TRAVIS ANGLETON REALLY HATED RICE. He had never been a fan of actually eating it, even as a very small child, and ten years of working in the rice business had turned a mild distaste into a visceral loathing.
“I really hate rice,” he said. “You know how much I hate rice.”
“I know you do,” Josh responded.
Travis studied his opponent across the chessboard as he smugly and silently took his time in making his move. Josh may have been a little taller, a little stronger than Travis, but they were about the same age and Josh was cursed, in Travis’ view, with reddish hair and a ruddy complexion.
“I mean, come on, man,” Travis prodded. “You get what I’m saying, right?”
Josh declined to answer immediately, instead moving a black bishop out from his back row with deliberate precision. At last, he said, “I hear what you’re saying. It makes me wonder why you don’t feel the least bit nervous talking about this in the middle of the company cafeteria at lunchtime. Your move.”
Almost hastily, Travis moved a defensive pawn a space ahead. “Don’t give me that nervous shit, man. You’ve been here just as long as I have. Anyone at our level or below would never comprehend what we’re saying and anyone above us would never believe it. Above all else, no one ever notices anything around here.”
“So is that why you’re doing this, then?”
“Is what why?”
“Because you hate an ancient, international food staple?”
“No, man, come on,” Travis sputtered. It was his move again, and he scoured the developing board. “That’s just the metaphor, it just summarizes the whole pattern. It says it all.”
“Then why are you doing this? Really.”
“You don’t know that by now?”
“I don’t, dude. What can I say?” He shrugged and moved a piece. “People do things for all kinds of weird reasons. I watch Investigation Discovery.”
Travis sputtered, knowing his peer was aggravating him intentionally, but unable to avoid giving in. “I’m not planning a murder. Come on, it’s a little entrepreneurial enterprise. When did that ever hurt anybody?”
Josh raised an eyebrow across the board. “I thought you were a socialist.”
“It’s an entrepreneurial enterprise for a good cause.”
“Hm. Oh. Okay, then. So you’re doing this for political reasons?”
“Is that so hard to believe?”
“Kind of, yeah,” Josh sat back, relaxing into a bit of a laugh. He looked at Travis as his smile faded, then turned back to the board and leaned ahead. “It’s just—listen, man, that’s throwing a lot on the line for politics, and I’m not even sure what the political position is, here.”
“Justice for the workers.”
“Justice for the workers? Are you kidding me? Which ones, man? You sit back in your desk without batting an eye as they close down all the union warehouses one by one in the name of ‘supply chain optimization’. Where were you then? All of a sudden, now, you’re concerned about worker exploitation—where, in Thailand and Vietnam?”
“Hell yeah in Thailand and Vietnam. You know what we do over there to get our cheap cargo out of the ground and into the vessels as quickly and efficiently as possible.”
Josh nodded. “I do.” He advanced a rook innocuously. “We may have even had a hand in that Thai junta.”
“Yeah! That’s what I’m sayin’.”
“I know these things. We’ve both known them all ten years we’ve been here. Why is justice so urgent all of a sudden?”
“Okay, so what are you implying, man?”
“I think the worker you feel deserves the most justice is you.”
“Well…you know how they treat us in here. Do you feel you’ve been treated with respect and humanity all this time? Do you feel like that today, or ever?”
“No, man. I don’t. Especially with this new Daily Agenda project planning and chronicling and tracking our every move. It’s tyranny and it’s bad management on top of it. But look, forget about your motivation for a minute. Why do you want me involved in this so badly? You’ve already got Jose, Matterhorn, and Andy. From the sounds of it, you’ve got the whole thing all set up. Why give me a share of the loot when the four of you can, from the sounds of things, handle this without me?”
“Well that’s a good question,” Travis sat back. “Finally we’re talkin’, here. And I’ll tell you what, I want you involved because—and call me superstitious—I envision better fortunes for all of us if you’re with us. Think about it, man. We’re almost exact peers. Over the years, we’ve been each other’s rival a little bit, but where we sit today, we’ve both been here ten years, we’re both at the exact same level. We’ve known each other the whole time. I mean, man, Jose and Andy and Matterhorn are fine and capable—that’s what I picked them—but they’re not on our level.”
