Birthday boozing with my man!
Pics or it never happened, right?! Had an awesome night with my partner in crime at Miller Academy’s Winter Ball to support the girl’s school! Dress is by DVF!
Does someone want to adopt a puppy? Save this handsome Lab mix from the shelter (we already have THREE)
At the Bierhaus, remembering 9-11! We Will Never Forget!!
The last set of pictures, taken at the First Responders Gala, featured a full-length of Carolyn as the cover image, followed by multiple configurations of her and six similarly attired friends. In the final photo, her lipstick was reapplied, strapless dress straightened and hiked; she held hands with Logan, big smiles, eyes locked on the camera.
Alice looked up the date of the gala. Sunday. Two days earlier. To her right, Larry typed while noisily eating corn chips.
What was Carolyn doing? Why wasn’t anything happening?
It’d been two weeks since Alice delivered Logan’s chat logs. Having promised she would permanently ban herself from God Mode, that she would never again access the tool, Alice had then proceeded to log back in that very same night. And, in breaking her vows, had been rewarded with a series of hastily conducted searches, all via Carolyn’s profile, of:
But since this initial burst, Alice had seen nothing further: no appointments with a divorce lawyer; no feverish emails to a sister, sorority sister, or faraway best friend. The only suspicious behavior was an influx of logins to Carolyn and Logan’s joint Wells Fargo account, though Carolyn had not withdrawn any money. The majority of her financial activity remained on her Nordstrom credit card, to which she had charged $2,800 in the past week.
Alice picked at the dust on her keyboard. Was she missing something? Was there something else she should be searching for? She was about to log back in to God Mode, to attempt another path, when she heard her name.
“Alice?” Tara stood in her doorway. “Could you come in?”
Tara’s desk had a new acrylic tray in the corner, with work work work scrawled on its side in red; next to it was a framed print of Tara’s recent nomination to the Forbes Fearless & Fabulous 100. While not technically an executive, Tara had still managed to wangle herself an office, citing something to do with data security. Though hers was one of the less coveted locations, facing the afternoon sun.
“Okay,” Tara began, and Alice reminded herself to make eye contact, as this had been listed as one of her deficiencies. Tara wore a draped shirt, cropped pants, and high platform sandals; she was also trying something new with a dark lipstick, which Alice would try to compliment later if she thought it could be done sincerely.
Tara clasped her hands. “There’s something we need to discuss.”
“Sure.”
“Have you been running any reports on our servers?”
Oh shit. Alice tried to speak, but croaked and then fake-coughed to buy time.
“Alice,” Tara repeated, “I asked you a question. Have you run any reports on our servers? And to be clear, I mean reports you do not currently possess the authority to be using?”
Focus, Alice ordered herself. Focus, and don’t you dare panic! She understood it was crucial that she answer, and that her answer be both vague and self-assured. That Tara was asking meant she already knew something—so now it was a matter of determining what and steering her in an innocuous direction.
“I did run a report. I mean, I run them every day. It’s part of my job,” Alice said. Yes. This was good. Tara didn’t actually know what anyone on her team did. If Alice could confuse her, this would add another layer of protection.
“Did you, at any point this past quarter, run a scan of Server 251, based out of the Dublin data center?” Tara looked at her notebook, and alarm clawed at Alice’s throat as she realized Tara was reading from a report or update.
“I—” Alice began, and then thought it was best not to lie, as Tara was excellent at detecting these. She was one of those people who, having blundered into their own position, had a talent for discerning fragile spots in other stories; would ask and prod and follow up until you became confused and eventually gave way. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“I was curious. I saw some strange activity.”
“You were curious,” Tara said incredulously.
“Yes. I was, ah, trying to be resourceful. I saw something unusual, and I wanted to make sure nothing serious was going on.”
“Were you near anyone else who could have run it? A superior you could have asked?”
