Page 57 of Whistleblower
He laughs softly and I can already feel it—rapport. Slow and steady is how we have to play this. “Now say, ‘ah,’ Hector—real wide. This is a big chip and I don’t want to irritate your lip.” He does as I request and I shove an entire Dorito in his mouth. He chews so aggressively I have to tell him to slow down. After six more chips, his manic chomping slows.
“My dad was in a specialized military unit and he went through a lot in his career. He told me when he was in the most dire situations, the pain would go numb, but the hunger wouldn’t. He said the hunger pangs were the worst. Enough to make you crazy.”
I pop another chip into Hector’s mouth before offering him a drink of water. He takes a few greedy swallows. “Why are you being nice to me? Did they tell you who I work for?”
“No, I didn’t ask. It doesn’t matter who you work for.” I plop to my ass and scoot backward on the floor until my back hits the wall.
“Because all you want is info,” he says in a sing-song tone, mocking me. “That you’re not going to get from me. I’m loyal, lady.”
“Do you think they’re looking for you?” He narrows his eyes and glares at me, my words obviously striking a chord. “As loyal as you are to them, I hope they are to you as well.”
“I’m loyal to a cause,” he sneers. “So I make sacrifices.”
“What cause?”
He draws in a deep breath as he closes his eyes. “This country needs a wake-up call—a firm message delivered. People here are lawless ingrates who think because of freedom, they are allowed to be disgraceful. Someone needs to remind them that there are consequences for their sins.”
Wow. That’s a rehearsed speech if I’ve ever heard one, and Hector delivered the lines perfectly. I’m sure his leader masks violent radicalism as prophetic duty…beautifully. I bet he’s even good-looking. A charismatic and persuasive leader is the most dangerous weapon.
“Hector, freedom doesn’t make people evil. It just gives them an outlet to express the most shameless sides of themselves. Anger lives in all of us, and those who don’t have a proper outlet suppress their agony until the pressure builds so great, they end up hurting other people. Violence is a misguided outlet for pain.”
He takes a moment before answering, then finally asks, “Are you a shrink? Is that why they sent you in here?”
No. But maybe close. My doctoral dissertation was about the incredible power–and danger–of social media. If you want to see the true depravity of mankind, look at what people say under the blanket of online obscurity. I’ve seen starved coyotes act with more kindness and composure than young, bored, women with nothing but time on their hands and jealousy running through their veins. They are triggered by everything because they are content with nothing. Boredom, laziness, and anonymity mixed together is a concoction for cruelty.
“I’m not a psychiatrist. I’m just…sensitive, I suppose. Maybe I should see you as dangerous, but all I see you as is scared. But fear is a really good motivator, Hector. Did you know that?”
“Know what?” he asks, before opening his mouth wide. I scoot back over to him with the bag of chips and deposit another Dorito.
“People do the most incredible, and the most atrocious things when they are scared. Fear gives you adrenaline. It makes you stronger, helps you think more tactfully. Truly, it’s our body’s secret serum for survival.”
He snorts. “Fear makes you radioactive?”
I smile. “Something like that.”
He’s quiet for a few beats before he speaks again. “I couldn’t help you even if I wanted to, Bambi,” he admits. “Taking a beating and being imprisoned is far better than what they’ll do to me if I talk.”
“I get it.” I glance nervously at the two-way glass, then decide to chuck Callen’s commands right out the window. What choice do I have? “Being a snitch will destroy you.” He nods, hanging his head. “I should know,” I add.
His eyes snap to mine. “What?”
“Oh yes, I’m a snitch. Or, in professional terms, a whistleblower.” I bite my tongue. Oh, no. I sincerely hope my safe word is only applicable to sex with Linc. Otherwise, he’s about to barge in here to rescue me. After a few seconds, I determine the coast is clear. “I used to work for a company that created a social media organization system, if you will. It was like nothing else on the market. They secured over half a billion dollars in fundraising for this platform called Empress.”
“You’re in social media?” Hector asks, obviously confused as to why the hell I’m in this interrogation room with him.
“Me? Oh no, I actually don’t have social media. I have very pointed opinions on it—but that’s a conversation for another day. I was a leadership consultant at Empress. They went from twelve employees to over three hundred in the span of a year. It was stressful and chaotic. The leaders of the company needed a clear vision, so the very first thing I did was sit the executive team down and ask them to create a mission statement. What was Empress designed to do? What problem was Empress trying to solve?”
I pause, giving Hector the opportunity to say something. If he can follow me through this story, maybe…just maybe I have a chance. Finally, he prods me. “What’d they come up with?”
“Empress was trying to level the playing field. The developers believed that everyone deserved to have their voices heard—not just the lucky, or beautiful, or young, or quirky. Think of it this way—instead of having one mega Powerball lottery, their philosophy was to have thousands of winners, sharing the prize. Empress wanted to fight the social algorithms that were causing so much pain and making people feel so desperate, small, and insignificant. They were masters at it. Their tech was astonishingly good at grouping like-minded people. Basically, they were sorting people into the right buckets for societal approval.”
“Societal approval?”
“Have you ever used social media?”
He nods. “For a little while.”
Dumb it down, Eden. “Likes, Hector. Societal approval in the form of likes.”