The Startup Wife(84)
Tina texts to say the car is waiting and I should come down. I hesitate; I want to stay in this huddle a bit longer and make sure Cyrus is okay. Maybe even have my own little breakdown. But I have to go; I have a job to do. I put the speech into Cyrus’s hand and explain that he has to tell the community what has happened. And then I tell him to go home and wait for me. I’ll be there as soon as I can, I say. And then he kisses me, a soft, tearful kiss.
Gaby walks me through the building and down the stairs. “I don’t care that I was right,” I say as soon as we are out of earshot.
“I know,” he tells me. “It doesn’t matter.” He’s holding my coat. I realize I’ve never really thanked him for standing up for me at the board meeting. I stop, steady myself against the banister, and try to summon the words. “Gaby, I wanted to say, all those times when Cyrus, when everyone thought I was crazy—” My arms are shaking. I lean against Gaby for a moment and he holds me there, the wool of his suit soft and scratchy against my cheek. I give myself a few seconds, then I straighten up, he hands me my coat, and I make my way out of the building.
* * *
Tina has worked out a plan. Cyrus is going to announce a sweeping set of changes to the way things work, including shutting down Obit.ly. Then he’s going to promise to do a better job of noticing when someone in our community is facing a crisis, and it’s up to me and Ren to work out how the algorithm is going to identify people who might be at risk. I’ll be at the NBC studio while Cyrus makes his WAICast, and then I get to answer questions on live TV.
At the studio, while they’re doing my hair and brushing things onto my face and the producer is hovering with headphones and a clipboard, I’m thinking about what Cyrus might have seen on that rooftop. Whether he was able to get close enough to talk to Stephen, if Stephen turned around and met his eye, if they exchanged any words, if Cyrus came close to convincing him to stop, or if he was too late all along, every desperate word futile against the crime he had already committed.
The studio lights are ablaze in my eyes, and there’s a person in my ear who’s going to tell me when to go on. Directly in front of me, I can see what the television audience is seeing, which is a live feed of Cyrus’s announcement.
Instead of the serene gaze that has greeted his audience every weekday, he looks out with cloudy eyes.
“Over the last three years,” he begins, “our community has grown from hundreds to the tens of millions. We have developed long-lasting bonds that are based on the fundamental premise that the big moral questions of our lives remain unanswered, and that to ask these questions, of ourselves and of each other, is what brings us together as human beings.
“Last night I failed you as the steward of our community. I always said that I was only here as one of you, a person who has the same basic need for spiritual sustenance as everyone else. And yet I took on the responsibility of leading this organization, for making decisions that would affect all of you. A few months ago, I made the decision to integrate Obit.ly and WAI. I thought both platforms used the best of technology—that is, the ability to replicate our humanness into new and groundbreaking forms—to give us something that was previously unthinkable. But unthinkable things should sometimes remain in the realm of the imagination: ideas we consider and dream of but resist the urge to bring into being.”
I know this speech by heart; I helped write it an hour ago. But now Cyrus hesitates. He looks down, pauses for a long moment, and goes off-script.
“There was one person on my team who warned me against the dangers of Obit.ly’s messaging service. Her name is Asha Ray and she is my co-founder and my wife. She fought hard to make me and the others on our team see that we were out of our depth, and that this new path was unsafe for our community. Unfortunately, I did not listen. Our disagreement on this matter led to a rift between us, as colleagues, friends, and partners. I thought we were parting ways on ideological grounds, but really, it was my shortsightedness, my inability to see that she was fundamentally right and I was wrong. I gave up my life’s greatest gift—my closest human connection—because I was unable to see the higher truth in another person’s vision.”
At this point, his voice, quivering but steady, breaks. “For this reason, I am stepping down as CEO of WAI, effective immediately. I am announcing this to you, my friends and fellow travelers, first. My team and my board are hearing of it now for the first time. And I would like to say to my wife, Asha, that I can think of no better person to run the company from this day forward. Our future—not just as a company but as a human collective—is in question. We have challenges ahead that none of us could have foreseen. I hope sincerely that Asha will be the one to guide you through these challenging times, and that you, my friends, will embrace her as you did me.”
I’m trying to get my head around what I’ve just heard. The screen that was previously displaying Cyrus’s face is now reflecting what the viewers are seeing, which is me, perched on a stool, with improbably shiny cheekbones and a blowout that could hang at the MoMA.
Someone is talking to me. “Wow, Asha, what an announcement. Did you expect this at all?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
“Let’s give Asha here a moment to absorb the news. She’s just been invited to run WAI, a major social media platform that people say might soon become a rival to the establishment. Asha, did you ever imagine you would become CEO yourself?”