Prologue

Jack braced his laptop bag in front of him as he ran across the street, casually waving to cars as he barreled through the busy intersection. Today, Jack had finished his mocha with an extra shot of espresso before leaving the shop, so his dash across the intersection was a small victory. He looked down at his clean dress shirt and looked back up beaming for having the first stain-free day since he’d started at his job. 

San Francisco was a tad bit warmer than one would expect on that Spring day, but only just a tad. Wearing a tailored jacket over his dress shirt and khakis, (Jack knew that his casual business attire was immaculate), he was feeling really good about the day. Everything was just going right for him since last night.

He was just a block away from his office, pushing his pace up the sidewalk towards the largest building on Market Street from his regular coffee shop in SOMA. Jack worked at the headquarters of Zonglecon, the largest tech firm in San Francisco. Over the last few years, the company had swallowed the leading ecommerce, video, search and social platforms, blending them into one Zonglecon. The Zongle, their digital currency, was poised to eclipse Bitcoin in market cap and Jack knew he was the one behind that growth. 

Jack made it to the last block coming up to his offices and nobody was walking through that street so he did his best to speed-walk up the sidewalk. A couple of homeless people were lying up against the building leading up to the entrance, bundled in sleeping bags. Jack reached into his pocket and fished for some change but he’d paid with a card at the coffee shop. One of the two saw him walking up fishing around in his pocket and sat up holding a cup. He really didn’t want to stop, and Jack flipped open his laptop case and fished around as he approached the man. 

“I’m cashless today, buddy. But here! That’ll keep you warm,” Jack smiled at the vagrant and handed him two fuzzy headbands with his company logo on them. Before the man could even react, Jack was three steps past him. 

Leading Zongle had put him into the fast lane and his boss, a Senior Vice President, had promised to elevate him from Director to Vice President of Zongle. Breathing deep as he entered the lobby, Jack’s caffeinated nerves were soothed by the aromatic spray Zonglecon’s roving telepresence machines exuded. 

Jack stopped and took a few deep breaths in through his nose. Everything was good in Jack’s world.

Previous versions of the mobile communications units of course did not have the aromatherapy module, as a result, the equipment would soon start to smell of oil and burnt rubber.

“One of the team’s more inspired ideas,” Jack smiled, heading for the elevator. The receptionists smiled back at him as he swiped his badge and nodded his head in their direction. The plastic scanner picked up on his identification and the panel next to the elevator lit up with a message. 

“Jack, early as usual. Please, come up to the twentieth and let’s chat.” The message was signed by his boss, Mr Quisbut. They had meetings every two weeks on schedule Tuesday mornings. However, this one was special. Every year Zonglecon had their annual review and after finishing the process with his organization, Jack was ready to be on the other side of the table.

He stepped into the elevator after it dinged and opened, his mind reviewing the talking points. First, the team had beaten both the external and internal forecasts by double digits, and the projections were for even higher growth in the next three to five years. A Compound Annual Growth Rate of ten percent was decent but twenty-five percent created massive opportunity, for the company as well as for their product, Zongle. 

Jack knew that once the product team had hit the annual run rate of a hundred million, the standard rule was to instill a new Vice President to oversee things, or in some cases, promote the talented director into that role. A talented director like Jack.

Jack could feel it was his time down to his core and when the elevator opened again, he was ready to meet his fate. The lobby on this floor was a smaller scale version of the entryway with an open floor plan, two executive administrators seated at a round, polished desk of dark wood. The furniture in the room was hand-stitched leather and custom ordered for the office. Accolades and awards lined the tastefully lit alcoves featuring key milestones in Zonglecon history. With almost a decade of service, Jack had seen Zonglecon’s rise from a national to global information technology powerhouse. 

Of course, the firm had gone through some creative accounting which had made his job an uphill fight.  The Double Irish, Triple Dutch with a shot of Cayman tax maneuvers the accountants claimed they were forced to use were an easy sell on the board members, but a nightmare to make it work alongside the CEO’s vision of expansion. 

Pushing those thoughts aside, he strode up to Betty, Rod’s assistant. She was staring at her monitor and reading while casually chewing on a strand of her hair. “Morning, Betty. Hope your day is going well.”

Surprised, Betty brushed her dark hair back and smiled earnestly, her plump cheeks showing her dimples. “Yes, it is, thanks for asking, Jack. And how is this Tuesday treating you?”

Jack grinned, “Very well, thank you. Is Rod in?”

“Of course, you know the way, he’s expecting you.”

