The Asshole App

9. SET THE WORLD ON FIRE

"I don't want to set the world on fire. I just want to put a ding in the universe." -Steve Jobs

"Where's Casper? Isn't he joining us for lunch?" Lear scanned the room looking for Jamison's shady sidekick. He and the ruthless businessman faced each other over a low, black kotatsu table in an illegal, underground sumo wrestling restaurant. Standing guard beside Jamison, a formidable thug with massive tattooed forearms, glowered at Lear. CENTIEN's CFO pulled at his necktie, the back of his neck tingling. He was certain he sensed the presence of unseen professional surveillance monitoring his every move.

"Casper's busy right now." The stylish crime czar was impeccably dressed in a dark, European business suit. His patrician face unreadable as he observed Lear's mannerisms with calculated interest. He correctly interpreted Lear's agitation as a thinly veiled fear.

Lear knew Jamison and his partner were inseparable, both working for the elite Cabal that controlled the central banking system. They were the shadowy figures pulling the real levers of power in the world. Casper's unusual absence from today's meeting made him nervous. "So, I have some good news. CENTIEN's on target to deliver the CENTRIXS updates." A waitress brought them their plates of food.

"I already know this information." Jamison took a bite of his shish kebab. "I know everything that happens in your company." Smiling, he took a sip of tea, looking deceptively like a cultured British expat.

Jamison and Casper owned a prestigious auction house as their business cover. Lear, a committed patron of artists, found this ironic as neither of the two men would know fine art if it walked up and bit them on their asses. Murder, Inc. should be their business name. He swallowed, nervously. "Then why did you ask to meet with me today?" Across the room, two loincloth-clad Sumo wrestlers carefully circled each other in the ring, then charged. He winced as their giant heads butted together making a loud cracking noise. The oiled giants grunted, stomping their feet as they tried to flip each other to the ground.

"I'm making you an offer you can't refuse." Jamison smiled, but his tone was threatening. Lear felt the room shrink. His heart started pounding. "This country's stuck in the past. The future's crypto and Universal Basic Income. The New World Order's here and you need to be a part of it." He gestured to the memorial pictures of Nixon and the two Bush presidents hanging on the wall. "We created those icons. We left our mark on the world through those men when we implemented Bretton Woods and took down the towers."

"I'm not sure CENTIEN's in a position to accommodate you right now." Lear pushed his plate away, fearing it might be laced with poison.

"Steve Jobs said he wanted to leave a ding in the universe. Working with him, his technology allowed us to monitor the population. He wasn't our creation, but in the end we controlled him. We lost an irreplaceable asset when he died. Do you see the pattern? Why we need CENTIEN."

"You need people in the public eye they trust to manage the masses." Lear felt sick to his stomach.

Jamison nodded. "They were our creations. Our celebrated immortals when we held them up and our reviled henchmen when we tore them down. If the public knew the truth about the free energy technology we've suppressed, they'd revolt against us."

"Those presidents were your clueless puppets. America got rich because of all the countries around the world working their asses off to get enough petro dollars to keep their transportation veins running. Free energy technology would advance everyone's quality of life."

"Exactly." Jamison smiled. "The public needs to be continually fooled and kept in the dark. There's still more work to be done. That's why we want Sinclair and you in our talent pool."

"What do you mean, want? We already work for you."

"I'm not talking about government contracts and undisclosed side deals. We want you to join The Club."

Mysterious gas line explosions, visions of red scarf door knob suicides, and unexplained car crashes flashed through Lear's mind. In a cold sweat, he checked to see if the path to the restaurant's exit was impeded.