Page 1 of Big Bad Bully
Chapter One
Aubrey
I hate billionaires.
No, I shouldn’t say that. My best friend is going to be one soon–either through inheritance or marriage. Probably both.
That’s a weirdness I still haven’t adjusted to.
But Madi aside, the entitled stench is everywhere on Wall Street. Especially here, in Sentience Labs, the AI company that has blatantly stolen the creative works of artists, musicians, and authors from around the world.
Which is why I’m going to do something about it. Tonight.
This is my third week camped out on the twenty-eighth floor of the Sentience building. Normally, my murals depict images of social justice and a call for change. Resistance. Freedom. I’m Brooklyn’s Diego Rivera. My Occupy Wall Street mural outside La Résistance, the Bohemian cafe where I work, has been photographed more than any other street art in the city.
I’m the last person anyone would expect to sell out to a corporation like Sentience. Especially one that disenfranchises artists everywhere.
But I threw my name in the hat with a cheesy flower landscape for a good reason.
An exceptional one.
The song “Karma Chameleon” pops up on the 80’s dance playlist piping through my earbuds, and I smirk to myself.
That’s right, Sentience. Karma is a fucking bitch.
“You staying late again?” The security guy stops behind my ladder to observe. He’s taken an unfortunate interest in me and my work. Maybe because he likes my art. Or maybe because he can sense I’m different from the soulless sharks that circle these waters. I’m life and color to the rest of the building’s hollow monotone.
Under ordinary circumstances, I might flirt. He’s six feet tall and gorgeous, with medium brown skin and a sexy Jamaican accent. Totally my type. But I’m trying to be forgettable. Especially tonight.
Move along, buddy. These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.
“Yeah. Just a few final touches,” I lie, flicking my wrist in quick, deft brushstrokes along one poppy. The truth is, I finished the mural two hours ago, and now I’m biding my time. I purposely don’t turn around or give him my attention, so he’ll move on.
He stays a few minutes longer then finally strolls away. I wait until I hear the elevator ding and move away before I turn off my music and pop an earbud out to listen.
All quiet.
To be sure, I take a trip to the bathroom to wash up, checking the lights under every door.
It’s eight at night. These execs usually leave by six, but I need to be sure.
I palm the keycard Jamie, our informant, gave me. She got fired two months ago after printing a copy of an email sent by an exec telling her that her concerns about the legitimacy of the data they were mining were unfounded.
Turns out, the creepers here are so Big Brother, they tracked that one “send to print,” and she had security guards at her office removing her–minus the printed email–before the end of the day. She showed up at the legal aid clinic, and Jan–my activist lawyer friend and the wife of the owner of La Résistance–took her case.
Since I was already plotting with Jan and her wife, Caroline, about how to bring Sentience down, she connected me with Jamie.
Now I just need to get my hands on those same kinds of emails and, hopefully, find the cache of pirated artists’ works, so Jan can file a lawsuit against them. Or maybe, we’ll bring the information to the New York Times and expose the hell out of these fuckers.
I use the stairs of the fire escape to get down to the tenth floor, where much of the data mining takes place. Jamie’s key card still works on that door, as she told me it would. My heart pounds as I slip through the door.
The lights are off, and it’s dark. Jamie told me there are no cameras on this floor because they don’t want any recordings of what they actually do here. I follow the map I memorized to get to Jamie’s old office. They’ve hired someone new to take her place, but Jamie had a spare key from when she lost her keys and then found them again. A very happy accident in this case.
I slide the key into the lock and turn it. I may be bold when it comes to civil protests, sit-ins, and the exercise of my free speech rights, but this is breaking the law. Tonight, I’m turning the corner into breaking and entering and outright stealing corporate documents. Jan would not approve, but if I don’t do this, Sentience will continue to steal from me and all the other artists, authors, and creatives they are putting out of business. Jamie tried to do something about it and was fired.
I can take this risk.
I slip inside the office without turning on a light. From the front pocket of my paint-splattered overalls, I pull the external drive I brought.
