Scam Likely — Day 19

My cell phone rang at 7:58am. I hadn’t given anyone the number, so I almost didn’t answer for fear of scam likely.

“Hello,” I answered against my better judgement, still wearing the scratchy voice of an all-night scroller.

“My name is Sari Hood,” a stern, sharp woman spoke through the receiver with startling staccato. “I am on the Comtel legal transition team. I am forwarding a document to your University email in three, two… now. You should have received a contract stating the legal dissolution of the application with the Secretary of State’s office of Massachusetts for the Flavor of Harvard Application and in two, one… now. You should receive a second document releasing you from the aforementioned company’s trademark duties. We at Comtel will resubmit subsequent for both resulting in your attainment of the position to spearhead the company publicly. We will provide a publicist, wardrobe, multiple stylists, media coaches, unlimited access to our jet fleet, Black Cards, and of course, a veneers budget. At your earliest convenience, preferably today, we will be expecting executed contracts. Unless, of course, you’d like to acquire your own of-counsel. If not, I am more than willing to come alongside and help you in any way I can per advisement from Comtel legal. Questions?”

She sounded like she’d written it all down ahead of time and was reading aloud in the voice of a robot. There was no inflection where it should’ve been. No actionable verbs that moved. Just stiff straight talk of a paper pushing lawyer.

“Questions?”

I was tempted to hang up.

“I will disconnect the call if there are no further questions, Miss Nobles.”

“Actually,” I replied sitting up and now alert in my bed. “I do have a question.”

“Yes?”

“First,” I said. “I verbally accept your offer as my lawyer. Is that enough, for now, to gain one-hundred percent truthful and privileged lawyer-client advice? A breach of which is actionable toward you losing your license.”

“My superiors have given me such admissions, yes.”

“And you do not strike me as the type to break a rule,” I started. “So, I’ll ask – what do you believe this application is worth?”

Silence. I couldn’t even hear her breathe. It was as if I’d glitched her circuit board.

“Miss Hood?” I asked. “You there?”

“I,” she said. “Am.”

“Do you have a privileged answer for me?”

“I do,” she said before taking a deep, preparatory breath. “While I do not know the specifics of pricing in such notions your question was posed more as an opinion than fact, therefore, as your lawyer, in this capacity I must guess. Which, of course, I rarely do.”

“That’s fine,” I replied. “I respect your opinion as my lawyer. Guess.”

“Based solely upon my seven years at Comtel and aforementioned education and life experience in technological spaces and the ailing atmosphere surrounding dating applications at the moment, I’d guess your product would top out among 2020 Twitter territory.”

“For the record,” I said sitting up further. “What did 2020 Twitter go for in a dollar amount?”

“Again, difficult to answer, but records have the company selling in 2022 for 30 billion.”

Silence.

“Thank you, Miss Hood,” I said slowly trying not to shake. “I need one last string of advice from you. If you were in my position right now, would you take this deal?”

“That, I cannot answer.”

“Oh, actually Miss Hood,” I said finally standing. “That non answer was better than an actual one. Have a great day, Ma’am.”

I knocked on Iris’ door, and when she hollered for me to enter, I told her everything I’d done over the past day and a half. From Z to the twins to crying over Wesley to stalking our clientele for potential dates. I expected her to judge, or at least, scold me for being sneaky. But she did not. Instead, she reached her palm to my cheek.

“You’re a human being after all, aren’t you?” she smiled so sweetly. “Really think Wesley will be a problem?”

I nodded and then shrugged. “I could be wrong,” I said. “I mean, I did promise him a spotlight and immediately highjack it from him.”

“So, you’re saying he could be just human after all, too?”

“Could be,” I replied. “But if he really is awful…”

“We’re fucked,” she said.

“Exactly.”