Page 3 of Technical Advances

“Well, I don’t know about the Anson Day. But a quiet guy who liked to tinker and whose hair always looked like a mad scientist, even when we were kids, that guy lived down the road from me until he got into Hampstead University at a ridiculously young age, and his family moved to New York with him.”

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. My dad knew Anson Day.

“How do I not know this!” I repeated even louder, still not quite believing my dad and I had missed this vital piece of communication over the years.

In my shock, at first I couldn’t come up with anything else to say, but just as Dad was starting to say, “I guess it never came up,” I suddenly had a lot to say. I interrupted him with a torrent.

“How have you never told me this? Day absolutely started taking classes at HU at age fourteen and got his undergrad there a few years later before coming here to MIT. And then he and his best friend started a tech company, and he created a robotic arm that changed the industry. New Day Technologies has been making technical advancements ever since. Like huge, groundbreaking advancements. And you’re telling me he lived in a yellow house on a random street in Gladewood, Arizona. Oh my God, Dad!”

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.

“No, kiddo, not a random street.” My dad laughed. “Our street.”

Dad laughed some more, and we talked a bit about my interview before turning the conversation back to travel plans while in the back of my mind I searched for any inkling that my parents or grandparents had ever mentioned living next door to one of the world’s preeminent scientists and businessmen. We chatted one last time about logistics before saying goodbye, with the promise that we would see each other soon.

I’d like to think the impressiveness of my resume had something to do with me sitting in the New Day Tech waiting room, but I’d learned throughout my college career that a well-placed acquaintance never hurt either, so the fact that my dad reached out again a few days after our phone call to tell me he’d had a lovely conversation with Mrs. Day was welcome, if not surprising, news. I knew my dad would do anything for me even if it meant I wouldn’t be going home to Arizona to live with him.

“So Mrs. Day said she’d reach out to Anson. I did some research, son; that’s quite an impressive company he’s got there. I know you’d be perfect for them, but you’re fresh out of school, and the internet says they only accept a miniscule number of new graduates. These days it appears he and his partner prefer to just buy up companies doing interesting, or competing, work.” Dad’s tone made it clear he wasn’t necessarily impressed with how he perceived New Day to do business, but technology is a cutthroat industry. Dad’s philosophy of a rising tide lifting all ships didn’t really fit the race to the newest discovery model that corporate technology practiced.

“You put in a few, resumes, right, kiddo?” After asking Mom to stop calling me Benji-boy, I’d never gotten around to asking Dad to stop calling me kiddo. Even as an about-to-be PhD, I didn’t mind it so much.

“Yeah, Dad. I submitted twelve total,” I assured him, disappointed that he saw New Day in a negative light. Not wanting to dwell on it, I joked, “Why are you asking? Do you know any other famous tech guys you can put in a word with?”

Dad chuckled. “No. At least I don’t think so.”

“Don’t worry, Dad. I did some research, too, and I know some people who know him from MIT. They do sometimes hire people right out of school. I really think I’m a good fit and so do some of the professors in my department. The tech world is really competitive. I know that’s not how you do business, but you don’t have to worry about me working at a place like New Day. All that competitiveness can lead to some pretty amazing discoveries. Take a look at that device you’re talking to me on, for one.”

“Or those crazy vending machines!” Dad added.

“Thank you so much for calling Mrs. Day, Dad. It means a lot. It would be … I mean, I don’t want to jinx it or anything, but it would be my literal dream come true if I could work with Anson Day. I mean, if I could work for New Day Tech.”

Thinking about my dad, my mom, and the yellow house on our little Arizona cul-de-sac as distractions, I tried hard not to fidget or straighten my tie for the hundredth time as I sat in the unassuming HR office of one of the biggest tech firms on the planet.

I sat on my hands to stop myself from doing the thing where I tapped out math problems with my fingertips on the nearest surface. The New Day Tech receptionist returned my smile.

“Erin should be out for you shortly,” she assured me.

As she said it, a woman emerged from the hallway behind her, shook my hand, and led me down the hall.

CHAPTER 2

ANSON

Ikept my office dark, a desk lamp and the glow of two computer screens providing all the light I needed. I wasn’t very fond of my office, but Beck, the co-owner of New Day Technologies, insisted I needed one. I would be happy to spend all of my time in my lab. Not the lab, mind you, where our team of scientists created and improved robotic equipment for the medical field, among other things, but my own private lab where I could work, create, and solve problems on my own.

I’d been in that office, sitting at my desk and running calculations, when Henry Beckett stormed in as he often did. He slapped a folder on the surface in front of me, which is not something he often did.

I continued typing, not taking my eyes off my screens until I had solved a minor issue that the team had brought to my attention the day before and that had been niggling at the back of my brain all night. Beck waited patiently, dropping to the leather couch he’d also insisted that my office needed. He always stormed in, but he also knew me well enough to know when not to interrupt me. As bad as I was at reading faces and understanding other people’s emotions, Beck was great at it. It’s what made us the perfect business partners.

“We’re a high-tech electronics company, Beck. Why on earth have you placed actual paper on my desk?”

It had taken years of study, but I knew the sound that Beck emitted connoted exasperation. Beck was frequently exasperated with me.

“Because I’ve emailed and messaged you about ten times since last night, and you’re ignoring me, for a change.” Beck’s tone altered as he ended on that prepositional phrase. Yup, I was right. Exasperated.

“Have you even slept since yesterday?” he queried.

“I think I’ve almost got the range-of-motion issue solved on the T-1712.”