Chapter Text
The envelope was much too opulent for their mailbox.
Delacruz stood in this cramped apartment complex hallways looking at this thing as if it might nip him. The matte black cardstock weighed a lot in his hands. The silver letters were embossed to such a degree he could feel each line tracing out along his fingertips. His name—August Delacruz—in a font that likely cost more than he and Lupita paid for rent.
Behind him, a door hung open. In this room he could hear Roxanne getting ready for work. This was their life: a constant but cramped and loud and broken landscape.
He turned the envelope over. A wax seal--a real one--with a Heartman Technologies logo in crimson. Only rich people used those. People who didn’t have three credit cards maxed out and a stack of final notices reaching toward the kitchen ceiling like a monument to failure.
“Auggie?” Roxanne called out from inside. “You coming back in or what?”
But then he pushed open the door and he was ripping open the envelop. The apartment was a warm hug of thrifted pieces and existential terror. Their couch, salvaged off a curb two years prior, had a prominent middle. The TV was old enough that it had a slot for a VCR. The paint was a special off-white that landlords use when trying to tell a tenant that this was definitely a bare minimum.
Roxanne came out of the bathroom with a towel drying her hair. At seventeen years old, she managed to look put-together better than I ever had. She had our mom's eyes: dark and sharp. She was looking right at me.
‘What's that?’ she asked, nodding towards the envelope he had with him.
"Dear Mr. Delacruz. Heartman Technologies is pleased to offer you and one family member a position in our two-week Community Outreach Internship Program."
He read aloud with a flat, disbelieving tone. "It's. they're offering us money. Twenty-five hundred dollars. Each."
Roxanne stopped toweling her hair. "What?"
"'No experience necessary. All expenses covered. Food, transportation, and a completion bonus included.' It's signed—” He peered at the complex signature. "Vance Deus, Operations Supervisor."
They sat staring at each other for a long moment. Five thousand dollars. Five thousand would pay for apartment rent for three months. Knock out two credit cards. Let them breathe for the first time in—
‘It’s a scam,’ Roxanne declared; but her words were unconvincing.
"Maybe."
Again he read the letter for any snag. "It says to call this number for verification. We could just. check?"
Roxanne's jaw clenched. She was always the smart one, who thought before opening her mouth. They were always better off because of her. August knew a thing about stumbling. Community college. Three semesters. Till the money ran out. A dozen crap jobs where he barely hung in. Into being guardians when their parents—
But he didn’t let himself finish that thought.
‘Five grand, Rox,’ he said softly. ‘That ain’t nothin' to sneeze at
She was already heading towards her phone. ‘I’m looking them up,’ she said.
As Roxanne scrolled and typed with more and more frantic energy, August wandered to the kitchen window. Their fourth-floor apartment overlooked a district that had been “up and coming” for thirty years. Beyond the rail yards and warehouses loomed the industrial sprawl, and in the far-off distance shimmered the Heartman Technologies campus.
As a matter of fact, he had always noticed this. The building was a brutalist nightmare: lots of sharp corners and reflective glass rising up out of the old industrial park like a middle finger to everything else. At night, it was backlit with a soft blue light that shone from block to block.
“Okay,” Roxanne said behind him. “Okay, so Heartman Tech: legit. Giant A.I. firm. Makes virtual assistants and automation software. You name it. Founder and CEO: Michael Heartman. Tech mogul.total recluse. Barely any pics of him out there.”
"And the internship program?"
She paused. “I don’t see anything about a community outreach program on their site. But.” She continued scrolling. “There are articles about urban investment things. Building partnerships with local communities. Maybe this is something new?”
But before he could convince himself otherwise, he took the telephone out of her hands and dialed a number that was printed on a letter.
It rang twice. A smooth, professional voice answered. "Heartman Technologies, Community Outreach Division. How may I direct your call?"
"Uh, yeah, I got a letter about some kind of internship program? For me and my sister?"
"One moment please." A pause. The clicking of typing. "Mr. Delacruz? August and Roxanne?"
“That's us
“Excellent. Let me transfer you to Mr. Deus.”
Another pause. This time a little longer. August put her on speaker phone so Roxanne could hear. She'd moved close enough he could smell her shampoo—she used that cheap stuff sold at the dollar store but had a distinct scent of artificial strawberries.
Next: ‘August! Thank you so much for calling.’
The voice was warm and energetic, with a professional veneer that bordered on being believable. Despite himself, August loosened up.
‘I am Vance Deus. I shall be supervising you for this program. I must admit that we are extremely delighted to have you and Roxanne with us. We were looking for a candidate with a profile such as yours,’ he added.
“Our profile?” asked August. “I didn’t apply for anything,” he said.
A smooth laugh. "Of course not. This is an invitation program. We look for community members who we think would benefit from learning more about the tech industry. You're two bright and motivated young individuals who have suffered economically for no reason of your own. That's precisely who we’re trying to help."