Josh chuckled. “When you say these things, I can’t help but think you’re basically calling us both champions of mediocrity. Yeah, we’ve both been here ten years, and we’re both at the same level—which is to say we’re both employees who’ve never actually failed but also never displayed enough basic competence to even grab the lowest rung of lower middle management. Am I wrong?”
“So what? You think our brains our measured by our status here? I know you don’t think that. Just quit bullshitting me with these nonsense arguments. You know we’re smarter than everyone. The fact that we’ve been held back to this extent is just another testament to the injustice of it all. And there are people willing to compensate us for it.”
“They’re willing to compensate us for evidence of compromising impropriety and supply chain trade secrets.”
“Yes! For mere information. It’s too easy.”
For several minutes, they played on in silence.
Eventually, after making another seemingly innocuous move, Josh spoke, though with a different tone in his voice, a more serious one. “What we do isn’t evil, you know.”
“Which part?”
“We get rice from the places that grow it and transport it to people who need it at a price they can pay and a quality standard that’s basically quite acceptable.”
“What, are you quoting from the company manual, here? What’s wrong with you?”
“Am I wrong?”
“No, you’re not wrong. Sure. You’re right. You got it all figured out.” Travis was sputtering again. He paused altogether, studying the board and collecting himself. “The ends are fine, I guess. It’s just the means I’d like to tear down.”
“Or, failing to tear the means down, you’re content to simply steal a little bit for yourself.”
Travis eyed his opponent warily, studying his eyes. “If you find that morally objectionable,” he managed to say, unable to contain the slightest edge of contempt, “then this probably isn’t the scheme for you.”
Josh made another move. “All I want,” he said, “is for everyone to leave me alone, and to never get transferred to HR to fire everyone and spy on everyone like an angel of death. I gave up wanting more than that a long time ago. Checkmate, buddy.”
Travis was a little stunned, but checked it out and nodded. “Good game,” he mumbled, shaking Josh’s hand. “I don’t…have to worry about you, though. Right?”
Josh gave his comrade’s hand an extra shake, and nodded. “No. I’m out, man, but I’m still your boy. I got your back. You won’t hear a peep out of me.”
Travis shrugged. “And maybe if all goes well I’ll throw you a little bone anyway. Just for your cooperation and moral support.”
“I’ll give you that much.”
Travis walked back to his cube in silence. Josh was a fellow traveler, he knew. He apparently just didn’t have the balls to get a little piece of his own. He squinted and swatted his hand in front of his computer monitor as if clearing cobwebs that didn’t exist. He always perceived the giant room of cubicles to be very dim and dark, even though the place was fully illuminated by the most garish light imaginable. He often saw things a little bit differently than those around him.
* * *
“Yo, why’d you have us meet here, man?” Jose was complaining, before Travis could even sit down or take a sip of his coffee. Jose was a colorful character who looked like a cross between Che Guevara and Manny Ramirez. Young Manny.
“Starbucks? What’s wrong with Starbucks?” Travis said, trying to sit down and take a sip of his coffee.
“You know what’s wrong with Starbucks, man! They’re anti-union, they hate the workin’ man. Come on, bro.”
Jose was actually a rare example of someone even more radically leftist than Travis himself—which Travis had to admit he appreciated, to a certain extent, but Jose’s impractical dogma got on his nerves from time to time. You can’t fight all the capitalists at once, not unless you’re in a militia with weapons. Travis knew this, but Jose didn’t.
But, rather than get into it, he just sighed and looked at Matterhorn and Andy. Matterhorn was a little bit fat and baby-faced, and he sometimes had a tendency to one-up everyone’s stories with implausible tales of his own. That didn’t make him a bad guy. After all, Travis had picked him. Andy Dennis, a soft-spoken, sharp-featured, clean-shaven gambling addict, he felt, was most like himself. At least among this group. “Let’s make this quick and to the point, right?”
The others nodded at once.
Travis laid two objects on the table. “This,” he said, picking up the larger of the two, “is our burn phone. It’s our communications link to the client. Our only link. I text a password to the number programmed in here when we have everything handled. The client has assured me that I will receive a response within fifteen minutes with further instruction for the info transfer. This is our only link, and I am the only one who will hold this phone and know the password.” He paused to let this fact sink in, and to ensure there were no objections. There were none. He put the phone down and picked up the other object, a small, shiny, dark USB thumb drive. “Everything we do is going to be completely untraceable, from the way we gather our information to the way we provide it to the client. This is one thumb drive—only one. Reduces our chances for error. Furthermore, this particular device includes top-of-the-line masking software that makes this appear to any system—outside of the government, anyway—to simply be another part of the computer’s hard drive, as though it had always been there from the dawn of time. It will ensure that no record of any transfer of files or process capturing will exist. Also, it looks ordinary, but has the capacity for easily three times the maximum data we’ll be able to gather in the next couple of days.”
