“I’ve been workin four tens, and then I’m doin this now on my days off.  The money’s good.” He purses his lips, and nods slowly, “I’m thinkin about doin it full time.”

Carol Ann King does not respond, and the man seems to realize that he’s said too much.  He smiles sheepishly.

King shows him her teeth and blinks her eyes once—a gesture that he mistakes for a smile.

They are seated in the foyer of a late 19^th Century house-turned-office within which King’s brother runs a data mining and cybersecurity consultancy.

King wonders what use her brother is making of this talkative stranger. He is seated uncomfortably on the edge of an antique carved walnut sofa that once had been furniture in the house where King grew up. She wonders what he thinks she’s doing there.

The stranger mistakes King’s blank gaze for continued interest.  His dusty work boot slides under the table as he leans in conspiratorially:

“If I wasn’t doin this, I’d just be drinkin beer.  It’s better for me to keep busy. “

King’s face reveals something real, some kind of hurt. She nods in agreement as a voice calls out from the railing above.

“Ci-ci!”

King looks up and sees her brother leaning dangerously over the railing, waving her up. King stands.

“Stay here,” she tells the man matter-of-factly as she gathers her things.  “This is a great place to make more money, and you’ll be treated with respect here.”

King does not make eye contact as she crosses to the staircase, nor does she respond when he calls out his thanks.

The stranger is immediately forgotten as King ascends the stairs. Her brother is talking on his mobile, and she follows him down the long hallway to his office. King steps on her brother’s heals repeatedly, and she only slows her pace after he covers the microphone on his mobile and growls at her.

She and her brother have spent most of the last year developing the tool that he is about to turn on for the first time.  If it the tool works they way its intended to work, King will help State Rep. Steve Howe defeat James Carlos Cates. And, such a victory would help King break Ellie Endsley’s ties to Speaker Garza once and for all.

She takes a seat along the back wall and watches as a handful of her brother’s key people, all of whom had been with him from the beginning. They move among mobile workstations and hundreds of wall mounted monitors displaying the progress of programs running on computers far away.   All of it–her brother’s entire enterprise–was designed to create value from endlessly growing streams of linked data.

Her brother throws his mobile onto a nearby couch.  “I’m sorry,” he says without looking at her.

He moves to his workstation and accesses the customized platform from which King will be able to communicate with a very special audience.

“Come here,” he says, and she comes.

“This is it.  These are all of the registered voters in Texas who shared via their social media channels any of the fake news defined by the parameters that you and your team provided. From this platform, you reach them directly, you can…”

“I understand, Chris, thank you.” She touches the monitor and says, “Bring to front.”

She and her brother stand together—like royalty reviewing the troops—scrolling through the functions that her team and her brother’s team spent thousands of hours discussing and designing.

King whistles. “This is the future that we talked about.”

Her brother smiles. “It’s time to hold people accountable.”

King turns her head to look at her little brother.  Once again, she’s is amazed and a little hurt by how little her brother understands her.

She gently places her hand on the back of his neck.

“This is good work, Chris. Very good work.”

###