A Short Story
August 2022
Matt Hartley | 25 Minute Read | Volume 1. Issue 3.
Matt Hartley
25 Minute Read
Volume 1. Issue 3.
The firm spared no expense on the partner summit.
The soaring ballroom sat 23 stories above downtown Portland. Vaulted windows gave on to postcard views of Mount Hood and the greater Columbia basin. Welcoming afternoon light cast a golden aura across the floor while employees mingled in elegant greys and blues and blacks. The occasional red-vested waiter, drink tray in hand, bobbed his way through the crowd like a buoy at sea.
Will surveyed the room and sipped a whiskey.
Partnership. He’d spent the last two years ensuring his name would be called when the firm announced the three new promotions this afternoon. It had been a hell of a two years. Proposal after proposal. Networking events after work. Three hour drives up to Seattle. Then back to Portland. Then back to Seattle. Then his girlfriend of five years left him. She’d gotten him that pet bunny, believing it would salvage their deteriorating relationship. Then of course he’d slept at his office for a week and forgotten to feed the damn thing, and then came home from work and it was belly up. That was the last straw. Literally for the bunny. Anyways, it was all about to be worth it. It was his turn. Now he’d have someone to draft proposals. And do the last-minute drive up to Seattle. And kill a bunny out of negligence.
A burst of laughter from a nearby group interrupted his daydream.
“So, my dog is puking on the floor, and my future mother-in-law has literally just walked in…” Martin said to a raucous crowd.
Of course he was, Will thought. Golden boy Martin, always glad-handing people. Always trying to charm his way to the top. Still, his popularity might prove beneficial. He could be a worthwhile account manager under his control as a partner. Hell, even a pawn has a use in chess. Martin was staring back at him. How long had he been staring?
An announcement came over the speakers, “Good afternoon and welcome to Accelera’s annual senior summit. Please remember to avoid the Washington street exit on your way home tonight. The police have notified us more protests are expected. We’ll begin in five minutes.”
Final drinks and pleasantries were exchanged then the crowd shuffled to a stage with rows of chairs facing the c-suite executives. They filed in like penguins and listened attentively as the leaders monologued, each one trying to outperform the last in their remarks.
Will was lost in daydreams about being a partner when suddenly the lights dimmed. Then a synthesizer kicked on over the speakers, a layer of fog spread, and spotlights circled the stage like mosquitoes.
“Anddd now…ladies and gentlemen…please put your hands together for CEO…Jaaackk Woods!”
Then the Space Jam theme came on, “Y’all ready for this…”, and CEO Jack jogged onto the stage throwing punches in the air to the beat of the music. Jack snagged the mic and twirled to face the crowd.
"Welcome! Colleagues, employees, and subjects! That last one was a joke.” He laughed to himself. “But seriously, welcome to this year’s partner summit!”
Obligatory applause followed.
“Each year, we get the Accelera family together and reflect on where we’ve been, where we are, and where we’re going. Sort of like a Bob Dylan song, right?” He laughed again. “But anyways, one of the ways we do that is by announcing our newest partners in the firm. The journey to partner is a grueling one – I should know, I did it – and some of you, unfortunately, won’t be selected. And for those who aren’t, I want you to remember that you’re still lucky. First off, you’re damn lucky to be an American. We all are. But secondly, you’re lucky to be with a great firm. People say it’s easier to get into Harvard than work for this firm. I didn’t make that up, that’s what they say. So keep that in mind, keep your head up, and remember our new trademarked motto, ‘Accleracity!’”
Sporadic claps rippled through the audience.
“Why acceleracity? Well because it’s the combination of accelerate and tenacity. We want to accelerate past the competition and face each day with tenacity. You get it. Anyways, without further ado, I’d like to announce this year’s class of new partners!”
Will fidgeted with his suit and straightened his tie, his heart pounding in his ears. Jack called the first name. Then another. One more. The pounding grew louder.
“Our final partner is someone who has done an outstanding job this year. Someone I consider to be a bit of a protégé. Please join me in congratulating our final selection…”
Will started to stand.
“…Martin Swanson!”
The crowd erupted as Martin feigned shock and stepped to the front to shake Jack’s hand.