“And after the next couple of days,” Matterhorn said, “we get paid.”
“Yeah, Matterhorn. Then you get paid.”
“Sorry, buddy, but you know I gotta ask. So who gets the drive first and how do we hand it off?”
“I’m getting to that.” He went around the table. “You guys know the setup. Jose, you’re in advanced logistics. We need you to get our secret supply chain algorithms, map out our entire network, and ensure that a snapshot of at least two hours of logistical communications are recorded onto the device. Obviously more than two hours would be ideal, but we need you to be able to pass it off to Matterhorn by tomorrow at noon. Matterhorn, you’re finance, and your job is easiest. I don’t know shit about what you do over there, but make sure that, when you’re done, our client will have enough of an idea of the company’s finances to use it to their advantage. Anything useful. Everything useful. Get it on here. You’re going to have all of tomorrow afternoon to do this, and it should be a piece of cake. Tomorrow night, you pass it to Andy. Andy, being in product allocation, your job is clear, but different from that of the others. You’re the one in a position of access to records of conditions and strategies in the source countries. You won’t have time to get everything there is, but I trust you can get enough to bury them for a thousand lifetimes. We all know what we do. Okay? So by noon the following day, you’re going to get it back to me. I’m obviously in pricing and procurement strategies, so I top it all off with the details of our pricing schemes, contractual agreements, and procurement model. Two days from now, all the secrets and weaknesses of this company will fit in my pocket. I’ll get my instructions, I’ll upload the contents of the drive, and within two days after that, the money gets wired into an account I’ve set up with them.
“I’d ask for questions, but I don’t really want to deal with a whole bunch of ‘what if’ scenarios. We know what we have to do,” he looked down at the phone and the drive, “and these are the tools we need to do it. Cautiously, I say—any urgent concerns?”
He looked from one to the other to the other. There were none. Jose and Matterhorn’s faces twitched a little, as though they were thinking really hard but were quieted by Travis’ disclaimer.
“All right, then,” Travis said, before they could articulate anything. “We’re gonna leave here one at a time, without any fanfare. Jose, you go first. Take the drive.”
“Uh—” Jose started.
Matterhorn cut him off. “We came here together, man. How we supposed to do this?”
Travis sighed, and even Andy shook his head a little bit. “Go together, then,” Travis said. “Be cool and be careful.”
Andy and Travis watched their two compatriots swagger out of the coffee joint. Andy looked down at his lukewarm drink. “You sure about giving it to those two clowns to start with?”
Travis just looked at him stonily.
“I’m just sayin’, maybe they would have done better—or been easier to supervise—if they were right in the middle.”
“What’s done is done,” Travis shrugged. “I can’t worry about that, and neither should you. It’s out of our hands now.”
“And into Jose’s.”
Travis laughed. “If we’re gonna go down, we’re gonna go down. Too late to worry about it now, man. Seriously. Let’s just get outta here. You first.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Jose’s car idled outside of Matterhorn’s apartment building. They’d briefly discussed grabbing a beer at one of their usual bars, but cooler heads prevailed when they both agreed that this would have been too dangerous while Jose carried the thumb drive. Ultimately, they’d passed the time mostly in uneasy silence punctuated by awkward small talk.
Matterhorn made like he was about to get out of the car, but then paused instead. “I—probably shouldn’t even say this,” he said, “and I know it’s pretty much too late now. But…do you trust those guys?”
“What guys? Why’s it too late?”
“Come on, man. Travis and Andy Dennis. And it’s too late because they’re already our co-conspirators. We’ve got half the incriminating evidence in the car with us already.”
“All right, all right, yeah, I trust them. Shit man, now’s not really the time to think about whether I trust them. I probably did that already, and if I didn’t, I should have. What are you worried about?”
“I dunno. I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just that Andy’s a sneaky dickhead and I think Travis always has his own secret agenda.”
