Transparency by Charles Royce (children's books read aloud txt) 📕

“What does that mean?” Josh asks.

“Could mean several things.” Phish drops the file onto another app, prompting a loud honk sound.

“What was that?” Josh has never heard a honk like that before.

“It’s not even letting me analyze it.” Phish tries again. Another honk. “Nope.”

Josh watches Phish try several other maneuvers, each to no avail. “So that’s it?”

Phish answers in a chuckle. “Dude, what’s your problem?”

“Sorry, just really anxious to see what’s in these.”

“You have enough to sort through with that other file, trust me,” Phish says. “Leave the underscore file with me. I’ll copy it onto my drive, and I’ll figure it out.”

“Nope, just give me the SSD.” Josh extends his arm, palm up, and flaps his fingers.

Phish laughs. “Okay, then, what about the 4JFK folder? Don’t you want the full version? It had to unzip it onto my hard drive.”

“Does it back up automatically from your hard drive?”

“No.”

“Then copy it onto another SSD, then I’ll watch you trash it completely.”

“Yessir. File security. I get it, I get it.”

Josh watches Phish search through a few drawers under the counter, looks at the clock on the computer. “How long is this gonna take? I have a meeting with my staff in thirty minutes.”

“Hard to tell. But I’m looking, and I’m out of external hard drives. It’ll take six regular two-terabyte flash drives to copy all the information I just unzipped. $150 each.”

“What?” Josh’s face crumbles. “I can buy these on Amazon for like thirty bucks.”

“I said we’re cheaper than the Mac store, not Amazon.” Phish smiles. “But I can give them to you for $100 each since you’re buying so many.”

Josh pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, glancing at the oval SSD still in Phish’s USB port. “This better be worth it.”

“I give solutions, and I don’t ask questions. I have no idea what I just did for you.”

“Hopefully you just helped me bring down—”

“I don’t want to know.”

C h a p t e r   2 8

“I KNOW, I know, I’m late and I’m sorry.” Josh walks into the fourth-floor conference room of the new Élan building, the six flash drives and SSD clanking around in his pocket. He closes the glass door.

“Is that Greta Garbo?” someone says from the back.

Josh looks back at the door he’d just shut. An image of a sultry woman is etched into the glass. “It’s Marilyn Monroe. All the doors on each floor have different themes. Since the South Tower will house our entertainment entities, these doors on this particular floor feature the stars of Old Hollywood.”

As Josh places a large printout of the building on a pedestal, his pants continue to jingle.

“Are those your keys, or are you just happy to see us?” someone asks, he doesn’t know who.

Josh looks down at the bulge in his pocket. “First item on the agenda, did anyone bring the employee handbook?”

As he takes a look at the stack of updates on the podium, Josh hears a few people around the conference room table laugh. The ones seated toward the window are bathed in prismatic light bouncing off the triangular atriums that connect the three-building structure. The conference room itself is enormous, fitting the thirty or so guests with ease and room to spare. Twenty brushed-nickel chairs with supple leather surround the table, some swiveled toward the front to pay attention to Josh.

One of his audience members looks up at the light fixture.

The three-sided chandelier above them is made of three triangular pieces of glass at different levels that shoot out toward the window, and the east and north sides of the room. The indirect glow from the fixture reminds Josh of why he picked this conference room. He’s the one who recommended the glass artist.

“Isn’t this great? This is one of my favorite pieces in the whole building,” Josh says, holding his hand up to block the light for a second. Everyone looks at the light fixture, but no one responds.

“Mine, too.” Tracy saves him, gets him back on track.

Josh winks at her. “First of all, thank you for being here, and again, I apologize for being so late. Thanks for these updates, everyone. I know we have representatives from many different departments here, and I don’t mean to waste your time.”

“Then let’s get on with it,” someone says from the back.

Josh points to the diagram beside him. “This building you entered, many of you for the first time, is what we are calling the South Tower, home to Makeshift Media and our other broadcast acquisitions, as well as residential condos on the upper floors. The North Tower houses the entirety of Élan’s headquarters and will be the next tower to fully open. The Center Tower offers a conference-worthy hotel as well as luxury condos, and is connected to the North and South Towers through sky bridges and the shopping mall. Each tower is set off from the lobby by three enormous glass atriums, the entirety of the structure forming a full city block. Did anyone get a chance to tour the progress?”

Many nod, some clap.

“Why aren’t all three towers open yet?” asks a tall, handsome man standing in the back. “We got here early and wanted to see our offices in the North Tower.”

“We are months behind schedule, but offices in the North Tower should be open within two weeks.”

“Same with the parking structures?” someone asks.

“Screw parking. Welcome to Manhattan. What about the elevators?” asks a frumpy woman in front. “Four flights is nothing, but if we’re moving here in a few months, they need to be working, or at least accessible to us.”

“The elevators. I’m glad you mentioned those.” Josh points to the outside of the building. “West is very proud of them. They are made mostly of glass, as you could probably see when you entered, and run along the outside of the building. This gives our guests and employees beautiful views of the Hudson River and beyond as they rise to the