“Well—” Alice paused again, both smarting at the idea of Larry as her superior and debating whether to expose him, especially since just yesterday she’d discovered he had pushed their shared barrier over another half inch. “No. There was no one around. And I was concerned the server issue could impact the whole data center.” Highly unlikely, nearly impossible, but Alice was banking on Tara not knowing this—and then by luck, one of those corporate phrases Tara wielded with such ease floated into her head: “I thought there was a business justification. I’m really sorry.” Alice congratulated herself for apologizing. No one else on the team would have debased themselves in this way, and she was certain by now Larry or Sam would have gotten up and left.
Tara was silent. She gazed at Alice, pushing her bracelets up her arm. “You understand there are processes,” she said at last. “Correct ways to go about these actions. Such caution is crucial, given the sensitivity of our work.”
“I understand,” Alice began, but Tara held up a hand. She returned to her notebook, a finger on the page as she read: “I’m especially disappointed given that last quarter we’d already discussed your lack of soft skills.” She looked up. “And now I have to worry about your judgment as well?”
And then: “You acknowledge our position is one of privilege. And that what you’ve done is a violation of our code of conduct.”
Oh God, Alice thought, finally understanding. Oh God, it’s actually happening.
It had always been one of Alice’s greatest fears that she would lose her job. How amazing she found them, her colleagues who were seemingly so carefree—who said they’d quit when they wanted, that they could find new work, why not follow your passions, because this was your one life and remember one day you’re definitely going to die. While Alice thought she understood—at least conceptually—the delights of sightseeing in Santorini or sunning oneself on a lounger in Palawan, she still could not personally imagine a greater long-term happiness than being stably employed, with a recurring paycheck and health insurance. You might be tired or lonely, but with a job such problems at least seemed surmountable: employment was like a best friend or boyfriend, in that it seemed so easy when you had it, but an impossible task when you didn’t.
She should have been more careful. She had risked everything. And for what?
Tara had stood, was moving about her office now. Explaining how there’d be documentation of the incident, an official investigation with human resources. It might seem harsh, Tara said, she understood Alice might not have known her actions were such a violation—but it was what had to be done, because after all, personal ambition had to be balanced with corporate objectives.
In the midst of Alice’s agony, a faraway light blinked. “Could you repeat that?”
“What?”
“Could you repeat that? What you just said.”
Tara frowned. “About balancing personal ambition with corporate objectives? Alice . . . you’re normally such a good listener.”
But Alice didn’t respond. Balancing personal ambition with corporate objectives: at first she thought it was a Tangerine mantra, one of those phrases on the intranet site where she checked her pay stubs, but the memory didn’t fit. Was it written on a wall somewhere? The bathrooms?
And then it came to her: Julia’s commencement speech at Duke, the transcript of which Alice had read weeks earlier.
She’d been stupid, Alice realized. So terribly stupid. And now, as Tara ran on about the code of conduct, Alice recalled the flag she’d placed on Server 251. Server 251, which had led her to God Mode. The server with a flag with her name. Julia must have found it. Perhaps she’d even found Alice’s activity on God Mode—while Alice thought she’d been careful, she couldn’t be certain, and either way she had abused it, had searched and read without contrition. And then as the pain spread in her stomach Alice knew that at the very least Julia knew she’d been snooping around the servers, and at worst Julia knew everything. Julia Lerner, who used God Mode to search for government leaders, military generals. Who as COO of Tangerine was one of the most powerful women in the world.
Alice stood. The air in the office felt tight, as if she’d ascended a high summit; she wobbled and tried to breathe.
“Alice,” Tara said, with a note of alarm. “Nothing is happening right now, okay? You aren’t getting fired.” Then, perhaps not intending to be so comforting: “But this isn’t good. It’s definitely going to be documented.”
Alice grabbed the top of her chair. “I need a few minutes.”
“Well . . .” She could see Tara was hesitant, but Alice no longer cared, it was coming fast, the panic—
Alice ran into the bathroom and threw up.