“Don’t let his dog near you!” someone shouted to a roar of laughter.
“I told you that in confidence, Jeff!” Martin fired back grinning.
Jack was talking. Martin was beaming. Will was stunned. Martin? Martin, who blew the Nike partnership? Martin, who was the first to leave the office everyday? Martin, who called IT to tell them his computer wasn’t working only to find out his mouse was unplugged?
The crowd dispersed to myriad conversations across the ballroom. Employees congregated around Martin barking like seals as they celebrated his promotion. Will’s mind was in a fog, barely registering what others were saying. He couldn’t stomach looking in Martin’s direction. He found himself alone at the bar slamming down a shot of Tequila. Then Bob, a rotund and dull manager from Supply Chain, sat down to join him. The last man Will wanted to see.
“Tough night,” Bob said.
Will grunted.
“Look, I get it. You don’t want to talk with me right now, but I’ve got something that I think will help.” Bob glanced around warily, then produced a business card and slipped it into Will’s breast pocket.
His voice dropped to just above a whisper, “They really helped me out with my divorce. Saved me a ton of money and I got the kids. I think they can take care of you with this whole partner situation,” Bob said, winking, as if he’d done Will a favor.
Will pulled the card out. An icon depicting some sort of Greek philosopher with statue-like pupil-less eyes sat on a field of white. The stoic gaze bore into him. Fable LLC. He turned to ask what it was, but Bob was gone.
Will woke the next morning to a
raging hangover and desperately hoped the prior night’s events had been a nightmare. A quick scan of his phone confirmed they weren’t. He crushed six aspirin and sent a message to his team letting them know he’d be taking a sick day.
He mustered the strength to get a coffee started and noticed the business card sitting on the kitchen counter. He picked it up. The same logo with the transfixed stare. He flipped it over.
Fable LLC, social media intelligence and branding
– Chad Harris, President/Owner.
Why had he held on to it? Bob wasn’t exactly a go-to mind when it came to market knowledge but something about the card drew him in. He had a pretty good mental rolodex of the various advertising and media firms in the Portland region, and he’d never heard of Fable. Social media intelligence – that was a new one.
He sat at his desk, nursing his coffee, and searched for the company online. Nothing. Did he misspell the name? He glanced at the card verifying his entry was correct. There was a number on the back but no website. What kind of a branding company didn’t have a website? Not a good one, he thought to himself. Still…
He dialed the number into his phone.
“Fable, this is Ashley. How may I help you?”
“Uh…yeah...Hi, this is Will Forrester. I received your card from a colleague and wanted to ask about your services. He thought you might be able to help me with some issues I’m working through. I couldn’t find your website.”
“Absolutely Mr. Forrester and thank you for calling us. For any prospective customers we generally start with a survey. If you provide an email, I can send it over now.”
She’d blown past his website comment, but he gave her an email and the conversation ended. A few minutes later, a new message appeared in his inbox containing a form.
Why was he doing this? Because he had nothing better to do. Because he couldn’t stomach going back into the office and seeing those smirks. Those knowing looks.
He opened the form, read, then checked the box labeled “Personal Brand Management” – assuming this was the offering Bob was referring to – and stared at the first subject.
Describe your goals:
Promotion to senior partner, he typed.
Describe the obstacles or adversaries in the way of your goals:
Adversary? That was a bit direct – he’d never seen that or at least never that specific in a branding consultation. Well, what the hell? He typed a quick line detailing Martin’s coronation as partner over him.
He proceeded through the remaining 10 questions and found himself spilling his guts about his frustration with the firm. He hadn’t meant to, but typing out his anger was therapeutic, and it poured out of him like beer from a tap. An hour later, he was in his car, heading towards their office in Beaverton for an 11:00 a.m. appointment. He’d tried to coordinate a phone call but they were oddly insistent on meeting in person. His curiosity piqued, he acquiesced and departed his depressing apartment.
His car wound through the approach street, bordered by douglas firs and the occasional red alder. It had a secluded ambiance and felt far removed from his place, despite being a mere 15-minute drive. He peered through the thick green leaves and could just make out fragments of “F A B L E” etched in gold on the side of the building. He parked, then exited his car, glancing around nervously as if rendezvousing for a drug deal.
