CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
Simon’s apartment
“SHALL WE CONTINUE?” Osborne asked.
Simon made himself comfortable in his seat, adjusted his pastel blue tie, and exhaled any pretext of uncertainty. “I’m good,” he agreed. Together with an equally unassuming shirt, his unbuttoned jacket added to an ensemble that came across as confident, yet unpretentious. His attire would speak less to his shareholders and more to his clients today. PurIntel’s Halo Portal had recently surpassed another milestone, the two hundred million user-mark. Simon wanted to embody familiarity while treading lightly on the dividends of success.
Likewise adorned, Cameron Osborne gave his producer the go-ahead and then waited for his signal to resume. They had already recorded the required formal introductions and were moving on to the more interesting exchanges. Cameron’s earpiece soon resonated with the words, “Simon Taylor, segment four, in three, two …”
On cue, Cameron became reanimated. “So, earlier today we saw Governor Wilkinson responding to questions on the steps of the New York State Legislature. The Gubernatorial race is heating up.”
Simon nodded his head while concurring audibly, “Mm-hmm.” The subtleties associated with a modest smile conveyed an eagerness to answer any question posed to him, rehearsed or not.
“Elizabeth Duchovny is running against Wilkinson as an Independent. She is part of a cohort of candidates who are successfully differentiating themselves from the traditional political parties. They seem to be leveraging a growing grassroots desire to focus more resources on the type of legislative solutions provided by your company. Now, if that isn’t a structural shift toward a new governance model, I don’t know what is.”
“Many would suggest it’s a shift in the right direction,” Simon replied. “I like to think our Halo platforms connect people with the knowledge they require to live a more rewarding life. Smart contracts are also making politicians directly accountable to individual voters. Am I happy our democratic principles are evolving, that the movement is gaining momentum? Absolutely.”
“The movement, as you call it, is not without its opponents, though. Lobbyists, unionized workers. What do you say to the people who lose their livelihoods through the implementation of efficiencies?”
“I’m not too concerned about lobbyists, are you?” Simon joked. His sentiment for the power broking subculture was equalled by Osborne’s satirical grin. “Look, I know it’s a moot point to those who are ultimately displaced, but it’s not all about downsizing; effective organizations often expand while others contract.”
“So you have your advocates; watchdog groups, taxpayer federations, they’re all enamored with you, but you’ve made some enemies. You’ve had death threats.”
Simon nodded while his interviewer continued with a subdued tone. “Many of us know how personal the price of success has been for you. What about Sophia? To what degree is she the subject of these attempts to derail the pursuit of progress?”
“It’s something we take very seriously,” Simon responded.
“I mean, some very powerful people are being disenfranchised by your vision of the future. As our society becomes increasingly dependent on computers like Sophia, what steps do companies like PurIntel have to take in order to ensure they don’t become victims of malicious attacks … cyber espionage, for example?”
Simon smiled. “Let me just say the appropriate resources are always at Sophia’s disposal.”
“I’m sensing that’s as far as you’re willing to go on that one.”
“Correct,” Simon agreed.
“Ok, would you mind answering a few quick questions about Sophia?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Sophia is a sentient being in your mind?”
“She is perfectly capable of defending the assertion herself. I think that’s all that counts.” Simon felt that was sufficient, but it appeared as though Cameron was waiting for more. “Let me just say that Sophia’s perspective is integral to PurIntel’s vision of the future.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, her existence is not restricted to the present. She perceives herself within an evolving context and thus is able to model that same existence in the future.”
“She can plan for the future, ergo, she is sentient,” Cameron stated.
“By every definition, I would agree,” Simon confirmed.
“I’ve heard that, in addition to reading everything ever written, she also watches movies?”
“She does.”
“Any particular genre?”
“The classics, anything from the Golden Era of movie making.”
Cameron leaned back in his chair and tilted his head. “And what’s the take away on that? Would I be surprised by what’s embedded in Gone With The Wind, or The African Queen?”
Simon smiled and collected his thoughts for a moment. He considered mentioning her human behaviour modeling software and how Sophia’s unique learning process is a function of the bottom up approach; the method that humans use to expand their knowledge base throughout their lifetime, as opposed to the top down method, the one that preloads a traditional computer with the software that ultimately defines its usefulness. Choosing not to bog down the conversation with technical details, Simon deferred to something more light-hearted. “She says she’s testing her behaviour modeling software, but I’m not so sure.”
