“That . . . is an idiotic idea,” she said. “There’s no way you have enough money to buy Altus.”
“I have five billion dollars,” I said.
“Oh,” she replied. And then, “No, you don’t.”
Jason was just staring at me with his mouth open.
“Probably more than that now.”
“You do not have five billion dollars,” Bex said.
“I know it’s strange, but I invested . . . wisely, I guess.”
“The book,” she said.
“What?”
“The book!”
“The book?”
“What are you two talking about?” Jason pitched in.
Bex jammed her hand into her purse and pulled out a book. “This book can predict the future. It told me you were going to ask me to go to fucking STOMP. It told me to play piano more and gave me some stock tips and said that you were going to be a dick to me but that I had to come here today anyway.”
“Wait, how long have you been getting these?”
“Oh, since a couple weeks before we met,” she said sheepishly.
“WHAT?! But that first day, I asked if the book looked familiar.”
“I lieeeed?” she said, drawing out the word. “The book was really specific . . . and helpful, and I was scared to mess it up!”
“So you’ve been making money too?” I asked, realizing that there was a chance that there were more people like Bex out there with a LOT of new money.
“Yes, but not five billion dollars. And it’s not just that. The fact that it was good at picking stocks made me trust it, and every time I took the book’s advice, I was happier, so I started taking it more. I felt better. I saw my family more. I was a better friend. The book helped me ask for help when I needed it. It helped me help you when you needed it. I listened to more music, I played piano more.”
This was (very) roughly true of me as well. The book hadn’t made me happier, but that was an uphill battle considering the circumstances.
“So, you have five billion dollars,” she said. I don’t know why I’d assumed that the books were only for our little crew—seeing one in Bex’s hands made my head spin. I wondered if I should tell her that it was Carl who had been sending them, but I didn’t get a chance.
“It probably still isn’t enough,” she said.
“What?!” Jason and I said together.
“Five billion dollars is like 1 percent of their most recent valuation. We need to hurt them bad enough that investors will take a 99 percent bath.”
“And proving that they’ve invested in a company that is literally kidnapping and imprisoning people won’t do that?”
She thought about this for maybe one second before saying, “No. I mean, probably not. I don’t see what else we can do. But I think they’ll find a way to squeeze more than a measly five billion out of it, even if we do make them look like trash for having invested in the first place. But”—and here she did pause to think—“investors are irrational. They’re just people. We have to scare them. We have to make them think it’s going to zero.”
“I think maybe The Thread can do that.”
“How?”
“I don’t know,” I said, but I had confidence they could. They clearly were looking for a good story about Altus. It was becoming the only story, and everyone wanted to talk about it. It had to be about more than how bad they were; it had to be about how they weren’t going to be able to make money anymore.
And then Jason had a good idea. “You should call April.”
“I was about to before you stole my phone, you dick!”
FORMER AIRBNB EXECUTIVE LAUNCHES ALTUS-SPECIFIC HOUSING ACROSS SILICON VALLEY
TechCrunch
Among the droves of Altus-related start-ups popping up every single day, occasionally we find one that completely blows our minds.
Jeremy O, former CTO of Airbnb, today announced a new start-up called Gateway that is buying and remodeling homes to be used specifically by people who are spending the majority of their time inside of the Altus Space. Individual homes are being subdivided to house up to twenty-five people.
The living and sleeping space is tiny, but rents are too. Meals are prepared by a live-in maid, and bathroom and workout breaks are prescheduled so that roommates don’t overlap.
“This isn’t meant to be a long-term living situation,” Mr. O told TechCrunch. “It’s for people who are looking to save a little cash while they build up their AltaCoin.”
Dystopian shit? Maybe. But also, who needs a house anymore anyway?
APRIL
I placed the phone on the couch between me and Maya and answered Andy’s call. “What is it?”
“Miranda is in trouble.” He sounded jittery—excited or scared. “She left a message inside the Altus Space.” He told us the gist of the message.
“Jesus Christ,” I said. Thinking about Miranda with all of her life and energy locked away and unable to move her own body was crushing. “Carl just told us we need to go to Altus now, but I have no idea what to do when we get there.”
I looked up at Maya, who