“Thanks again, have a great day,” Jack said, flashing one last smile and then pushing on through the dark wooden double doors and into the Western executive wing. 

Only the top executives in Zonglecon had an office in the Western wing. Jack knew that so long as his star was shining bright and hitched to the even brighter star of Rod, his career aspirations and outcomes would be better than even his wildest dreams.

With the grin still in place, he walked decisively to the last door on the right, the one with the second best view in the wing, knocking on Rod’s closed door. “Come in,” a muffled, deep voice said, and Jack swung the door open and strode confidently into the space.

Senior Vice President Rod Quisbut was sitting behind his engraved cherry wood desk that matched the dark wooden furniture around the room. His workspace was clear of anything aside from thin bezel free monitor, an ergonomic keyboard, a laptop, and a mouse that had a custom Zonglecon logo lit up with green LED lights. The executive was a bit old school and, unlike some, had not abandoned a laptop in favor of a tablet or one of the nerd helmets their entertainment division sold for Augumented Realited Computing.

ARC was exciting in theory, but silly and uncomfortable in practice. Sales were lagging as well, which was surprising to Jack, as he had expected big things from the division. His friend Nate had led the team and while their market size was supposedly infinite, ARC was generating only a fraction of projected sales. 

“Good morning, Rod, how are you?” Jack deliberately used the man’s name, rather than calling him sir or Mr Quisbut, or SVP Quisbut. Their relationship was casual enough, however, Rod was old enough that sometimes he’d fall into different patterns of communication, coming across as more formal.

“Doing well, doing well, please, have a seat,” Rod gestured to the couch and Jack appreciated the view for a moment. The skyscraper was not the tallest in the city, but it was one of the newest and most modern. The view outside showed a city in motion, changing, growing, living and breathing. Jack could see people pulling grocery carts, cars swerving around to avoid stopping, and a variety of humanity moving with purpose. Amid the people were AI-driven robots, ice chests, and suitcases keeping pace with the people and avoiding traffic. 

As Jack turned to sit, he noticed that he wasn’t alone with Rod. On the couch across from Jack, a man who looked like a Sam Elliott impersonator was lounging with an arm across the back of the suede leather couch smiling at Jack. 

“Hi Jack, I’m Antoine,” he said, getting up from the couch. He even kind of sounded like Sam Elliott.

Jack stared at the tall, gray haired model-guy and smiled back. Or at least, Jack assumed the man could be a model, and he must be involved in some new marketing project. He stood to shake the man’s hand that was outstretched.

“Hi Antoine, nice to meet you.” 

Jack’s hand was firmly locked by the silver-haired man and pumped twice before letting go. Jack fumbled back to sit on the couch and then looked to Rod waiting for an explanation for Antoine being there. Rod was leaning back in his chair with his elbows resting on the arms, his forefingers templed in front of his lips as he stared between the two men. 

Reviews were always personal meetings, and Jack asked, “I thought today was my annual performance review discussion, Rod. Wasn’t that today?”

Those were always private, between boss and employee. Unless of course human resources had to be involved. If HR was involved, it was almost always a sign that someone was getting fired or needed to hire a lawyer. 

Jack looked back at Antoine as that thought of HR stuck in his head and got his heart racing. Then he glanced over his shoes, dress watch, and suit. HR didn’t make large salaries, and Jack let loose a breath slowly when he realized he’d been holding in.

“It is, it is, Jack.” Rod gave him a reassuring smile, and then Jack looked over and saw Antoine sporting the same smile. 

“As you know, when an employee changes managers, we like to have the new manager in the room for the annual review, so that they can get up to speed and ensure the transition goes as seamless as possible.” For a brief moment, Rod winced as if he’d eaten something particularly bitter, then he swallowed and gave a big smile.

Stolen story; please report.

“Antoine here has just joined my team as Vice President of Zongle. You’ll be reporting to him starting today, and I fully expect he will mentor you as well as I have, or better.” 

Rod said something else, but Jack’s brain had stopped listening. Once Rod had gotten to “mentor”, Jack’s world started crashing and he kept smiling and staring at the two men even though the corners of his mouth fought against it and the blood rushing in his ears was louder than his boss talking.

Antoine was nodding along and watching the SVP with interest, then, he turned to Jack and gave him a serious look which got his attention. “Jack, Rod’s told me all about how you created the Zongle from nothing and the amazing things you’ve done with such limited resources. Now that I’m here, I want you to know, I’ll get you anything you need to ensure our team continues the amazing momentum you have built.” 

Nodding along himself, Jack was trying to process everything happening.