Well, at least it exists.
He entered an elegant lobby with vaulted ceilings and a rock-based waterfall lining the right wall. It felt like he’d wandered into a luxurious hotel on the Vegas strip, not a residential neighborhood in Portland. Ashley, a striking brunette, greeted, then escorted him to an office upstairs, her heels clicking as they walked.
“Chad, your 11 o’clock’s here.”
“Thanks Ashley. Mr. Forrester come on in! I was just reviewing your survey and some preliminary analysis we’ve been doing.”
The man was tall with a dark beard and a perfectly tailored black suit. A plaque sat on his desk that looked like some sort of military symbology. Special Forces? Will shook his outstretched hand and masked a wince. Chad gripped like a gorilla.
“So, let’s get to business. I know our process can be a bit opaque, but I can assure you it’s all designed to maximize value for our clients. Thanks for making the drive, meeting in person is a non-negotiable for us. I mean, can you really trust someone with your business until you’ve looked them in the eye? For us, a quality fit is so much better than pure quantity. Fortunately, I think your case is ideal for what we offer. From what I gather from your survey–” he glanced at a sheet of paper in front of him “–Martin, charmed the right people, the decision makers at Accelera, and vaulted over you into the partner selection, right?”
“More or less.” Had he provided too much detail? Chad seemed confident enough.
“You found out the hard way Martin was kicking your ass in the brand management game. But that’s where we come in. At Fable, we monitor, anticipate, and influence narratives. The type of narratives that get someone promoted. Will, if you partner with us, were here to make sure the right narratives take hold and ensure that someone like Martin, doesn’t get the partner nod if they haven’t earned it.”
“It’s a little late for that.”
Chad shook his head.
“All that can remedied. Our campaign will be exclusively focused on you replacing Martin as the new partner. We don’t achieve that, full refund on us. We’re going to ensure your firm starts seeing him as a risk.”
“And how exactly do you propose doing that?”
Chad typed a command on his keyboard and gestured to a screen embedded in the side wall of his office. Will was looking at a video of himself. Then he spoke.
“Hi Will, I’m Aesop, Fable’s AI platform. I use machine learning techniques such as Generative Adversarial Networks to produce synthetic media. I can create text and articles up to 1500 words. I’m also capable of producing video and images. I’ve been trained to mimic the prose of John Steinbeck, Kurt Vonnegut, and Margaret Atwood. I can also mirror the styles of popular columnists such as David Brooks and Ezra Klein. I currently have a hundred author profiles in my inventory.”
Will sat dumbfounded.
“Pretty cool, isn’t it? Aesop generated that video after we pulled some images from your social media pages.”
Aesop now displayed a network graphic on one-half of the screen and continued in Will’s form and voice, “Over the past hour, I’ve analyzed Martin Swanson’s network and social media activity. Initial collection indicates Martin is a high-net worth individual who holds conservative political views. He has robust social media networks where he is highly influential within his personal and work communities. Martin Swanson has indicated sympathy for increased law enforcement pressure amidst the ongoing protests…” What was the legality of this? He’d seen AI systems before. Accelera had a few NLP models they were developing but this was something else.
“Alright, alright, turn it off. That thing, Aesop, it’s creeping me out. Look, Chad, I’m not sure about this. I mean I appreciate the demonstration, but is this legal? No offense, but where did you even get this technology?”
“Perception is reality Will. And right now, the perception at Accelera is that Martin was a better fit for partner. Now, you can remain passive, wait for things to happen to you, or you can take the initiative and start making things happen for you.”
“But regarding any concerns you have about your privacy I can assure you we take that seriously, hence the in-person visit and lack of a public website. We’re entirely referral based. Only a professional digital forensics team could tell Aeosp’s work was AI generated and it would take them some time. You can rest assured…”
What was he doing here? Was this smart? Well, it was a little smart. It was actually pretty damn smart when he thought about it. Right? He was finally taking matters into his own hands. God helps those who help themselves. He was pretty sure that was in the Bible somewhere.
“…just remember Will, the longer you wait the more–”
Will held up a hand.
