Джозеф Файндер - The Switch

“Yeah,” he said when a guy answered, young sounding and with a nasal voice. “I’ve got a MacBook Air and I forgot my password. Can you guys crack into it?”

“Uh... is it a new machine?”

It certainly looked new, but maybe it was just well cared for. He couldn’t admit he didn’t know. “Yeah, pretty new. Does that make a difference?”

“Well, what operating system is on there?”

“Looks up-to-date.”

“The new Apple operating system, you can’t crack into it. It’s like the iPhone. Can’t do it. Used to be, you could do a password reset, but not with the new system.”

“Oh.” There was a sharp knock at the door, and then it opened. The boss. No one else would just barge in. Sure enough, she entered, closed the door behind her, and stood with arms folded. The appropriations committee meeting must have just gotten out.

“Do you have it backed up?” the specialist said on the phone. “We can wipe the machine and restore it to factory fresh.”

“No, I don’t have it backed up.”

“Then I don’t know what to tell you. Can’t be done. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” he said, and disconnected.

Susan said, “The laptop?”

Will nodded. “I thought it would be easy to crack the password, but it’s not.”

“You weren’t just talking to Carlos, or whatever his name is, our IT guy, were you?”

“No, an outside repair place on the Hill.”

“Good. I don’t want to use our in-house guy. People talk.”

“Ahead of you on that.”

“Can this place do it?”

He shook his head. “But there’s got to be a way. I just don’t know it. Maybe we should tell the Senate Security Office what happened.”

“Are you kidding, Will? And set off a whole investigation? No, thanks.”

“You’re right.”

“Morty has a guy he says is really good. Some Russian or something. Supposed to be a genius. I think he’s in DC.”

Morton Nathanson was a real estate tycoon, a billionaire, and Susan’s biggest donor.

“I don’t know about bringing someone else in. If it gets out—”

“Morty is the most secretive guy I know. If he uses this guy, he’s guaranteed to be discreet.”

Will hesitated. It sounded like a bad idea to him. “Well, of course, we could go that way. Absolutely. But—”

“We’re going that way,” Susan said. “Is that a problem for you?”

“I mean, obviously we want to keep this thing maximally siloed, and—”

Susan gave Will her famous over-the-reading-glasses death-ray stare. “Is that a problem for you?”

“I’m on it,” Will said.

Robert Runkel, the CFO of Tanner Roast, was a good-hearted mesomorph, a pear-shaped, ruddy-cheeked man of around forty who wore black nerd glasses unironically. His glasses would have looked hipster cool on Elvis Costello, or Gregory Peck as Atticus Finch, but on him they only exaggerated his nerd persona. He was the only Tanner Roast employee who wore a suit and tie. Most people took one look at him and saw only a dork, but Tanner got his quiet, dry sense of humor, even enjoyed the way he unabashedly geeked out on Star Trek. It was kind of adorable. There was a good heart there. Plus, he was an extremely able accountant.

“How would you feel about going for a walk?” Runkel said.

“That serious, huh?”

Runkel nodded.

“I’d love a walk.”

It was a small office, and everyone heard everything.

When they were on the street, Runkel said, “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

“It’s your job, man.”

“We’re not going to meet payroll next month.”

“So we take out another loan.” They walked past a pudgy middle-aged guy with a mustache who was replacing a broken window in the brick building on the corner. “ Como vai? ” Tanner said to the guy. “ Tudo bem? ”

“Hey, how you doin’, Mr. Tanner?” the man said in heavily accented English, lighting up.

Runkel went on. “That’s the problem. We’ve maxed out our line of credit. And here’s the bad part.”

“That wasn’t the bad part?”

“Our line of credit has what’s called ‘covenants.’ We’re in violation of the terms and conditions of our line of credit. That means the bank wants their money paid back in full by the end of the year.”

“Not possible, and you know it. What about all those private equity guys who were circling us last year, wanted to invest with us?”

“Sure. I give ’em a call, they’ll happily invest with us, but that’s gonna mean handing over the company to them. It won’t be yours anymore. Then there’s our friends from Kiev.”

“The Ukrainians?”

“Right. Those scary Ukrainian ‘private equity’ guys will lend us money at fifteen percent interest and they’ll take two board seats and charge a stiff management fee, like half a million bucks, and control most of the decisions we make.”

“Meaning they’ll own it.”

“For all intents and purposes. If you take their money, it will not end well.”

“Okay.”

“You don’t want to cross them; that’s for sure. One of them — this guy with a big stake in some confectionery business, I think — he was telling me about some fight they had with a competitor. He threatened them. Said, ‘You kill my dog, I kill your cat.’ At least, that’s how the interpreter put it. They don’t play.”

“How about we just stop paying my salary for a month?”

“That won’t come close to covering payroll. We also need to reduce, uh, head count.”

“‘Head count,’ huh?” Tanner said. He wasn’t ready to fire people, or lay them off, or whatever. Not yet. He shook his head.

“I know, I know. It’s not ‘head count’; it’s people. I see numbers; you see people. I get it. I mean, it’s great. It’s wonderful. It’s a beautiful thing. But it’s lousy business.”

They came to the end of the block and stood there for a while on the corner near the lock-and-safe company. “Don’t get me wrong,” Runkel said. “I have beaucoup respect for you. It’s like... that guy you said hi to just now? I must have walked past him a thousand times, and he looks kinda familiar, but you wanna know the truth? I don’t see him. I barely even notice he exists.”

Puzzled, Tanner said, “You mean Joaquim?”

“Oh Christ, you even know his goddamned name?”

Tanner shrugged. “He’s the handyman for the building next door. Great guy. Anyway, when the Four Seasons deal is inked, we’ll be fine.”

“When’s that going to happen?”

“Any day now.”

“It’s not money in the bank.”

“It’s happening. In the meantime, I can mortgage my house.”

“What? Who does that? You can’t do that!”

“It’s my house.”

“No, you’re not going to do that. That’s insane. I mean, it’s beautiful, sure, but that’s the whole point of a corporation — limited liability. So when a company fails, it doesn’t drag the CEO down with it.”

“Yeah, well, this captain goes down with the ship.”

Appalled, Runkel shook his head, eyes wide. “I’m— I’m speechless.”

Tanner smiled. “Can I hold you to that?”

Will was editing a press release in his office, door closed, when his intercom buzzed.

“Send him in,” he said.

The Russian guy had arrived more quickly than Will expected. He could see him through the glass panel in the door. He got up, opened the door, extended a hand.

The Russian gave him a limp handshake. He didn’t look like a hacker. He was too well dressed, in a charcoal suit and expensive-looking tie. He had jet-black hair, combed straight back. He looked to be in his early thirties. He had the pointy face of a rat, narrow brown eyes, a pronounced overbite, a receding chin.