“More resources are always appreciated,” Jack managed, and Rod launched into a talk about expectations for the next quarter.

Vice President? 

Jack knew they were still talking, but all Jack could think of was, this isn’t happening. He stared at the men launching into industry talk and nodded his head when they seemed to question him. 

The meeting passed in a fog. Afterwards, Jack could only recall the phrases, “Hyperscale synergy, revolutionary quantum blockchain paradigms,” and, “Distributed loot box mechanics.” The last one he pondered as he exited the elevator, going down to the fourteenth floor destined for his cubicle. Despite his director title and more than half his peer group having a private office, he was still sitting in the same cubicle as when he’d joined a decade before.

Halfway to his desk, he stopped. Jack’s knees felt weak, and his stomach felt like it was on fire. He blinked realizing his eyes were drying out from staring at his cubicle. 

Vice President.

Jack’s life had been poured into this job, and he’d saved the company from failure like it was his own child. He’d raised the company, and the company was pushing him aside. 

Pushed aside.

Before he came in today, Jack wondered whether his team got him a cake or congratulatory cards. His desk was empty though. There wouldn’t be a celebration. Under his monitor, Jack’s Apollo Creed bobblehead stared back at him. 

“Good morning, Jack,” a voice greeted from beside him. Jack turned and nodded at Abdul, one of his team leaders. 

“Oh, man. Are you with us? You look like you are in shock, man,” Abdul snapped his fingers in front of Jack’s face a few times and Jack just stared. 

“I won’t be taking the role of VP. A new acquisition, Antoine, will be leading our division.” Jack looked back to his desk, but still stood in the middle of the hall unmoving. 

Maybe this is good? Maybe I can learn from this guy. 

“Yeah, everyone is talking about it this morning. You have a lot of strength, boss man. I’m not sure how I would have reacted to Rod’s college buddy taking my job.” Abdul gripped Jack’s shoulder and gave a sympathetic squeeze before walking to his cubicle near Jack’s. 

College buddy?!

Seconds passed, but years of dedication and devotion were unwinding in Jack’s mind at that moment. None of it mattered anymore. The thought of working under his new boss with the same goals he’d lived with since starting there seemed petty and even nauseating.

Apollo stared back at Jack with his head bouncing as if nodding along with Jack’s thoughts. 

The next ten minutes would be an event that stuck with Jack for the rest of his life. 

“I QUIT!!!”

Jack’s scream across the office had a few heads pop up to take notice, but Jack was already in motion. He wouldn’t remember how he got back to Rod’s office, but the memory of kicking open his door to yell, “Fuck you, Rod!” while triumphantly holding up both his middle fingers would stick. What followed was a release of rage and grabbing for anything loose he could break or throw. At some point his shirt had gotten torn open and he was holding his belt like a whip, which is when a large forearm cradled his neck and his body was physically lifted out of the room. 

His trip out of the building was also a bit of a blur for Jack, and he’d be hard-pressed later that day to remember whether it was two security guards or four who had carried him out of the building. 

And, just like that, Jack’s career at Zonglecon ended. 

Jack stood there on the sidewalk outside the building feeling much less righteous than he had only moments before. 

“What the fuck did I just do?” Jack mumbled to himself. He both wanted to run from the business and run back in and beg for his job back.

Did I kick in his door?!

Jack knew he couldn’t go back. He’d made sure of it on his way out. A cold feeling washed over him as he fired up a ride sharing app to book a car home. Sure, it was only a ten minute walk, but a short ride would take less than five minutes. He wanted desperately to hide inside his tiny apartment, away from the people on the street, and just shut the world away. 

Depression and self-righteous anger battled in his mind as he saw the app go off, with the summoned ride arriving in what seemed like seconds later. The drive to his apartment was fast and as he rode in the back of a clean, lavender scented Camry, he checked his email access to see if they’d already removed him. He wasn’t denied, and so he read through the emails sent in the morning.

Rod had sent him a pep-talk email prior to the review meeting and there was a new one from the Sam Elliott douchebag, as Jack had settled with for a name. Jack noticed Antoine’s sign-off before he read the content, the man had already added in a signature that said, “Vice President, Zongle,” along with an interview link to TechCrunch. Since when had this guy, on his first day, already done an interview with TechCrunch? Jack asked himself. The condolences were standard and Jack, out of morbid curiosity, started to read through the email thread.

“Party?” Jack asked aloud, surprised. “Why wasn’t I invited?” One of the key engineers on his team apparently had just proposed to his boyfriend, and the man had accepted. “And why didn’t I know Owen was gay?” The Camry stopped at a light for a MUNI trolley that swooshed by dragging a connection to the electric lines above. The sound hit Jack just as his self-worth was dropping, like a toilet flushing away his dreams. 

