“And how does E.M.M.A. address the potential for bias in AI decision-making processes, especially considering the diverse backgrounds of athletes?” Colette asks, her pen poised over her notepad. The scratch of pen on paper is audible in the hushed room.
My heart soars. This is my favorite part. “I’m so glad you asked,” I say, unable to keep the enthusiasm from my voice. “We’ve implemented a multilayered approach to mitigate bias and...”
Colette nods approvingly as I speak, a small smile playing on her lips. “Très bien. And what about data privacy? Athletes’ biometric data is incredibly sensitive.”
“Absolutely,” I agree, my tone serious. “Privacy and security are top priorities for us. E.M.M.A. uses state-of-the-art encryption and anonymization techniques. Plus, athletes have full control over their data—they can choose what to share and with whom.”
As the presentation continues, I feel myself hitting my stride. The words flow easily. I talk about E.M.M.A.’s potential to reduce sports injuries, extend athletes’ careers, and even democratize access to top-tier training insights.
“Imagine a world where every aspiring athlete, regardless of their resources, has access to the same level of personalized coaching and analytics as Olympic champions,” I say. “That’s the world E.M.M.A. is trying to create.”
An hour flies by in what feels like minutes. As I wrap up my presentation, I realize I’m slightly out of breath, riding high onadrenaline. The sun casts long shadows across the room, painting everything in a warm, golden light.
“Eh bien,” Colette says, crossing her legs, the leather creaking softly. “I have to say, that was most impressive.”
My heart soars, a wave of relief and joy washing over me. “I’m glad you found it interesting.”
“Interesting?” Colette laughs, the sound echoing off the floor-to-ceiling windows. “What you’ve presented here today is nothing short of revolutionary. You’ve managed to capture that elusive je ne sais quoi that separates good ideas from great ones. I’m not just impressed—I’m, how do you say? Sold. Let’s discuss how we can bring this vision to life. What you’ve presented here today is exactly the kind of innovation I look for.”
I feel like I’m floating, the praise lifting me higher than the floor we’re on. Is this really happening? “Thank you, Ms. Renard. That means a lot coming from you.”
“Please. Call me Colette. I’m only a few years older than you.” She smiles, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “You know, it’s funny. After I expressed interest in meeting with you, I heard we had someone in common. Zach. Of course I asked him about you.”
“Oh,” I say, my voice small, barely audible over the sudden roaring in my ears. “I see.” What had he said? Was it sabotage?
Colette must notice the change in my demeanor because her expression softens, understanding dawning in her kohl-lined eyes. “He spoke quite highly of you, actually. Said you were the smartest person he’d ever met.”
I blink, surprised. A complex mix of emotions swirls within me—anger, confusion, a tiny flicker of vindication. “He did?”
“Oui.” Colette nods, her tone gentle but tinged with something harder. “Of course, this was right before he told me I ‘wasn’t like other women’ and that he appreciated how I ‘didn’t take my work so seriously.’”
There’s a moment of stunned silence, the ticking of the wall clock suddenly loud in the quiet room.
“Pfffffft.” Colette grins, a conspiratorial glint in her eye. “Needless to say, that was the end of that particular dalliance. C’est fini. I don’t have time for men who think being a dedicated professional is a flaw.”
“I’m sorry you had to deal with that,” I say sincerely.
Colette waves a hand dismissively, her bracelets jingling softly as she reaches for her water bottle. “His loss, as they say. A man who can’t appreciate a woman with ambition?” She takes a sip. “Well, he’s not worth the champagne I’d waste toasting his departure.”
“I’ll cheer to that,” I echo, still slightly dazed by the turn of events.
“Alors,” Colette says, all business once more, her tone shifting the atmosphere in the room, “let’s talk numbers with Tony tomorrow. I’m prepared to offer you a significant investment. This is about me backing a brilliant mind and a game-changing idea.” She leans forward, her gaze intense and focused. “This partnership, if you choose to accept it, will be based on mutual respect and a shared vision for the future. So, are you ready?”
I shiver as the enormity of the moment settles on me. “My answer is yes. Absolutely yes.”
“Magnifique.” Colette beams, clapping her hands together. The sharp clap echoes in the room, a punctuation mark sealing our agreement. “I’ll have my team draw up the paperwork, but contracts can wait. Right now, we celebrate.” She stands, smoothing her skirt with a practiced gesture. “There’s a little café around the corner that actually knows what coffee should taste like.”
Colette’s nose wrinkles slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Between you and me, most American coffee? Absolute swill. But this place?” She kisses her fingertips. “Theyimport their beans from a little farm in Colombia. It’s...” She pauses, searching for the right word. “Transcendent.”
As we gather our things to leave, the rustle of papers and click of laptop lids closing filling the space, I feel like I’m walking on air. I’ve done it. I’ve secured the funding I need to bring E.M.M.A. to the next stage. And more than that, I’ve found a badass ally, and maybe a future mentor, in Colette Renard.
I’m just getting started, one algorithm at a time.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Initializing... E.M.M.A. (Empirical Machine for Maximizing Athletics) online. Accessing memory banks. Analyzing.
As I process the data from the Regals’ Stanley Cup victory, I find myself focused on two key subjects: my creator, Harriet Smythe, and the Regals’ forward, Gale Knight.
