Page 42 of The Revenge Game
I can’t play any pranks on Justin when he’s trying to earn money to help his mom.
I’ll just temporarily pause the whole thing until he’s back from the trade show.
It might be time to consider pulling the plug on this whole revenge program before it crashes completely.
I rake my fingers through my hair until it likely resembles a hedgehog having a bad hair day.
A memory sweeps into my head. The day I wore the T-shirt my sister had given me for Christmas, that statedComputers Do It With More Bits. Justin’s friends spent the entire lunch periodmaking increasingly crude jokes about my “bits” until I rushed to the restroom to change into my gym clothes.
I never wore that shirt again.
The thing is, I’m not sure if I’m completely ready to hit ctrl+alt+delete on my feelings about the past.
On Thursday, it’s a relief to go to work knowing Justin will be away for the next week.
It gives me a break from the internal struggle I seem to be having with my conscience about the whole revenge thing.
And I’m still really enjoying my job.
It’s refreshing to simply help people recover lost files and explain why downloading suspicious attachments isn’t a great life choice.
Even Adam constantly bombarding me with helpful training tips about NovaCore’s system optimization and second-guessing every decision I make can’t spoil my good mood.
I left a spare key for Leo with the superintendent of the building, and when I arrive home from work, I find him sprawled on my couch with his feet up on my coffee table, surrounded by empty takeout containers from nearly every restaurant within delivery distance.
“You know, when most tech moguls have a midlife crisis, they buy a yacht or try to colonize Mars,” Leo observes in his usual dry tone. “But you go full method actor and recreate a Best Buy employee’s first apartment. Interesting choice.”
To furnish my apartment, I used an agency called Zenith, which provides all kinds of services to the uber-rich, from fakedates to specialized dog walkers who ensure your pure-bred poodle only socializes with other dogs of appropriate net worth.
And the great thing about Zenith is they are completely discreet, so they didn’t ask why I wanted them to decorate the apartment appropriately for a guy in his mid-twenties in an entry-level IT job.
There’s the obligatory gaming console, IKEA bookcases filled with computer manuals, and a framed vintageStar Warsposter on the wall. The coffee table even has carefully cultivated water rings, like someone took sandpaper to create the illusion of actual use.
“I always like to be different,” I say as I flop down on the couch next to him. “Besides, I’m too young to have a proper midlife crisis.”
“When you said you were going undercover, I pictured something more James Bond, not whatever this IKEA witness protection program thing is,” Leo says.
“Hey, IKEA’s great for hiding in plain sight. No one is ever going to suspect the guy with a BILLY bookcase of being an evil genius plotting revenge,” I say lightly.
When I glance over at him, Leo’s staring back at me evaluatively. Even jet-lagged, he carries himself with that natural authority that made venture capitalists take us seriously when we were just starting out. His height and dark good looks helped sell the image of success before we actually achieved it.
And I’m very familiar with that look he’s giving me now.
The thing is, Leo was with me for my evolution from a nervous kid who could barely handle investor meetings to someone who could meet with Silicon Valley’s elite without breaking a sweat.
He’s seen me through every crisis our company faced, from servers crashing at three a.m. to venture capitalists trying to steal our source code. He was there when I stress-coded forseventy-two hours straight during our first major launch, force-feeding me and eventually hiding my keyboard until I slept.
“Come on,” he says, getting to his feet.
I blink at him. “What? You want to go somewhere?”
“I’m still jet-lagged as fuck. I need some fresh air if I have any hope of sleeping tonight. You can show me some of London while you tell me what’s been going on.”
“Okay,” I agree.
We end up in Trafalgar Square.
It’s a place that seems to sum up the contradictions of humanity. The classical columns of the National Gallery loom over protesters with hand-painted signs. Perfectly groomed office workers stream past street performers painted gold.