“Look, Matterhorn,” Jose said sincerely, “every man’s got his reasons. I think all of us has our reasons. That isn’t gonna prevent me from sleeping tonight, man. We’ve made our bets, here. The race has started.” He patted his pocket. “I got it all under control.”
Matterhorn slowly climbed from the car. “All right, man.”
“I’ll hit you up tomorrow about the transfer. Just think of the money. We gonna get paid, son.” Jose’s beat up green car drove off into the night.
* * *
Matterhorn woke up the next morning feeling especially enthusiastic about no longer being a cog in the wheel. He was a man, god damn it, and he was ready to do whatever necessary in order to prove it. In order to become in name what he already was in fact.
Upon arrival at the office and taking his seat in his cube in the finance section, he found not one but two e-mails waiting for him pertaining to newly required schedule constraints related to the company-wide Daily Agenda project. Not a man, not an accountant, he thought to himself, practically mouthing the words as he thought them, but a datum. A piece of some dehumanizing algorithm. Nothing more.
He knew then that his fears about Andy and Travis were misplaced. He knew he’d made the right decision, what was best for him and for everyone else like him, everyone stuck wasting away in a strange person farm like this one. It made the morning pass more easily to know that, in a few short weeks, after it was certain that there wasn’t any heat, he could put in his notice and quietly get the hell out of there. Everything is easier when the finish line is in sight.
But as the hours ticked by, past noon, past one, past one-thirty, with no word from Jose, he began to sweat a little. He didn’t want to jump the gun and deviate from the plan, but eventually he figured that Jose being an hour and a half late was already a deviation. First, he e-mailed Andy.
You gotta talk me down, man. Jose’s got me worried—he skipped lunch.
For three full minutes, he superfluously hit the SEND/RECEIVE button, his mouse finger operating independently of his conscious control. Finally the reply arrived.
Don’t tell me that. I know he’s here. I’ve seen him like 6 times today already. He seemed okay. Stupid lazy leftist…is he not responding to e-mails or picking up when you call?
Matterhorn thought this over a minute. It didn’t make him feel any better, but it did make him wonder if he shouldn’t try to actually just e-mail Jose—as long as he said something innocent enough, even if Jose had been caught already, they probably wouldn’t suspect he were involved. Of course, they were known to be friends, anyway. He opened a new e-mail and addressed it to Jose.
How is your Daily Agenda going? I’m wondering if you’re 90 minutes behind.
Then he replied to Andy.
Just e-mailed him asking about his day. I’ll let you know if he gets back to me.
On the receiving end of that brief statement. Andy shook his head. He opened a new e-mail to Travis.
Just a heads up…Jose and Matterhorn are morons. Jose’s late already and Matterhorn doesn’t know how to handle it. You should have let me go first man.
But before Travis even received Andy’s note, Jose replied to Matterhorn.
Sorry man. Almost done with the two hours required…will get with you in a minute.
Matterhorn was glad everything seemed okay, and breathed a sigh of relief, but quickly he felt himself a little pissed that Jose had him all worried for no reason.
Jesus, man. You’ve got me sweating over here.
Jose replied right away.
Just chill, man. It was a little harder than I thought it would be…I said I’m almost done.
But Matterhorn wasn’t feeling very calm.
WHAT was harder than you thought it would be?
Thirty seconds or less passed.
I dunno, man. I don’t like being a rat. Doesn’t that bother you?
Matterhorn thought his fingers might crush the keyboard keys as he replied.
What’s bothering me is that you’re late. Get it to me, man! Don’t mess this up for all of us! I don’t care what bothers you.
Jose finished up a few moments later, but before heading over to discreetly drop the drive on Matterhorn’s desk, he sent an e-mail to both Andy and Travis.
Don’t listen to anything Matterhorn says. Money-grubbing bastard is freaking out because I’m a little bit late and told him I feel wrong being a rat. Look I’m not backing out here but both of you know what I’m saying. Being a rat is like being one of them. But it doesn’t matter because I’m finished now. I’m just sure he’s running his mouth to one or both of you and he’s just wasting your time. He doesn’t trust either of you, anyway.
* * *
Later that night, Jose and Andy stood outside of their cars in the parking lot at McDonald’s. Jose didn’t seem to have any objections to using the parking lot of an evil corporate chain. He actually wasn’t supposed to be there at all, but Andy had suggested he come by for a minute so they could talk about the e-mails from earlier while Andy waited for Matterhorn to show up with the drive.