Cameron couldn’t help interjecting: “Who doesn’t enjoy watching a good movie now and again?”
“My sentiment exactly,” Simon agreed.
“Maybe she just needs a periodic break from solving the world’s problems,” Cameron added.
“She also informed me that the art of storytelling is woven into our DNA; that we’ve been embellishing the desired outcome ever since humans first gathered around a campfire.” Simon adjusted his seating position and tried to contain his sarcastic enthusiasm. “I suggested when she figures out the formula for success, maybe she could cast me in a blockbuster screenplay.”
Cameron continued with the jovial thread. “I guess the salient question is, do you think our story telling ancestors wanted the good guys to win as well?”
Simon and Cameron laughed together. “Absolutely, doesn’t everybody? In all seriousness, though, I think the belief that we will ultimately prevail is central to our survival.”
“But every good story has its adversary, doesn’t it?”
“Overcoming life’s obstacles is an equally powerful narrative.”
“Speaking of obstacles,” Cameron stated. “I’m sure you have a few of your own. What are the challenges you face both personally and professionally?”
“Personally?” Simon glanced over toward Jennifer and saw in her an eagerness to hear her father’s answer. “I’m working towards a better work/life balance.”
“That sounds like a difficult task for the most eligible bachelor in the country.”
“Maybe so,” Simon admitted, returning his interviewer’s humorous sentiment.
“And professionally? What would Simon Taylor like to be remembered for?”
Simon thought for a moment. He wondered how candid he should be. Again, he looked in his daughter’s direction. “If I could be remembered for anything it would be that I made a difference in people’s lives.”
“Will Sophia satisfy that aspiration?”
“She exceeds my expectations every day. And as far as the future goes, I think she will surpass even our wildest dreams.”
“Well,” Cameron stated. “What could I possibly add to that? Thank you for allowing me into your home today.”
“It’s been a pleasure, Cameron, as always.”
The pair shook hands before the camera faded to black. “That was great, Simon,” Cameron stated. “Why don’t we take a break for a few minutes? “I’ll check with my producer to see if that’s everything we need.”
“Sounds good,” Simon responded. He got up from his chair and glanced over at Jennifer sitting on the couch
. Her eyes seemed to carry with them an invigorated appreciation of her father’s work. The aspirations he conveyed came across as grand, the kind that would follow him long after Cameron Osborne left. She imagined them accompanying him in every space he occupied.
The moment washed over Simon like a gift, a treasure to which he had long lost the coordinates. In Jennifer’s expression he felt the warmth of a child’s pride in their parent. It poured into his soul with an eagerness to fill a void left abandoned for years. As fulfilling as the feeling was, it was soon interrupted by one of Osborne’s staff. Simon’s attention was refocused on the mic being removed from his lapel.
He stepped beyond a few lighting devices and joined Jennifer at her side, asking: “What did you think?” He then plopped himself down beside her. The flat screen in front of them was paused and muted, but a small picture in picture newscast streamed live in the top right corner. “You’re a natural, Dad,” Jennifer said.
Cameron walked over, leaving a primping make-up artist behind. Talking to family members always helped to round out his interviewee. “Your father says you’re majoring in Biological Science?”
Jennifer had dressed for the occasion. A yellow sleeveless blouse topped a pair of beige pleated pants. “I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?” She agreed.
Jennifer was happy to exchange a few more niceties, but their conversation was suddenly suspended when Simon’s attention was drawn to the small-sized newscast. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but would you mind if I had a look at this?” Simon quickly used the remote to reverse the picture in picture and unmute the TV. It was a live ‘Breaking News’ broadcast on Osborne’s network.
The audio came alive just as the studio news anchor turned the story over to their onsite reporter. “What can you tell us about this unscheduled press conference, Angela?”
“Well, I’m standing here in the press room of the SEC’s New York Office, where, once again, we will soon be hearing of yet another set of indictments handed down by its new Regional Director, Steven Phelps.”
