Page 34 of The Five Year Lie

Drew glances around the upstairs office space. It’s Chime Co.’s version of Siberia. This is where the bookkeepers and other support staff sit—the people who don’t work on the product itself. There are ugly file boxes stacked up against one wall.

It says a lot about how they view the warrant desk.

“All right,” Drew says in a bored voice. “How do you know when there’s a new request?”

“You don’t have to stare at the screen, if that’s what you mean.” He waves a hand at the monitor. “The notification makes a loud sound, and a new request will show up at the top, in bold type. We don’t allow anyone to call in their warrants. If someone happens to call, you need to insist that they put it into the system. That’s part of our compliance process.”

“Got it,” he says, giving Evan a serious nod.

“First, you read the camera ID off the search warrant and type it into this field.” Evan leans over Drew’s shoulder to show him the form. “That’s how you grab the right video for the police.”

Drew has a million questions. More than Evan could ever imagine. But he restrains himself to the most relevant ones. “Howcan I be sure that the camera ID is correct? I don’t want to hand over the wrong home’s footage.”

“Once you input the ID number, the address where the camera is registered will appear on the next screen. Compare that address to the one on the search warrant. If they match, then you don’t have to worry.”

“What if theydon’tmatch?” he asks carefully.

Evan taps the form on the screen. “Explain right here what the problem is. And then refuse the request. It’s better to be safe than sorry. We take our customers’ privacy seriously.”

Sure you do, pal.

“If you have any questions, you can text me. If I don’t see it, you can call Ray Cafferty. Here’s his number.” Evan drops the COO’s business card on the desk. “If we ever screw something up, the warrant won’t be admissible in court. So let’s not do that.”

“Yessir.”

Evan grins. “Before I go, you need to identify yourself for the camera. Do you have your ID on you?”

“Sure.” He unclips it from his belt.

“Look up and show it to the camera. It’s up there—on the ceiling.”

Drew spins around and spots the camera’s dark, insect-like eye. He holds the ID toward the lens for a moment.

“That’s fine,” Evan says. “The camera is tightly focused on the keyboard and the screen. If there’s ever a lawsuit over passing footage to law enforcement, there’s a record of your actions, okay? So don’t stand up and lean over the monitor—it blocks the camera’s view. We save the videoforever, in case there is ever a question about the integrity of our process.”

“Got it.”

“Cool. Then I’m out of here.” Evan checks his watch. “Don’t leave before eight fifteen. That’s just past the deadline for West Coast law enforcement to put their warrants through. You’ll probably see some action in the next hour.”

“No problem. Have a fun night.”

The guy barks out a laugh. “Sure, pal. Dance recitals are totally my jam.” He gives Drew a wave and then departs.

Drew glances around again. The accountants have gone home. He’s the only one left on this level. He picks up the thick business card, where Evan has scrawled a mobile number beneath the embossed ink.

Now he has the COO’s private number, which could be useful. Ray is a bit of a mystery. The guy is charming. Always telling a story. But his warmth has an oily quality to it. He’s too earnest. Too eager to be everyone’s best buddy.

Maybe it’s a birth order thing—a psychological reaction to wading through life as Edward Cafferty’s brother. That man would as soon cut you as smile at you.

Drew turns his attention to the warrant system. As a dress rehearsal, he opens up a new validation. When the form comes up, he types in a random ten-digit camera ID.

An address pops up immediately. It’s for a camera in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. But it saysDEACTIVATEDin red letters beside the address.

Interesting.

He tries another number, just three digits off from the first, and gets a camera in Claremont, California. But then the elevator doors on the far wall part. Drew closes the record and looks up to see who’s coming.

It’s Ariel, with a plastic bag in one hand, a six-pack of beer in the other and a catlike smile on her face.