About That Night (FBI/US Attorney #3)(73)
“You’re going to San Francisco?” she’d asked. “What for?”
“You’ll know soon enough.”
She’d looked him over with a curious expression. “What are you up to now?”
Despite all her valiant efforts, Kyle had refused to give anything up under cross-examination. He had a lot riding on this trip, since the next twenty-four hours would drastically impact the launch of Rhodes Network Consulting. Either his actions would go down as one of the cleverest ideas in marketing history, or he was about to make a complete ass out of himself.
Only time would tell.
The front desk clerk smiled as Kyle approached. “Welcome to the Ritz-Carlton. How can I help you?”
“I have a reservation, under Kyle Rhodes.”
The clerk glanced up from the keyboard, her sudden recognition evident, then went back to typing. “I see we have you booked in one of our Club Level suites, staying with us for one night.”
“Could you arrange for me to have a late checkout tomorrow?” he asked. “I have a morning meeting that might run long.” Or maybe not. At this point, he gave it 80/20 odds he didn’t even make it past the front door.
“Certainly, Mr. Rhodes.”
Just then, Kyle’s cell phone vibrated. He checked and saw he had a new text message from Rylann.
KNOCK ‘EM DEAD, DIMPLES. WHATEVER THE HECK IT IS YOU’RE UP TO.
“Is there anything else I can do for you this evening?” the front desk clerk asked.
With a smile, Kyle tucked his phone back into his jacket. “Nope. I think I’ve got everything I need.”
SHORTLY BEFORE TEN the following morning, Kyle climbed into a taxi outside the hotel.
“Seven ninety-five Folsom Street,” he told the driver. When the taxi pulled to a stop a few minutes later, Kyle peered through the window and checked out the modern, six-story office building before him. After paying the driver, he stepped out of the car and adjusted his tie.
Time to face the music.
Portfolio in hand, he pushed through the double doors and took the elevator up to the sixth floor. He watched as the floor indicator counted upward at what seemed to be an excruciatingly slow pace, finally springing open to reveal a simple, minimalist-style reception area.
A receptionist sat behind a white and gray marble desk, her eyes going wide as saucers as soon as Kyle stepped out of the elevator. The wall behind her was devoid of any artwork, bearing only the company’s all-too-familiar name in lowercase letters:
“You actually showed up,” she said incredulously. “We’ve been betting for a week whether you would keep the appointment. A lot of people thought this was some kind of joke.”
Kyle had spent hours on the phone with the company’s lawyers just to get the appointment—no way would he have backed out after going through that torture. “I take it I don’t need to introduce myself?” he asked.
“That would be a definite no. You’re quite recognizable around this place.” The receptionist picked up the phone and pushed a button. “Kyle Rhodes is here to see you.” She listened for a moment, and then looked up at Kyle, still speaking into the phone. “You and me both.” She hung up and gestured to a waiting area. “Mr. Donello will be with you shortly. You can have a seat if you like.”
Kyle eyed the brown suede couch with two blue throw pillows cross-stitched with the words “Home Tweet Home.”
“I think I’ll stand,” he told the receptionist. He half-expected Donello to make him wait all morning, and then blow him off anyway, but the receptionist’s phone rang just a few minutes later. After speaking in a hushed voice, she hung up the phone and stood up. “Mr. Donello is ready for you. Follow me.”
She led him past the reception desk, through a set of frosted glass doors, and then into the main office area. Virtually everything was painted white except for the light maple hardwood floors. The office contained several rows of cubicles, with each row divided into four workstations.
And every person, at every single one of those workstations, had stood up to watch as he walked by.
They stared silently with a mixture of expressions on their faces, most of which Kyle would not describe as particularly friendly. When they reached the large corner office at the end of the hallway, the receptionist half-smiled. “Good luck.”
Kyle stepped into the office and saw Rick Donello, CEO of Twitter, sitting at his desk. He was a relatively young man, in his midthirties, with glasses, thinning hair, and a look in his unsmiling eyes that fell somewhere between disbelief and disdain.
“I’ll say this: you’ve got balls the size of watermelons, Rhodes.” He gestured for Kyle to have a seat, then nodded at the receptionist, who closed the door after she left.
Once it was just the two of them, Donello got right down to business. “You have sixty seconds to tell me why I should do anything other than toss you out on your ear.”
Fine with him. Kyle was perfectly happy to skip over all the bullshit. “As half the world saw seven months ago, you have cracks in your network that I could drive a truck through. My company can help you with that.”
Donello laughed humorlessly. “I’m not an idiot, Rhodes. We updated everything after you hijacked us. I doubt you’d find us so easy to hack into now.”
“How much of the revenue from your seven hundred advertisers are you willing to bet on that?”