Anarchy of the Mice

Chapter Forty-Seven

Soundproof? Bug-proof?

Five itchy minutes later, Yves Pomeroy tottered in.

"Excellentment!" he said. "So thrilled I am to show you Rivard LLC in action."

His eyes traveled my body in way that, despite his advanced age, creeped me out. I'd worn a navy blazer, snug but professional jeans, flats, and the leather bag. Together with the auburn hair, it needed to add up to one Silicon Valley executive.

I knew I looked good...but good enough to pass for CIO of a seventy-million dollar social media startup?

Yves Pomeroy led me from the antechamber to the stupendous Roche Rivard lobby—big as a train station, a hive of streaking men and women, walls adorned with live video feeds and bright electronic charts.

Yves approached a receptionist. (The most attractive, I noted.) "I have Mademoiselle Jansen here! Her company is considering a large investment in CyberSafe, and we are touring the facility."

His palsy became violent, knocking my elbow. I worried his nerves would betray us, but the receptionist paid no mind. She entered information off my passport, a high-quality fake obtained by Durwood, and used a 3D printer to produce a badge.

Yves pinned the badge on my breast.

"Er—thanks," I said. "I could've done that myself."

He bowed from the waist. "Not at all."

The badge was, I saw now, a wafer-thin device, electronic but flexible. Its face showed my (fake) name and a timer, presently ticking down from sixty minutes.

We needed to go...but I couldn't pull my gaze from the north wall of the lobby. A single, seamless LCD tracked various revenue measures, the company's stock price (ticker symbol: RIV), and dozens of Objectifs Centraux in a stunning holographic display, something right out of Star Wars.

Yves saw my gaze. "The Grand Planifier," he explained. "One's progress is constantly monitored and reported upon."

He raised his own badge, upon which four red lines flashed "EN RETARD!!" I wasn't sure if it was happening or my imagination, but the lines seemed to bend off the badge toward their whispy representations high above.

There were other marvels—drones carrying manila folders, VR portals to satellite offices in places like Beijing and Mexico City. If Willy Wonka built a corporate headquarters, this would be it.

Yves tapped my badge. "We have just fifty-eight minutes to conduct our business."

I asked what happened if we went overtime.

"If the badge is still out at time zero, it emits a deafening beacon," he said. "Security officers will arrive in a matter of seconds."

Yves began guiding me to the elevator banks, but the receptionist called after us.

"Excusez! Excusez-moi!" She paused to listen to a sleek wireless earbud. "Miss Rivard requests a word with you at the beginning of your tour, Mr. Pomeroy. With you and your Californian guest."

Yves and I froze. Had she put snark into the word "Californian?" Maybe it was just her accent.

"Of course, of course." Yves quickly masked the alarm in his face. "What an honor, to receive a moment with our great Mademoiselle Rivard!"

I managed to bob my head in agreement.

As we boarded an elevator going up, rather than down to where Enterprise Software was, Yves whispered, "It cannot be helped. The scrutiny is high."