usual. Each step on the polished concrete floor echoes slightly, a rhythmic counterpoint to the quickening beat of my heart. I pass by the open-plan desks, noticing a few curious glances from my colleagues. Do they know something I don’t?
I pause outside his office, my hand hovering over the door handle. Through the frosted glass, I can make out several silhouettes. Tony isn’t alone. I channel my inner Athena, summoning whatever strategic wisdom and courage I can muster.
Steeling myself, I knock and enter.
The atmosphere hits me like a physical force. Tony is behind his desk, his usually warm brown eyes now clouded with something I can’t quite read. Disappointment? Anger? But it’s the other occupants of the room that make my blood run cold.
The Chads are here. All three of them.
Chet, with his hair gel and shark-tooth smile, is leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Chadwick, tall and lean, stands ramrod straight near the window, his face a mask of professional concern. And Chas is seated directly across from Tony, his fingers steepled in front of him like some cartoon villain.
They all turn to look at me as I enter, and for a moment, their expressions are carefully neutral, almost sober. But I’ve worked with them long enough to see past the facade. There’s a glint in their eyes, a barely suppressed sharklike excitement that sends a chill down my spine.
“Harriet,” Tony says, his voice carefully modulated. “Please, have a seat.”
As I lower myself into the chair next to Chas, I can feel the weight of their collective gaze. The Chads exchange quick glances, a silent communication passing between them. Whatever’s about to happen, they’ve planned this well.
The knot in my stomach tightens. This isn’t just bad news. This is an ambush.
“We’ve uncovered some... discrepancies,” Tony begins, his words measured. “Regarding E.M.M.A.’s data logs.”
My heart skips a beat, but I keep my face neutral. “What kind ofdiscrepancies? And why were you in the data logs to begin with? That’s not your project.”
“Don’t dodge.” Chet leans forward, that predatory smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Focus on the discrepancies. Why don’t you tell us, Harriet? After all, you should know E.M.M.A. better than anyone.”
I swallow hard, buying time, trying to get where he is going. “We are working with vast amounts of data. You’ll need to be more specific.”
“Our system flagged unauthorized modifications to E.M.M.A.’s core algorithms.” His voice drips with false concern. “The alert was quite specific—someone was tampering with Gale Knight’s parameters.”
Chadwick slides a tablet across the table. “Take a look,” he says, his voice dripping with false concern. “Why were there these interesting override commands in E.M.M.A.’s so-called matchmaking algorithms?”
My fingers feel numb as I take the tablet. Busted by our security AI monitoring my AI—a perverse form of justice. The screen displays a series of log entries, time stamps, and command lines. My override commands stand out in stark relief, a digital trail of my deception. It was from when I didn’t want E.M.M.A. to recommend me as a match.
“Care to explain?” Tony asks, his disappointment palpable.
“Yes.” I take a deep breath, my mind racing. “I... I made some adjustments to E.M.M.A.’s output,” I begin cautiously.
Chas interjects, his voice sharp: “Adjustments? You forced E.M.M.A. to recommend suboptimal matches, overriding her core functionality.”
“It wasn’t like that,” I protest, but the words sound weak even to my own ears.
“Then what was it like?” Tony asks, leaning back in his chair. “Because it looks like you manipulated E.M.M.A.’s data to hide the fact that she identified you as the perfect match for Gale. I get that might have been an awkward output, but this is a client. We can’t go making recommendations. I should have at least been looped in. Where’s the trust at that point?”