“I just feel dirty,” Jose was saying.
“Standing up for yourself, for the first time in your life, that feels dirty?” Andy countered.
“I gotta be a rat to stand up for myself?”
“What the hell does that even mean?” Andy was regretting this already, but still, he had his reasons.
“Snitches get stitches, man. That’s what it means. It means you fight with your fists, not by runnin’ your mouth talkin’. It means I don’t feel like this is a clean way for anyone to make a stand. Am I making a stand?”
“Just shut up, Jose. Just shut up. I’ve heard enough of your bullshit. Only one person doing a ton of talking right now, and that’s you. Keep it up and somebody’s gonna end up shutting you up, man. You signed up for this, you’re in. That’s it, you’re in.”
“Hey man, don’t talk—”
“And I’ll tell you another thing. You wanna fight with your fists? Show up at the office tomorrow morning and take out an executive. You know where they all are! If that’s how you wanna make a stand, and you really wanna make a stand, stop being a pussy. Or you know what? You know where the warehouses are. You know where the trucks are. Go on the internet and look up how you make bombs, make some, and then bomb a couple warehouses and a few trucks. Come on, man. You’re so full of shit, you don’t even realize.”
“Go fuck yourself. Who said anything about bombs?”
“I’m just sayin’, you wanna start a one-man guerrilla war, or do you wanna come back down here to Earth with the rest of us and be reasonable, and shut the hell up about being a rat and making a stand.”
Jose looked at the ground and shrugged.
“Besides, man. You hate capitalism. What do you care how you land a blow against it?”
“I guess I don’t. I guess you’re right.”
“God damn right, I’m right.”
Just then, Matterhorn pulled in. Before he even got out of the car, they could see him glaring at Jose. “Look at you two,” he spat, walking over, “just thick as thieves, having a little conspiracy all your own.”
“Yo, you gotta calm down, man,” Jose said. “We’re all in this together. How many times I gotta tell you that?”
Matterhorn fumbled in his pocket. “What happened to all your moralizing about being a ‘rat’?”
“I talked him out of it,” Andy said firmly, extending his palm.
Matterhorn gingerly placed the drive in it. “Hope IT doesn’t detect anything,” he mumbled before slouching away back to his car.
Andy looked at Jose. “Don’t worry about a thing, buddy. Couple more days and it’s all over. Another couple of months and we’ll all be outta here. Just remember that.”
At that, they parted ways. After starting his car, watching Jose drive away, Andy paused a moment to text Travis.
Got it man. Phase 3. Took care of Jose but Matterhorn being weird. I’ll get it to you at lunch, we’re all doing chess anyway.
* * *
Andy Dennis was confident that, out of the conspirators, he was the most suited to the task. Travis was capable, he believed, but he himself was more dispassionate than Travis on the whole. He completed his task quietly, without breaking a sweat, knowing how to do it without even acknowledging to his own self that he were doing it—let your right hand be unaware of what your left is doing—and he finished early. He sent no e-mails to the others, created no new drama in any way. When the time came and he strolled casually down to the cafeteria, feeling every bit the office James Bond that he was, debonair even, feeling as though he’d done his part to ensure success for them all, he found, instead of two quiet chess games going on, a near mutiny occurring before his eyes.
Matterhorn was pointing his finger in Travis’ face across one of the boards, in a manner that was conspicuous even under Travis’ philosophy of plain-sight cafeteria insurrection. “They’re gonna know,” he was hissing. “I know there’s some way they’re gonna know.”
“It’s air tight, man. It’s air tight. Nobody knows anything. Just shut up. It’s almost over. It’s air tight.” Travis was repeating the same lines over and over again, struggling to get control of one of the only variables that could potentially stand in the way of their success. Their success and their freedom.
“Look, man, just shut up, Damn the Man!” Jose shouted at Matterhorn from one side before Andy could intervene. Travis was losing more control by the minute.
“Oh, you know what, Jose?” Matterhorn grew red in the face. “I’m getting sick of your fake socialist bullshit. How are you being a socialist? You’re making money! Profit! We’re selling secret company information from one capitalist company to another capitalist company. How is that socialist? You dumb asshole. I’m just saying we’re vulnerable to IT. I can’t shake it, man. We’re exposed.”
