"Who is this spy?" CENTIEN's CFO gripped the shiny guardrail and refrained from looking at the see through bottom of the elevator.

"The truth is, for the first time in my life, I don't know." Sinclair pursed his lips. "Whoever it is, they're good at covering their tracks."

"What information have they accessed?" Lear closed his eyes as the floors cascaded by them. Across from him, Sinclair was oblivious to the G forces.

"So far, a few dummy files I left in place for hackers. I was lucky and they took the bait. That's how I knew they were trying to hack into the system core."

"What's the protocol to secure our systems and financials?"

"Were not going to alert them that we know they're trying to hack CENTIEN. I'll sit back and watch them until I can identify who they are."

"Then what?" Lear sighed with relief as they arrived at the top floor.

"I'll feed them a very nasty virus. Don't worry Dennis, I have everything under control."

"What about Evelyn Simmons? I asked her to meet with me."

Raymond tugged irritably at the neck of his black mock turtleneck sweater. He needed a distraction from the vexing vixen. He pulled out his phone and ogled a picture of a voluptuous intern named Greta. The fresh-faced young woman was wearing her hair in two French braids. Transfixed, he gazed at the screen. "This is the one," he said, excitedly. "She could be a real-life Swiss Miss." He pointed to the applicant. "SHE has the potential to be the new Girl Friday."

Lear's unease was replaced by seething frustration. "Joke all you want, Ray, but if we increase our smart phone sales in the senior market then we stand to make a killing."

Captivated by the words billions and killing, Raymond looked up from his phone. "You're shilling that damn presentation as if it unlocks the secrets of the Holy Grail." Grudgingly, he opened Evelyn's email and began perusing the discarded intern's work as he walked. When he reached the projected earnings trajectory, he froze, as motionless as a lion listening to distant hunting drums. "The coffee girl wrote this? She never presented any of this data during yesterday's meeting."

Lear nodded. "She didn't have a chance to present anything before you tore her throat out."

Sinclair read faster, dipping into the report's technicals. When he'd processed all the information, he raised an eyebrow. "Let me get this straight. The Oompa-Loompa who couldn't get my latte order right wrote this?" He snorted in disbelief. "If these numbers are correct, this is a game changer."

"They're correct. I ran them myself. And stop calling her that demeaning appellation. Her name's Evelyn Simmons."

"This is genius," Sinclair said, reverently. Suddenly, he felt as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "This will bring an infusion of cash into the company."

"I know. Look at the resource model. She wants to use our previous generation phones and tailor them with an enhanced Medicare app, specifically for seniors."

"I've always wanted to recycle our older technology." He shook his head. "Never mind. I wasn't referring to her enhanced app idea. I meant the part where the Department of Health shears hapless seniors in a labyrinth of overpriced health care options. Look at the subliminal message. Sign up or die." He laughed, mirthlessly. "This trumps Soylent Green's futuristic scheme to feed human freeze-dried bits to the public. I couldn't navigate their Medicare flowchart if my life depended on it."

Lear muttered "fucker" under his breath, but kept a flattering courtier's smile plastered on his face. "So you see CENTIEN's marketing angle?" Not waiting for a response, he soldiered on. "Our Medicare app will replace the mercenary customer service reps, currently preying on seniors."

"If we win the Department of Health contract, the revenue combined with the savings of jettisoning outdated phones will be enough to pay off those shitheads, Casper and Jamison." Sinclair's voice rose with elation as he spoke.

And still have enough left over to beat Google's earnings," Lear gloated.

Sinclair's face clouded with a rare twinge of conscience. "The DOH will fire all their customer service reps once our app makes their jobs obsolete. That will be thousands of people losing their jobs before Christmas."

"Yeah, they'll replace those overpaid reps in a heartbeat. It'll be a public relations nightmare, but they'll want the cost savings." Lear assumed the feral smile Sinclair had dropped. "Ray, this will save the company's quarterly earnings."

"Where's the Oompa...I mean, Miss Simmons?"

Lear perceived Sinclair's conscious lack of a pejorative against his protégée as an encouraging sign. "She turned in her resignation yesterday."

CENTIEN's CEO smirked, waving the report. "Good thing we have this synopsis, then."

"Ray, we need her."

"No, we don't need her. CENTIEN owns all the intellectual property rights to her work. Her report is ours now."