“I’m in. Talk me through this.”
“Excellent. We’re already working on prompts for Aesop and have an initial campaign plan started. A little refinement, and Aesop will take it from there. Seeding the narrative is the lion’s share of the work but once it takes, you get to sit back and enjoy the fireworks.”
He’d wasted years doing it by the book. Fireworks, he liked the sound of that.
On Monday, Will Returned to
work with a sense of renewed energy. He struggled to pay attention during his morning meetings and scanned email relentlessly. Where was it? Then, it appeared. The firm posted their congratulatory message confirming the three new partners, Martin shined like a benevolent saint on one side of the email.
He pivoted to Scuttle – the anonymous message board employees used to post their raw reactions on the latest developments in the firm, always good for a few laughs and the ground opinion from the masses – and clicked on a page titled, “New Partners.”
“Congrats! Martin’s the best”
“Great job Martin!”
He scrolled through the feed reading numerous comments to similar affect. Then he saw it.
“That guy? I was in a meeting with that dude and he was raving about how the police need to be more aggressive with the protestors.”
A few more down the page.
“Martin’s a creep. He hit on me at work. Typical of the firm to promote another white male.”
His eyes feasted as Aesop’s fake personas posted disparaging comments throughout the message board. It was subtle, not completely flooding the channel but giving just enough reaction to cast doubt on the promotion. The negative comments started gaining likes and traction, rising in the “most popular” column off to the side. It was working!
He remained glued to the Scuttle page for the rest of the day. The tone continued to slide from upbeat to uncertain as more of Aesop’s messages posted. Were some of these actual people? Less and less “congratulations” could be seen on the page.
But then it fizzled. A few days passed and he heard nothing more. He called Chad.
“What’s going on? Was that it? Just a few comments on a message board?”
“Aesop’s just doing some analysis. We can’t rush it all out remember? To be legitimate it needs to be methodical, it takes time to gain traction on these things.”
“I paid damn good money for this!”
Chad laughed.
“Easy, tiger. Glad to see some fight in you. Give it time and keep your eyes open.”
The next day, Will received an email that contained a link to an op-ed from The Portland Chronicle.
“Accelera Firm Promotes Advocate for Police Brutality.”
Last week, the Pacific Northwest’s premier consulting firm promoted a known advocate for police brutality to its partner ranks. The decision came despite the wave of protests that have hit Portland in recent months. Martin Swanson has reportedly encouraged police violence in back-room conversations against the large homeless population within the city. Due to the influential role Accelera has played advising Portland’s police force, reports surrounding Swanson have raised eyebrows from those of us who consider…
Will read it three times, underlining lines like “white-collar slave driver.” Pure gold. A right hook to Martin’s beautiful chin. What if he printed a copy and stuck it in the break room? Ha!
He switched over to the Scuttle message boards and saw a new page at the top of the list, “Martin Swanson.” He clicked in. The op-ed had quickly circulated.
“I can’t believe it.”
“Knew there was something wrong with that guy.”
How many of these were Aesop-generated vs. actual employees? Might some be legit at this point?
A day later, he received an invite for a senior leader’s meeting. CEO Jack Woods would be in attendance. On the day of the gathering, he filed into a back corner and took a seat. Could this be a public reprimand? He eyed Martin, sitting near the head of the table and looking paler then normal. There was no gregarious tale of dog vomit or laughter this time. Jack cleared his throat.
“I want to thank everyone for coming today. I know you’re busy, believe me, I’m busy too, imagine what my day is like. But anyways, I think it’s important we address the issue at hand and get our leaders on the same page.”
“As many of you are aware, one of our new partners has come under attack in an op-ed that has received significant publicity. I’m also aware of rumors that have circulated within our firm concerning this same individual.”
Jack stood and placed a hand on Martin’s shoulder who sat rigid in his chair.
“Let me make this abundantly clear to all of you. Martin is a member of the Accelera family, which means he’s like one of my kids. Not literally, but metaphorically. And in this metaphor, I’m the head of the family, I’m like papa bear, and if you mess with one of the cubs, you’re going to get papa bear, you get me? Papa bear is not going to stand by while someone tries to come into the den and mess with one of the cubs...”
