“You told me you were planning a major move to try to stop the completion of the Looking Glass.”
Desmond studied her, wondering if she was telling him the truth. Was she really his ally and confidante?
He was about to question her, but Peyton asked, “What happened to the reporter?”
“Conner’s men took his fiancée hostage to get to me,” Desmond said. “It worked. They interrupted our meeting and captured me shortly after. I think it’s safe to assume the reporter’s out of play.”
“What is the Looking Glass?” Peyton asked.
“I don’t know. He didn’t either.” Desmond looked at Avery. “Do you know?”
She glanced back at him. “No. I never found out.”
Desmond sensed she was holding back. Was it because Peyton was there? Or was there another reason?
“Did I know what it was?” Desmond asked.
“Definitely,” Avery replied. “In fact, I believe your work was essential to completing the Looking Glass. Your piece was the last component they needed.”
“Conner suggested as much, when he questioned me on the ship,” Desmond said. “Both he and the reporter told me that there were three components: Rook, Rendition, and Rapture. Conner said I had been in charge of Rendition, but I have no memory of it.” He paused. “I have seen all of those names, though: they’re companies my investment firm, Icarus Capital, funded.”
“I think another one of your investments may be involved too,” Peyton said. “The first cases of the outbreak in Mandera were Americans—two men who had recently graduated from college. They were in Kenya to launch a nonprofit startup called CityForge. Icarus Capital funded them. In fact, the two young men had dinner with you. They said it was very eye-opening.”
“How so?”
“They were impressed, described you as larger than life.”
Desmond saw a curious smile form on Avery’s face, but she said nothing.
Peyton continued, unaware. “They said you were into some major next-generation projects and that you believed humanity was on the cusp of extinction.”
“Why?”
“The absence of space junk.”
“Space junk? As in…”
“Interstellar probes. Relics from alien civilizations before us, from around the universe. They said you told them the moon should be an interstellar junkyard, covered with crashed probes and satellites, yet we’ve found nothing.”
“I don’t understand,” Desmond said.
“They didn’t either. Neither do I.”
Desmond leaned forward, silently asking Avery if she knew.
“Hey, space junk isn’t really my department,” she said, eliciting a quiet laugh from Desmond and an annoyed expression from Peyton.
“So what is your department, Avery?” Desmond asked. “How do we know each other?”
Avery hesitated. Desmond got the impression she was asking him whether it was okay for her to answer in front of Peyton.
“We’re laying all our cards on the table here,” he said.
Avery nodded. “Okay.”
Chapter 69
Avery began her story with some background. She had been raised in North Carolina and attended college there, majoring in computer science and minoring in two foreign languages: German and Chinese. During her senior year, she was invited to interview with a new venture capital firm called Rubicon Ventures. It was located just off I-40, in an older low-rise building in Research Triangle Park. The office was small, the decorations spartan, most of the walls bare. Her first impression was of a boiler room operation set up overnight, not an established company. She pegged it as a fledgling venture destined to fold, and she had already decided to pass on the offer when the young woman at the reception desk showed her into a conference room.
A middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair sat at the table, a closed folder in front of him. He introduced himself as David Ward, and said, “Don’t mind the digs, we put all of our money into our work.”
To Avery’s surprise, he asked no questions. He seemed to already know everything about her. He told her that her unique combination of skills—languages and computer science—would be invaluable to their work. He added that her winning record on UNC’s tennis team was also a plus. That made her curious—just curious enough to ask what sort of work she’d be doing.
“Due diligence,” he replied.
She’d never heard the phrase, which he quickly defined. She’d be researching the startup companies Rubicon Ventures was considering investing in. He said they were high-tech companies with novel products, capable of changing the world.
“You’d be traveling a lot. Meeting with founders and executives to hear their pitches and gather information.”
It sounded utterly boring to her. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do after college, but she now knew it wasn’t “due diligence.”
As if reading her mind, David said, “You wouldn’t be doing it because you like the work.”
“Why would I be doing it?”
“For the money.”
That got her attention. Lately, she’d been doing a lot of things she didn’t want to do—for the money.
He pushed a paper across the table. It was face down. She picked it up, read the job offer. A very strict non-disclosure. A non-compete. And a sum that raised her eyebrows.
“If you decide this isn’t for you, Avery, you can quit at any time.”
She had grown up on a farm in North Carolina—a farm her family had lost to the bank three years before. Her father had always told her not to look a gift horse in the mouth. She was certain that the job offer she was staring at was exactly that: a gift horse. It was too much money—for work she wasn’t really qualified to do. Something was wrong here.
Despite her father’s advice, she looked up, and with three words, she looked the gift horse in the mouth. “What’s the catch?”
Her host broke into a smile. “Very good, Miss Price. You’ve just passed our job interview.”