19

Crocodiles and alligators. Discuss the importance of small differences.

I’m sitting on a bench in the company’s modern lobby. Beside me is an engraved copper plaque explaining the bench’s “origin story,” how the company founder chopped it down in a Brazilian rain forest and then planted a thousand better trees in its place. The bench is comfortable, elegantly molded to accommodate the human form, but the tangle of phone and laptop chargers sprouting from the end ruins the effect.

Tech workers pass by, each one dressed more casually than the last, toting their designer coffees and stylish messenger bags. Nicole is three steps past me when she stops in her tracks. After a few seconds, she turns, walks back, and sits down on the bench next to me. She looks resigned.

“I knew you’d be back,” she whispers. “So, now what?”

“It’s up to you.”

“The fourth-floor cafeteria does a killer breakfast burrito. You’re not vegan, are you?”

“Tried it once. Lasted a week.”

Nicole prints out a badge for me at security: industry contact. I slip the lanyard around my neck and follow her into the elevator, where she punches the button for the fourth floor. The doors close behind us and we stand side by side at the back of the elevator, leaning against the wall.

“How did you know?” she asks.

“When I asked where the boy had come from, your expression changed and you bit your lip.”

“That simple?”

“No, there were other tells. Your fingers turned in slightly, you tucked your feet under the seat, you scratched your arm. With deception, it’s never one thing but a combination of behaviors that add up. There’s a whole thing with the eyes, but I won’t bore you.”

Her shoulders slump. “It flew past the cop kid, but I knew you knew.”

The bell dings to indicate our arrival on the fourth floor, the elevator doors open, and Nicole leads me through a maze of hallways. By the time we arrive at a café that serves only breakfast burritos and Blue Bottle Coffee, I’m completely turned around. The place reminds me of a book I once read about a labyrinthine prison in the middle of the Nevada desert. We’re the only ones here.

“This café just opened for beta testing,” Nicole says. “Staffed entirely by robots. Access is limited while we work out the kinks.”

Nicole scans her thumbprint, we punch our orders into a machine, and we settle into a corner booth. The table lamp is turned low, the sound on the video monitor beside us set to mute. A headless robot wheels up to our table bearing a black lacquer tray. “Your order, sir,” intones a disconcertingly smooth voice. Like Siri without the sex appeal. “Your order sir your order sir,” it repeats more rapidly.

Nicole takes the tray and the robot whirls around, racing back to the kitchen.

“Like I said, they’re still working out the kinks.”

The coffee is delicious. So is the burrito. “I’m not sure whether I should be nervous about the future or optimistic,” I say.

“We should all be nervous,” Nicole replies. “How does this work?”

“Why don’t you tell me what else, who else, you saw that day on the beach?”

She takes a deep breath and forges ahead. “As I was wrapping my coat around the boy, I noticed something out in the water. Dark gray, moving away from shore. At first, I thought it was a shark. But then I noticed it was undulating, so I thought it must be a sea lion.”

“How did you know it wasn’t?”

“Just as it crested the wave, I saw the flash of red. A swimming cap. After college, I had a thing with a swimmer. Female swimmers have a unique shape. To someone who doesn’t know the sport, they look chunky, with their broad shoulders, thick arms and hips. But they’re in better shape than all of us. Whoever was out there, she was a real swimmer, not a hobbyist. She’d have to be a high-level competitor to hold that boy, carry him all the way to shore.”

“Did you actually see her bringing him to shore?”

“No, he was already out of the water when I saw her swimming out.”

“She could have just been out for a swim, totally unrelated.”

“That boy definitely came from the water. When he got to me, he was still wet. He could barely walk. In the condition he was in, there’s no way he could have survived the surf alone.”

“You never told anyone?”

“No,” she says miserably.

“What exactly did you see?”

“Red cap, dark-gray wet suit. That’s all. She swam so fast.”

“Did you see a boat?”

“Yes, but it was way out there. It could have been a crab boat. It had branches coming up on either side. That’s all I could see.”

“Color? Size?”

“No idea. I was worried about the swimmer. I mean, I was mostly worried about the boy, of course, but I couldn’t figure out how the swimmer was going to make it all the way to the boat.”

“What happened next?”

“Just what I said before to you and Kyle. The fire truck showed up, there was a huge commotion, an ambulance, and when I looked back out, the swimmer was gone, the boat was gone, no little red head bobbing up and down in the waves.” Her voice is tinged with regret. “For a while, it kept me up at night. But I saw how that girl swam. I saw how strong she was. I believe she made it.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“If I could go back in time, I would. I panicked. I figured once the paramedics arrived the kid was safe, and that was the important part. I just wanted to get out of there, avoid more questions. I didn’t want to have to explain to the cops what I was doing at the beach, where I worked, who I was with.”

“Sandwich guy.”

She cringes. “Yes, sandwich guy.”

“Is that such a big deal?”

“He’s married, two kids, high up at a rival firm.”

“Name?”

She bites her lip. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Look, I’ve got no interest in outing your affair—”

“It wasn’t an affair. It’s over.”

“Regardless, I need to know his name so I can rule some people out.”

She sips her coffee, seems to be considering her options, then blurts out a name. I don’t write it down, just commit it to memory.

“It would have been on Valleywag, Recode,” she rationalizes. “Forever after, I would have been the tech exec who meets up for quickies in cars. This industry isn’t exactly female-friendly. Once the public gets the scent of a scandal, things can go sideways. There would be repercussions for the company.” She peers at me from red-rimmed eyes. “I know,” she says. “So freaking predictable, a Silicon Valley techie with no moral compass. I’m sorry. I really am.”

She’s getting defensive, so I dial it back, try to reestablish the rapport. “Whatever happened to your swimmer from college?”

“Ah,” she says. Her eyes dart up and to the left, honestly recalling the memory. “I fucked it up. I panicked and split. Seeing a pattern here?”

“We all have regrets.”

“She got married, had children. I went back to my old boyfriend. Shithead lawyer, good on paper, bad in bed. Then I got married. Then I got divorced. I should’ve stuck with the swimmer. I see that now. She looks fantastic.”

“You still hang out?”

“No. She does the Ironman Triathlon every year. I DVR it. Sometimes I check out her Instagram.” The hint of a smile. “So on top of it all, I guess you could say I’m a stalker.”