Confused faces filled the room.
“…to put it more plainly, plainlier? Planelier, I’m not going to let some columnist slander his name with baseless claims. Martin’s barely been involved with our PD account…” Jack said, now looking at Martin to confirm this was actually true.
“…And as for these damn rumors I continue to see populating on these message boards or hear snickered in our hallways, you need to squash them out. I will not tolerate the gossip…”
They weren’t even going to investigate this? He departed incensed at the ineptitude then relayed the episode to Chad.
“It’s not working! I’m telling you, we need to get more aggressive. I mean what the hell are you guys doing with my money over there?”
“You don’t win the war in a single battle, Will. But we can certainly ramp it up if that’s what you want. Give me a few days.”
A week passed. Nothing happened. He was about to call Chad to demand his refund when he saw the homepage of The Chronicle.
“We need to stamp them out!”
New audio and video records show Martin Swanson, a partner at Accelera LLC, repeatedly tried to influence the Portland Police Department to take violent action against the homeless.
Under the header was a video. Will clicked play. Martin paced like an agitated animal around a conference room. The camera was angled upwards, discreetly recording from someone’s lap.
“They piss in our streets, they camp in our yards, and now they won’t leave. If they want to act like animals, we should treat them like animals!” Martin said, slamming his palm on a table.
Now that, was more like it. That was the type of intensity they should have used from the start. Why did he have to do everyone’s job for them? He scrolled to the bottom of the page and surveyed the reaction. It was a hornet's nest of angry comments. It was rage. He’d love to see them try to keep Martin as partner now.
He walked to the breakroom to refill his coffee mug, whistling as he poured. Then Bob entered grinning.
What did that lard want? He didn’t have time for senseless chit-chat. Will pretended not to notice him but Bob walked up and slapped a meaty paw on his back causing the coffee to splatter on the counter.
“I just got finished reading a very interesting article on The Chronicle,” Bob said beaming. “Sounds like you took old Bob up on his advice.”
Will’s anger at the spilled coffee evaporated as he was plunged into ice cold water.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t,” Bob said. He slapped Will’s back a second time, more coffee splashing over the rim of Will’s mug, then whispered, “Glad the tables have turned.”
Bob exited the break room whistling a tune of his own.
"Take him!"
Martin confronted him, adamantly waving The Chronicle article in a clenched fist while jabbing Will in the chest. Police wielding billy clubs seized him by the arms, Bob whistled in a corner, and CEO Jack shook his head mumbling something about papa bear as they hauled him from the office.
Will woke. He stared at the neon green 2:00 A.M. on his clock to reassure himself.
What was he doing? This campaign against Martin had gone too far. What if they traced it back to him? People wrote moronic op-eds all the time but a front-page article and a video was crossing the Rubicon. But maybe it was real? Maybe Martin actually had harbored a hatred towards the homeless. Hadn’t Aesop found some info in the preliminary analysis that he was pro-law enforcement? Wasn’t that the whole impetus for the campaign? Maybe he was doing a public service here. He’d always known Martin was a man of poor character. He was just revealing it. He was just protecting the firm’s reputation. He was helping the city. Using Aesop was worthwhile, noble even.
Will’s justifications collapsed inwardly. That wouldn’t hold up in court. No. He needed to distance himself from Fable – he could go to prison for this sort of thing. Defamation, identify theft, who knew how many other laws he’d transgressed. He spent a night of insomnia fretting over the implications of Aesop. At dawn, he called Chad.
“End it. I’m done, cancel everything,” Will said.
“That’s it? Just like that huh? Where’s your fire? We’re right at the precipice of this operation. If you’re going to take Normandy Will, take Normandy. Don’t sit on the beach.”
“I don’t need your military analogies. I said end it. Cancel Aesop.”
There was a long pause, he felt Chad weighing a response then, “Fine. It’s done.” The call ended.
But his anxiety remained. Subsequent nights were sleepless. He spent the week fretting about his office, avoiding colleagues, and jumping at the slightest wave from a coworker or mention of his name. Paranoia reigned.
Finally, after ten days, his mood began to turn – no police rammed down his door and CEO Jack carried his usual optimism. All seemed normal. His apprehension faded.