The last thing Jack thought as the Camry pulled up to his building and he exited, ignoring the driver’s well wishing, was, “How did Antoine already have a party planned for one of my team member’s on his first day? After a TechCrunch interview?” The more Jack thought about it, the more it seemed like everyone knew what was happening long before they let him know. He was that guy. 

Jack wouldn’t be able to remember his driver if he tried, and he felt like the world was just rushing by him on the way home. He trudged up the short staircase to the main entrance of his building and then walked the four flights up to the top, where his tiny studio apartment was located. 

Despite his salary, the most he could afford was five thousand a month for less than four hundred square feet of living space. His bed rolled up in the corner so he could work at his small desk during the evening and the kitchen was too small for a dishwasher or full size fridge.

Tossing his bag down on the floor, Jack went to his mini-fridge and pulled it open looking for something to eat just for the sake of doing something. He stared blankly at the take-out boxes that took up most of the fridge then pulled open the freezer drawer on the bottom. 

Bon bons. Fuck yeah.

And then he broke down in tears.

The next six days of Jack’s life were ugly, with hours of staring at nothing or binge-eating between sobbing himself into a nap. On the fourth day of shutting himself in, he discovered a service that delivered booze. The judgmental looks from the delivery drivers were worth being able to skip wearing pants, and so it was with a raging hangover that Jack was woken up on a Tuesday morning by banging at his door.

The room was spinning, but Jack’s stomach had already emptied hours earlier into his kitchen sink. He grabbed the wall to try to get the room to stay still and tried to remember why he got up.

More banging on the door, and Jack’s head spasmed in pain with every pound. 

“I’m coming! Hold on!”

A few deep breaths and Jack made it to the door and opened the deadbolt without even checking his security camera. He thought about a home invasion for half a second, but the thought of being murdered right then seemed welcoming. He threw the door wide open and closed his eyes, arms spread open. When nothing happened, he blinked his eyes.

Standing at the door was a man who was taller than his door frame wearing dark wayfarers with an off-the-rack black suit holding a small tablet in front of him. Jack looked up and the man stared back down at him, not showing his eyes behind the sunglasses resting on his misaligned nose. 

The man didn’t say a word, and cocked his head once to the side looking down at Jack. 

“If you are here to kill me, make it fast. If not, I’m going to go crawl into my tub in there and take a nap,” Jack said flatly.

Jack’s breath made the large man wince slightly, but he still didn’t speak. Instead, he lifted the tablet up to Jack’s face after tapping the screen to life. Jack stared at the tablet held up to his face as a video started up. An Asian man wearing a Hawaiin shirt sitting at a desk was frozen on the screen as a buffer wheel spun for a few seconds in the middle of the video. 

Jack glanced up at the large man but he just stared down at Jack while the video loaded. 

“Hello, Mr. Jack! So good to see that my associate found you,” the video had started. 

The Asian man sat there smiling after the greeting as if waiting for a response. 

Jack looked up at the big guy and asked, “Is this a live feed?”

The man on the screen responded to him. “Yes it is, Mr. Jack. I am sorry to bother you with my associate but we were having trouble reaching you by email or phone.”

“Uh, yeah, I was having some, uh, issues I guess,” Jack lied. He had his phone on silent and hadn’t answered anybody trying to reach him all week.

“No matter, here you are now and we can talk.” The former Director of Zonglecon stood there in front of the large man trying his best to listen to what the man on the screen was asking of him. Jack’s vision kept blurring or doubling up while he stared at the screen and he had to rub his eyes several times to try to get them to work right. The man was talking about traveling or travel hazards. It was hard for him to follow. 

“... and so they want to offer you this VP position and a salary you can negotiate with Mr. Dick,” he finished. That last part finally got Jack’s attention.

“Wait, a job?” Jack asked.

“Yes, your travel and expenses will be covered if you are interested. Mr. Dick would love to see you this Thursday. But here, take this card.” The big man holding the tablet held out a business card for Jack. “Give me a call in a few hours. Take a shower. Get some coffee. You look like shit, Mr. Jack. I’ll hear from you soon.” And the video ended. 

Still without saying a single word, the large man turned and walked towards the stairwell leaving Jack with the card, a hangover and a feeling like he’d just been hit by a bus and lived. He closed the door thinking about that feeling. It was something he didn’t think he could experience anymore after his week. 

Hope.