Chapter 4: Falling Apart
He stepped out of the R&D building with Veronika just behind him. O'Malley had briefed them an hour earlier in his usual gruff bark:
“Gary, Veronika you two are on assessment duty. Get out there, hit every store running the competitor’s setup. Talk to their users, identify flaws. Take the rest of the week if you need to. Miles is handling customer reports in-house.”
He handed them a slim leather folder with addresses, a folded map, and two company-issued lapel mics.
Veronika had barely looked up. She just nodded, clipped the mic onto her jacket, and adjusted her sunglasses.
Now, on the street, she strode ahead with purpose shoulders squared, eyes locked forward, already halfway down the block before Gary even unfolded the map.
“Veronika,” he called after her, still checking the legend. “Slow down. This isn’t a race.”
She didn’t stop, but she did glance back over her shoulder, her eyebrow raised just slightly. “We’re losing daylight.”
Gary caught up with her, eyes scanning the storefronts. “We approach with subtlety. These places don’t want to know they’re being judged. You don’t storm in like a tax inspector.”
“I wasn’t storming,” she said coolly. “I was walking like a woman who knows where she’s going.”
Gary bit back his sigh. “That’s not the problem. Just be discreet. Ask simple questions. Note impressions. Don’t interrogate people.”
She gave a faint shrug. “Noted.”
They reached the first shop a mid-sized tech reseller in Midtown, sleek displays of smart-home products in the window. Inside, two employees a tall man arranging shelves and a younger woman at the counter glanced up as they entered.
Gary took the lead, polite and unassuming. “Good morning. We’re doing some outreach for a partner company just getting general impressions of the automated system you’re running. Do you mind a few quick questions?”
The woman nodded hesitantly, and the man hovered nearby.
Gary leaned in slightly, tone measured. “How would you rate the daily usability of the system? Any features you wish were different?”
While they answered mostly surface-level complaints about syncing issues and slow response times Veronika took a step forward.
“Do you ever feel like the AI’s voice is too... masculine?” she asked the woman suddenly.
The cashier blinked. “Um... sometimes? I guess it sounds a bit cold.”
“Do you worry about privacy?” Veronika continued, calm but direct. “Like, it’s always listening, right? Even in the bathroom?”
The woman’s mouth opened and closed, caught between offense and confession. The man behind the counter chuckled nervously. “She’s always saying that. Thinks it’s recording her dreams or something.”
Veronika smiled thinly. “And you think it isn’t?”
Gary cut in. “That’s enough. Thank you both for your time.”
Outside, Veronika walked a step ahead, arms crossed, unbothered.
“That was unnecessary,” Gary said, matching her pace. “We’re not there to scare people.”
“I wasn’t,” she replied. “I was asking woman-specific questions. You were just trying not to offend anyone.”
“We’re collecting data, not provoking paranoia.”
Veronika glanced at him sideways. “Same result. Different method.”
Gary didn’t reply. But he made a note abrasive, confident, unpredictable. She was dangerous. He liked that. Just not here. Not yet.
The morning sun flared in the SUV’s cracked windshield as Linda pulled up in front of Jesse’s school. It was an older building, all red bricks and iron gates, the kind of place that still believed in chalkboards and handwritten report cards.
Jesse sat beside her, his small hands in his lap, gazing out the window.
“Do you like it here?” Linda asked, voice casual but loaded.
He didn’t answer. Just shrugged.
She tried again. “Because... if everything works out, maybe we’ll move. Start fresh.”
Another shrug. Then a faint smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth, like he already knew it wouldn’t happen.
Linda sighed. “Okay, well. Have a good day, sweetheart.”
He grabbed his backpack and climbed out without looking back.
Linda sat there for a moment, watching the school gates close behind him. Then her eyes drifted across the street.
Maya was outside watering her front plants in tight yoga pants and an oversized shirt that slipped off one shoulder. She hadn’t even glanced at Linda’s car.
Linda waited for a wave, a smile, some acknowledgment. None came. Just the faint sound of water trickling and Maya adjusting her sunglasses.
The SUV coughed as Linda turned the ignition. Her dashboard lights flickered. She pulled out and drove in silence, knuckles tight on the wheel.
She parked in front of a small Mexican restaurant downtown Las Palmas, painted in faded terracotta tones. A chalkboard out front advertised breakfast tacos and bottomless mimosas.
She crossed the road briskly and stepped inside. The air was warm, filled with the smell of grilled peppers and lime.
“Can I help you?” asked a woman behind the counter.
“I’m here to speak to the manager,” Linda said with a practiced smile. “I saw your sign outside. I’m a trained cook — years of experience. I’d like to apply.”
The woman nodded, disappearing into the back.
A moment later, a short man with a grizzled beard and thick apron emerged. He looked Linda up and down without smiling.
“You cook?” he asked. “We need a waitress. That’s what I got.”
Linda’s smile didn’t waver, but something in her expression hardened. “No thank you,” she said. “I’m not interested in that.”
She walked out before he could reply.
Back in the car, she adjusted the rearview mirror, catching her own eyes. Tired. Still pretty. But I'm tired.
She drove off again not home, but somewhere else. Somewhere higher-paying. Somewhere better.
The interview at the second restaurant was worse than the first.
A trendy downtown bistro, all polished concrete and Edison bulbs, where the hostess eyed Linda like she’d wandered in from a different decade. The manager barely looked up from his tablet, asking clipped questions about “branding” and “social media presence” that left Linda fumbling.
“I’m here for a kitchen role,” she said again, flatly.
“We’re looking for someone a little more... dynamic,” the manager replied with a tight smile, like he was discussing wallpaper.
Linda left with her resume still in her bag.
She didn’t cry. She never cried.
The sky had dimmed by the time she pulled into the driveway. Her stomach churned with frustration and fatigue. She could hear laughter before she even stepped out of the car.
Across the street, Maya was sprawled on a lounge on her manicured lawn, legs crossed, cocktail in hand. Two other women sat with her both dressed effortlessly well, heels on the grass like they were born not to sink.
One of them said something and the group burst into laughter again, the kind that’s half-private, half-performance.