Satisfied that his excursion into influence operations was behind him, he got into work early and indulged in a doughnut, riding the high. It had been fun while it lasted. A brief glance at the future, that’s all it was. A little experimental research for the firm. All’s well that ends well. He’d let his client work slip lately and it was time to get back on track.
He opened his email and the top message slapped him awake.
Subject: Martin Swanson Investigation
From: CEO Jack
Leaders,
I’m writing to inform you that as of yesterday, Martin Swanson has resigned. We’ve received reports both external and internal indicating Martin was out of control advocating for extreme action by our client, the Portland Police Department.
We will conduct a full investigation into his behavior as well as any associated firm members who were complicit. If you have information, please reach out to me ASAP. That’s As Soon As Possible. Planelier, let me know right away.
Many of you (me above all) have been shocked at the development of these events. Rest assured we will continue to operate with full integrity and transparency. I will not tolerate this type of behavior in our firm. Our clients and our business depend on it!
Acceleracity,
Jack
It was a trap. The firm found out about Aesop and they were trying to draw him into a confession. Had Bob talked? That rat! What could they prove? He’d been discreet with his email only using personal accounts. Could they trace his phone record? His hand twitched. He needed to get home. Burn the card, delete Chad from his contacts. But he couldn’t leave early. That’d be suspicious. No. He’d stay late and leave after the rest of the employees went home.
He closed the blinds and locked himself in the office. The day crawled by. His fingers tapped an anxious staccato on the desk as he watched the clock. Move, dammit, move. He frenetically refreshed his inbox unable to focus on actual work. Finally, evening came. Then he heard sirens in the street below. He looked out the window at a growing throng of picket-waving protestors. Had he heard about this on the news? Normally the building staff sent out a notification but clearly they hadn’t been doing their jobs like everyone else in this God forsaken company. It looked like the street was getting crowded. If he could just make it another hour he could sneak out the back and avoid the rush. Except now he had to pee. He’d been locked in the office all day and couldn’t hold it anymore.
He exited into the hallway, trying to maintain a low profile, then rounded a corner and narrowly avoided a collision with Martin holding a cardboard box.
“Martin!” Will worked to restrain the nervous tremors convulsing his hands. Martin’s puffy cheeks and red eyes stared back.
“Hi Will. I’m sure you’ve heard the news. Look, I know we haven’t always been close, but I’ve always respected you. I want you to know I recommended you as my replacement. I was shocked when you weren’t selected.”
“I…thank you…you…you didn’t have to do that.”
“You’ll do well. Much better than I did. I barely lasted a month. Look…that video that came out…it wasn’t…forget it.” Martin turned and walked to the elevator bay, his body bowed slightly as if carrying a great weight. Will stared after him, his mind struggling to process what he’d heard.
He’d won. Aesop worked. The plan had actually worked. But now he felt hollow. He felt…terrible. “I was shocked when you weren’t selected.” Had he misjudged Martin? In his mind he ran after him, shoved his arm into the closing elevator doors, and confessed. They’d go to CEO Jack together and explain the whole thing. Soon the three of them would be slapping backs and laughing about the whole Aesop thing. His feet remained planted. Snap out of it, this is no time for remorse. Get back to the apartment and then you can sort it out over a glass of scotch.
He raced back to his office and grabbed essentials, his bag, water bottle, keys. What else? Didn’t he print a copy of that op-ed? Where was it? Then he heard chanting.
“Burn-it-down! Burn-it-down!”
He turned to the window, pressed his nose against the glass, and strained for a look at the street. It was chaos. A carnival from Hell. Music blared. A protestor threw a brick and it careened into a window shattering the glass. A police car engulfed in flames billowed smoke, cloaking the mob in a fog. The rioters, clothed in dark garb, emerged from the mist. They surged towards the Accelera entrance, lugging gasoline cans which they dumped on the pavement. The liquid formed in ominous black pools.
Will watched in horror as the mob set fire to the building.
He wondered if he’d still get Martin’s partner spot.
Author's Note
For those interested in learning about the real world technology featured in Aesop, check out these sources, which influenced the story.
More from
The Hart & The Cur