“Is that true?” Jose looked at Travis with rage in his eyes.
“Look, everybody chill out. Andy, help me out, here.”
“Seriously, dudes, you’re starting to make a scene. Just cut the shit,” Andy seethed through the clenched teeth of a fake smile.
Travis turned back to Jose. “Now. Is what true? Nothing he is saying about IT is true at all. He’s worrying about nothing. He’s just worried. It’s normal to worry, we’re all worried, but—”
“Not about IT. I am never worried about IT. I’m talking about what he said about the client.”
“What about the client?”
“Are we just selling this shit to another rice company?”
Silence settled over the group.
Finally, Travis answered. “I thought you knew that,” he said, although he knew damn well that Jose didn’t know that. Matterhorn…
Jose just shoved Travis in the shoulder. “Sneaky capitalist swine.”
It wasn’t a serious shove, and he’d done it as casually as possible in the middle of the bustling eatery, but it was enough to knock Travis a little bit off balance. He managed to catch himself before falling off of his chair entirely, but the contents of one of his pockets were emptied, sending not one but two cell phones skittering out into the middle of the crowd. Losing his composure, he scurried to pick them up and looked as though he were about to rush out of the cafeteria.
Quickly, Andy got his attention and slipped the drive into his hand before he left. “I hope you’re both happy,” he said to the other two. “You may have just screwed us all.” But it was apparent to him that Travis had lost control entirely. He pointed at Matterhorn. “You’re gonna shut your god damn mouth from here on out. At the end of the day, I’m going to see Travis. I’m going to get the drive and the phone from him, because someone’s gotta make sure this thing happens the right way.” He turned from one to the other, still pointing his finger. People were looking at him, but he didn’t care. The damage had already been done. Either they were gonna make it or they weren’t.
But when Jose went back to his own desk, he e-mailed Travis right away.
I’m sorry I blew up like that. You’re not a bad guy, and it’s too late for me to be mad. But yo man, after you left, Andy said something about getting the drive and the phone from you at the end of the day…to make sure everything happens right or something like that. That’s not the plan I signed up for, and you should probably know what those dudes are doing.
Travis got it right away, but never planned to respond. He put his head down low, trying in vain to collect his thoughts. They’d all blown this thing, he thought to himself. Every one of them. They’re either gonna blow it by walking into things or blow it by just betraying me.
But he had all of their data already. He also had all of the account numbers. If only he were to see the plan through, alone, with no further contact with the others, he could easily disappear and hide out until the money got deposited—and then skip down for good. Can’t shed any tears for traitors and idiots.
With renewed determination, he plunged the thumb drive into the side of his computer, and just then felt a hand on his shoulder from behind. It was HR. The Angel of Death himself. Travis found himself frozen as the large, frightening man leaned over him and deftly plucked the drive from the computer. “Don’t touch anything else,” the man said calmly, professionally. “Why don’t you just come with me now. No reason to make a scene. Everything will be fine.”
* * *
A couple of hours later, Josh stood, calm but excited, in one of the offices that surrounded the cubicles. Before him were two vice presidents, and they were congratulating him.
“I think it’s safe to say that you’ve finally distinguished yourself,” one of them was saying, grinning broadly.
The other one nodded. “Time for you to be getting some more responsibility. If you can be trusted to keep the secrets of the company safe, you can be trusted with much more responsibility.”
“And more money,” the first one said, chuckling. They all chuckled. They all shook hands.
“Now, to get down to business,” the second one said, “we can sit down.” Everyone sat down. “Okay, so given the nature of the services we’ve provided you, here, we’re prepared to offer you a very unique role. A new position has opened up in Human Resources, and we think you’re perfect for the job.”
“You’re the perfect man for this one, Josh. You’ve proven it.”
“The role will expand as time goes on, but for starters, you’ll be heading up what we like to call—behind closed doors, of course—the enforcement arm of the Daily Agenda project. Essentially, we’ll need you to assess for us which employees can be identified as noncooperative or resistant to the new standards…and then we’ll need your help in disciplining them as well.”
Josh’s mouth fell agape.
“We know it’s an exciting offer—and you haven’t even heard the pay yet. You don’t have to say anything, Josh. We know you’re up to it.”
Christopher J. DiLoreto 