Isabella is still fuming. She is shaking as she rides the electric shuttle across the manicured grounds of the Alpha compound. If she were working in an office complex, she would take the elevator up to the executive suites if ever they had the occasion to meet with the higher-ups. Not here, not in Angelo's world. At Alpha, employees are scooted around between buildings in tiny buses, trains and trolleys, past the drought-exempt lawns, ponds and gardens.
Thankfully, she is the only one in the cabin of the shuttle train. It is okay for her to cry. In this high-tech world of wonders, where it is possible to construct or deconstruct anything, a tear on a girl's cheek shouldn't be seen as anything unusual. But no one sees her cry, no one asks what is wrong. No one questions the environment at Alpha.
She needs to talk, but to whom? Lucy, perhaps, but Lucy is the one, who after all, put her up to this. Isabella wonders if Lucy knew what would happen. Does she know how dirty, how defiled, how used, she feels? Isabella tries to convince herself that this was nothing more than a failed pick-up attempt. She thinks of how many times she has had to fend off the douche-bags at the campus pubs. It's not easy, dealing with self-absorbed assholes who treat a girl like she is put on the planet for their pleasure. Her standard douche-bag removal technique involves the old switcheroo, introducing Mr. Douche to one of the other girls at the bar who loves the attention that the guy gives her, then she makes her escape. And when she would finally shut down the asshole pestering her, she would still feel good about herself. Not today. Nothing feels good. She wants to shower, to wash him off of her, as though it is her fault she is dirty. And they never even touched.
Claude. She needs to confide in her brother Claude. Isabella looks up the number of his new cell phone, and flips him a text message. Her afternoon is supposed to involve another day of reading and replying to Twitter posts about how Alpha is either destroying the world or saving it, and it is the Communication Intern's role to sort through these, dismiss the nut jobs, retweet the compliments, and flag the serious ones for someone with a big girl job to deal with. All the posts today are about the elusive Vincent Duke, and what happened to the most eligible bachelor in the world. Since no one knows when she is supposed to return from her meeting at 1A, she is certain that she can slip in a quick visit with her brother. Risky for an intern, perhaps, but right now, she isn't overly concerned about impressing her employer.
By the time the shuttle has rounded the bend and is heading towards Admin 2B, she has decided it is not 2B she wants, and stays on the shuttle for 4A, the Human Resources building, where her brother, Claude, is waiting to meet with his executioner.
***
Isabella finds Claude in the waiting room on the second floor of the HR building. He has been meeting with Alpha's exit officer, a Mr. Fryer, whose role it is to see a trouble-free passage into the next life. He performs the last rights and insures that Alpha is clear of any wrongful dismissal issues. Mr. Fryer, who it appears has just been parachuted into this role, seems like a really nice man, Claude tells her as they sit together in the lobby. A security guard is blocking the door and listens to their conversation.
Isabella, politely, asks the security guard if she can have a few words with Claude. His reply, buried deep under his accent, sounds a little sarcastic. "Look, señor, here's your sister."
Claude is sitting in front of a low table, and Isabella moves to take the club chair facing him. As she sits, the office door behind her opens and a man's voice says: "Manuel, can I have a word with you?"
Isabella turns to look at the speaker. Dressed rather formally for Silicon Valley, in a classic sports jacket and tie, he is obviously not a techie, nor is he dressed hip enough to be on the creative side of things. Plus he is clean shaven and caucasian, both rarities in Silicon Valley. He appears professional, mature, yet young enough to spark what Isabella might describe as a flicker of possibility. That may have something to do with his perfect features, dirty blond hair that, although combed down, is clearly a mess waiting to happen. The thick, dark frame of his glasses accentuate the sophistication of the man. This must be Mr. Fryer, the Human Resources officer assigned to Claude's case.
Fryer and the guard speak briefly at his office door. Then the H.R. man disappears back into his office, leaving the door ajar. Manual, the security guard, returns to his original position, guarding the room's only exit.
Isabella leans into Claude and asks him how he is making out, and how Juliet is taking all this. He doesn't answer in words, only stares at the coffee table and shuffles the Car and Driver magazines. A sister knows.
"Claude, I was in to see Angelo Lord about you, to ask him to reconsider your firing. My landlady Lucy set it up." Claude looks up at her. "Unfortunately, he intends on seeing this through."
