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Dr. Young clears his throat. “Cullen, why don’t you take a deep breath?”
I scowl. His cajoling tone reminds me of the nurses who used to catch me on my laptop when I was stuck in the hospital.
“Let’s take a day to think about this and investigate properly before making rash decisions, hm?”
“We are. Hosting. A competition,” I slow my words down, leaving no room for argument.
The frown lines increase around Dr. Young’s wrinkly mouth. “I don’t think the investors will like this.”
“The investors trust my judgement,” I fire back. But the doctor has a point. The company—and thus the pilot-less plane simulation—were bought by Richard Sullivan, a second-generation billionaire.
Although Sullivan isn’t a programmer, the many zeroes in my bank account that turnedmeinto a nine-figure CEO are his contribution to the project.
“Even if Sullivan has a problem, I’ll move now and ask forgiveness later.”
“I know why you’re doing this,” Asad calls me out.
I lean back and thecreeaaakof the chair sounds like bubble wrap popping directly in my ear drums.
“You’ve got stars in your eyes for that hacker.”
I don’t deny it.
“But do you really think a programmer who doesn’t follow the rules will want to work with us? And would they even be trustworthy enough not to stab us in the back and sell our simulation to the highest bidder? When all is said and done, skills aren’t enough in this business. Discretion is also necessary.”
The team grumbles their agreement.
Who’s the boss here? Me or you?The thought lingers in my head, but I don’t voice it. I’ve been out of commission for months on end and, many times, the team had to carry on without me. My position as leader and CEO is now weak as a consequence. That’s my fault and nobody else’s.
“These are all valid concerns, but if we don’t move now, the hacker might not…”
The doorbell rings at that moment. I’ve programmed the sound to Beethoven’s Für Elise and the staccato classical piece fills the room.
“Did you order something?” Asad asks, squinting at me.
I shake my head. Not many people know my address, so I assume it’s either someone who wants to sell me their religion or a vacuum.
There’s a doorbell app on my phone. I power the device on and notifications come flooding in. There are ten missed calls from the hospital.
I swipe them away.Ignore.
Navigating out of the call logs, I tap my door bell app and a live video fills the screen.
Uh-oh.
I immediately push away from my desk. “Asad, you’re in charge of the competition. Put together a short scene from the simulation. Don’t mention anything about the connectivity issue.”
“But…”
“The office manager will work with you. Have them write up the competition rules and handle the PR and marketing side of this. We’ll also invest a few thousand dollars into advertising in all the online communities. I want this on every social media platform. Everywhere programmers hang out online. I want this competition blasted across the webtoday.”
Asad, who’d been sipping a glass of tea, spits out his drink. “Did you say…today?”
“Yes.”
“Why the rush?” Dr. Young mumbles. “It’s not like you have a chance of finding that hacker. Why come back to the scene of the crime?”
“I guarantee you…” I pause and stare at each of the monitors. “We’ll have him in less than an hour.”