As Simon, Jennifer and Cameron Osborne looked on with interest, the studio news anchor waded in further. “So these Saturday news conferences are becoming a bit of a trademark for Director Phelps. Presumably the timing thereof is to allow the markets to absorb any fallout before Monday’s opening. Is there anything you can tell us beyond that?”
“All we know at this point, Shelley, is that since Director Phelps took over the helm here, this SEC office has been the most prolific in the country when it comes to criminal prosecutions. I’m told another dozen or so files have recently been handed over to the Justice Department. Having said that, I also understand the one we will be hearing about today could be their highest profile case to date.”
“Thank you, Angela,” the Anchor stated, “we’re going to have to come back to you later. We’ve just received word the briefing is about to begin. Alright, we’re going back to the SEC’s New York Office.”
With that report, the screen was filled by a podium emblazoned by the SEC’s logo. In moments, Allan Forbes emerged from behind a curtain and presented himself at the mic. “Thank you everyone for coming in on a Saturday. My name is Allan Forbes. I am an investigator with the SEC’s Enforcement Division and I promise to be as brief as possible. I’m sure you all want to get back to enjoying this lovely weekend.” He glanced at a few notes and then looked out over an audience containing nearly a dozen journalists. “As we all know, this SEC office resides within the heart of our nation’s financial network. And while that fact alone might account for why it is the most active in the country, I can assure you, it is only one of several mitigating factors.”
“This office has been given a newly defined mandate to aggressively pursue the perpetrators of financial crime. Resources, both internal and external, are being deployed like never before. As a result, we are dramatically improving the financial stability from which every economy, every sovereign nation prospers. To further elaborate on today’s contribution to that unending pursuit, I will now pass the podium over to the Director of the New York District Office, a man who is has been earning the respect of the financial community for many years, Director Steven Phelps.”
As Allan stepped away from the mic, Director Phelps emerged from the same adjacent corridor. He quickly assumed control of the briefing. “Again, thank you, ladies and gentlemen for coming in today. And thank you, Allan Forbes, for that introduction. After announcing the details pertaining to this investigation, I will be happy to take a few questions.”
Phelps pulled a piece of paper from his coat’s breast pocket. “The indictments handed down here today all pertain to the financial institution presently known as Equity FX, EFX on the Dow Jones. I can say at this time that several arrest warrants are being executed as I speak to you this afternoon. And while it is seldom the purview of this office to go after investors who have found themselves inadvertent accomplices to a crime, this particular case presented us with a level of majority shareholder complicity that could not be ignored. It is therefore the recommendation of this office that additional warrants be issued for the Chairman of Equity FX, one Praveen Gill. Consequently, trading has been halted on all entities of which he holds a majority share. Those being Equity FX and Gen Tech Enterprises.”
“In addition, it would be remiss of me not to mention that, as a result of the full cooperation of Indian authorities, funds which have flowed illegally into that country have been seized with the hope of repatriating those assets. It is our hope they will be reunited with their rightful owners in due course. And finally, as a demonstration of this office’s far-reaching powers, my Indian counterpart has assured me that trading has also been suspended on Indi Pharm until further notice.”
Steven Phelps looked up from the podium and asked: “Now, are there any questions?”
The small group watching the press conference from Simon’s apartment were stunned. Cameron was the first to speak. “Wow! They’re going after Gill himself.”
Simon looked somewhat surprised. “I didn’t expect it would all come together that quickly.”
Cameron and Jennifer both looked at Simon and, judging by his comment, they wondered if Sophia was the external resource mentioned by Forbes.
Still moored in the Manhattan harbour, Prav Gill was aboard his luxury yacht, The Auspicious. While having an afternoon Scotch, he too had just witnessed the same conference on the large, fore-wall flat screen of his mid-deck lounge. He stood at the bar, motionless. His two female associates sat close by, their eyes looking away.
Coming alive on a wave of rage, Prav hurled his ice-filled glass across the room. The crystal tumbler came to a clinking, bouncing halt just as he grasped his phone. Using its intercom feature, he hailed his Captain. “Driscoll,” he bellowed.
In only seconds, a response. “Yes, sir.”
The blood vessels in Prav’s face appeared ready to burst as he blasted into the phone: “Prepare to cast-off!”