"I figured as much, given that I am about to sign off on the details of my severance. Is there nothing that can be done?"
"Nothing, that wouldn't result in a broken heart for someone."
"What the hell does that mean? Is there any chance?"
"Let's just say that Angelo has a devious way of showing mercy. There is a way that you may keep your job here, but you will be burdened with guilt for the rest of your life."
"Make your point please Iz." Claude's voice is getting louder, and Isabella is reminded of Claude's short temper. Between siblings, the trigger is a little more sensitive. Isabella takes a quick glance around the room. It is just the two of them and the security guard. Fryer's door is open, so Isabella leans in closer and tries to keep her voice down.
"Claude, you know I love you. I admire and respect you. I only want the best for you and Juliet. I look forward to being an aunt to your children. I mean that."
"And so do I, but if I am sacked here, so be it. I'll make do, so you don't need to shame me into guilt. There are lots of other jobs in the Valley, except for the fact that I will be blacklisted as a sexual pervert. I am sure the Internet porn sites aren't too picky about who they hire. There is no shame in that, is there?"
Isabella flinches at the sarcasm. She doesn't appreciate his tone, sees it as aggression. Isabella isn't comfortable with aggression. It is just like when they were kids: Claude would get all sarcastic and mean and snarky, and she would let him get his way. Funny how quickly we revert back to our family roles, she thinks.
"Claude," she pauses, looks up at him and says, "there is a way that you can be saved. But, it, well, here is where the shame comes in. It involves a, what is the saying, a 'devilish mercy.'"
"Speak clearly. Do you mean Angelo Lord?"
"The bastard is cunning and he is devious. When I was with him, I felt like I was the prey, and he the falcon. He circled me, and swooped down on me when I was most vulnerable. Claude—he wants me to sleep with him in exchange for you keeping your job."
"What? You have to be kidding!"
"He would use his position to pardon you tomorrow, if I were to join him in his bed tonight."
"You won't do it, will you?"
"Claude, you know that I would do anything for you–"
He reaches across the the table and grabs Isabella's hand. There is a tenderness now that she feels, just like when mom forced the two of them to make up after an argument, and, usually after Isabella gave in and Claude got what he wanted. There was always a relief for her, not in the outcome, but in the peace that came when things had been resolved.
"Thanks, Isabel."
"I'm sorry Claude."
Claude goes back to flipping through the auto magazines. There is a silence in the room, a disturbing silence. Death-like.
Then Claude speaks: "He likes you though. And if you are forced into this, you wouldn't really be to blame, you know."
Isabella sits up straight. "What are you saying?"
"I am just scared, I guess. But if you think about it, you wouldn't need to feel ashamed about agreeing to sleep with a hot, powerful, very rich, man. There could be worse things—like being a new father and husband without a job. But, think of it this way, however wrong you think it is, it would become a virtue should you save the lives of your brother, his wife, his child."
Isabella jumps to her feet. She feels her blood boil. "You beast! You faithless coward! You would support this just so you can feel like a man again–because of my immorality?"
She pauses for a moment, catching her breath. She wonders if she is out of line, but the instant she thinks of what Claude is saying, her anger swells again. No, she is justified in her rage. "This is like incest! You'll be screwing me, your own sister, so that you can get what you want. How dare you! Can you imagine what mom or dad would say? That you would sacrifice your own sister to the wolves in order to save yourself."
She doesn't realize how loud her voice has become, and doesn't care. Claude attempts to calm her with a shush.
"No, just listen for a sec," he whispers.
"No Claude, you listen. How dare you. Your screw-up is no accident, but that you would turn me into a whore for you. You are not my pimp, brother. I'll help you alright, I'll say a prayer for you–asshole!"
In the heat of her anger, Isabella thinks only of how she has struggled, actually fought, to save herself for the right man. It hasn't been easy, when it is expected that a girl will put out for any guy, just because he dances with her, or buys her a few drinks, or knows her brother. She was chastised at school, only by a couple of girls, but still, she was excluded from their parties. The popular girls were the ones who played the slut. It didn't seem to matter, she still became the prey for the boys stalking her. There was even a Facebook group called 'Bang I.M.', she later found out, where some of the guys from school would allegedly share doctored pictures of her, and and would brag about the many ways they would do her. No, the more those jerks hit on her, the stronger her resolve became to not put out. She needs to stay true to her values, to who she is. She will not play the role of a whore. And she will be damned if she will let her brother pimp her out like this. It's not like this is five hundred years ago, or in some fundamentalist regime, where a man is executed for fornication. It's only a job loss. Deal with it!
And while she is thinking this, a man has walked up behind her and is now standing next to her, but in her rage, her anger toward Claude, she has not noticed his entrance until Mr. Fryer, the Human Resources Officer, places a hand on Isabella's shoulder. She shudders.
"Sorry to intrude, but I would like to have a word with the you, if I may." Mr. Fryer's voice is soothing. "In my office, please."
Claude and the security guard are left in the waiting room and Fryer closes the door. There is a sense of confidentiality established the instant they are alone. It is like she wants to be able to trust this man. She needs to be able to trust someone.
"Ms. Measures, it is noble that you come here seeking to help your brother, but, I have overheard what you were talking about. This seems now to be more your dilemma than his."
He motions for Isabella to sit as he takes a chair and moves it in front, to face her. She can't help but notice his eyes, a deep blue that when they look into hers, make her want to open up and reveal everything to him. They are the eyes of a confessor, yet placed within a face and body of a beautiful man. He reminds her of the school chaplain at Our Lady of Grace, Father Luke. Truly a blessed man, she always felt, the man in whom she confided and confessed, sought advice and support, the man who instilled and reaffirmed her faith in mankind. She wants to talk to Father Luke right now.
"Mr. Fryer," Isabella begins, "I feel it is inappropriate that we are discussing a matter that was said in confidence, in what should have been a private conversation between my brother and me."
"Well, Ms. Measures, I can assure you that I know a great deal about what you are talking about. I have been briefed on the matter by Mr. Lord himself."
"And did he tell you that he is trying to force me to sleep with him? That he is blackmailing me with my brother's future?"
"Or, perhaps, Ms. Measures, he was testing your honor, never with the purpose to corrupt you, but only to see if you were worthy of his trust. Honor and integrity are the highest virtues for Mr. Lord."
"If you believe that then you are no different than all the others around here. This is sexual harassment. There is no doubt about that. As if he cares about the integerty of a measly intern. If only the former CEO, Vincent Duke were still around, I would take this matter to him myself and expose Angelo's sexual misconduct".
"Even then, he would simply avoid your accusations. Listen, I believe you. I do. I believe that you are an honorable young woman who has been wronged. And I don't truly believe that you are being tested, but that may be his excuse. But since the leader of this company may be the perpetrator here, I may have an idea that might help you, and your brother."
Isabella looks at him, suspiciously, trying to see through him, trying to get at who this man is, really. But her gut tells her to trust him. "Ok, tell me more. I am interested, as long as it isn't illegal, or anything. "
Mr. Fryer begins: "Being new around here, you probably have not heard of a woman named Mariana Frederick. She was principal of a communications start-up that was in the process of being acquired by Alpha in 2007-2008. In the course of the dealings, she and Angelo Lord became involved romantically, to the point where their marriage engagement was announced. It was going to be a big deal, the merger of the companies tied in with the union of souls, all that stuff that the media loves. Great for inflating the stock value prior to the IPO."
"Well, the crash of 2008 hit and Frederick's company's valuation sunk. Lost in the sea of panic, just after Angelo had signed the buy-out for Alpha. That didn't look too good on the rising star of Alpha, the supposed money guy, Mr. Lord. So, to save face, and his career, he calls off the wedding to Mariana."
Isabella is intrigued. "Really? Angelo left her like that?"
"Left her in tears, and didn't dry one of them with his comfort, they say. He showed no remorse whatsoever. Never spoke to her again, left the bride at the altar, so-to-speak. But it was seen as a sign of his strength and was looked on favorably by the shareholders and the Board of Directors, by the way."
Fryer leans closer to Isabella. She can smell his cologne, a smell that seems so very familiar to her, yet she can't place it. He speaks in a hushed voice. "Isabella, you can help Mariana seek revenge–and in a way that not only saves your brother, but keeps your dignity as well."
Isabella slides closer to him, like she would have with Father Luke. "Show me how, Mr. Fryer."