Roxanne made a face—part skeptical, part hopeful. This was a hope that could kill. When had either of them felt a glimmer of hope about anything?
‘So what would we actually be doing?’ August asked.
“Nothing taxing, I promise. Primarily observation: attending meetings, familiarization with our departments, assistance with simple administrative matters. We aim to de-mystify the tech world. People can pursue such careers. And yes, we pay well. Two thousand five hundred for each of two weeks of labor. All we require: be present Mondays at nine.”
Too good to be true. This was definitely too good to be true. But he was seven months without a job and a sister who was working herself to the bone to put food on the table, and pride had become a luxury he couldn’t afford.
"We'll be there," he said.
"Wonderful!” Vance's voice shone with heat via the telephone. "I'll email confirmations with directions for parking and a list of things to bring along. Welcome to Heartman Technologies, August. I think you're going to find this experience. transformative."
After hanging up the phone, Roxanne began pacing. This was her thinking pattern—circling her room, gnawing her lip, going over and over possible disastrous outcomes.
‘This feels wrong,’ she said.
"Everything feels off lately," August contradicted. "But at least this brand of off comes with five thousand dollars."
“But why us? Why us specifically? How did they even get our address?”
"Does it matter?" August plopped down onto the couch with a hiss of springs. "Worst-case scenario, we’re stuck listening to corporate drivel for two weeks. Best-case scenario? We might finally be getting a break. I'm game for trying those odds."
Roxanne ceased her pacing. She gazed at him with her honed eyes. “You're scared.”
"I'm scared, yes. But I'm more scared of losing this. Of you leaving school because we can't pay for it. Of—" he nodded towards the pile of bills. "Of everything."
She was quiet for a moment. Then she sat down alongside him. They sat side by side. Shoulder to shoulder. Two children masquerading as grown-ups.
‘Alright,’ she said finally. ‘But if anything looks suspicious—’
"We leave. First sign of trouble, we’re gone."
"Promise?"
August extended his pinky. Roxanne rolled her eyes but connected hers with his. They'd made this promise to each other when they were little.
“Promise."
The weekend passed in a haze of nervous excitement. August tried out every shirt he had until he found a second-hand button-down with most of its buttons and a small stain that would be concealed if he slouched with his arm down. Roxanne ironed her best jeans and borrowed his least-tattered sneakers.
Sunday night brought only fitful sleep.
August was lying in his room—not that he had a room but a corner of the living room split off with a curtain—looking at a stain on the ceiling. It was a hand reaching out. He remembered noticing it when they first moved in when their mom was still alive. They had problems then but no disasters.
The phone buzzed. A text message from Elias. heard u guys got some fancy job? look at u, mr. corporate lmao
August couldn’t help but smile. This was one thing his cousin had always had a knack for—to appear when the silence had grown loud enough to be heard. August typed back: ‘just an internship thing. probably boring as hell’.
still. proud of u primo. don’t let those corporate types push u around
yeah yeah. go to sleep old man
im 21 asshole
exactly. ancient. decrepit
blocked. ur dead to me. tell rox i love her more
August put his phone down, feeling a little better. Elias had this power—to make the world feel less heavy, less serious. To remind August that they were still young and that there had to be joy in among all this.
Beginning with paychecks and groceries, he let himself drift off thinking about the way Roxanne's face had looked when she'd let herself smile about the money. Real. Unguarded. Young.
Monday morning was as inevitable as a date for execution.
They took the bus because August’s car had broken down six weeks prior, and a repair estimate would have cost more than the car itself. Forty-five minutes of riding the bus amidst neighborhoods that were getting more and more upscale with each passing mile towards Heartman College. Coffee shops and artisan bakeries. Folks wearing pricey athleisure outfits. Dogs wearing designer collars.
Roxanne pushed her face to the window. “It’s like a different city,” she said.
“Same city,” replied August. “We’re just not usually invited for this portion.”
The Heartman Technologies campus loomed larger when he was closer. The biggest building was a giant concrete monolith with sharp corners and shiny surfaces glinting in the sunlight and hurling it back with defiance. Every inch of this campus was perfect and geometric with designs that made no more sense to August than hieroglyphics.
They headed towards the main entrance, a gargantuan glass atrium that made August feel no bigger than an ant. Inside, white marble and chrome predominated. Large screens displayed Heartman trademarks and advertisements. A shiny robotic vacuum cleaner glided before their feet. Somewhere in the background, a faint melody of classical music was being played.
‘Welcome to Heartman Technologies’.
August caught a glimpse of a tall man walking towards him. This man had dark hair with a sharp undercut. His smile could have graced a perfume ad. They were wearing designer casuals: a white shirt with rolled-up elbows and trousers. The timepiece he sported would be more expensive than their apartment.
But his eyes were what turned August's stomach. They were ice blue, bright, and intense— almost predatory.
‘August? Roxanne?’ he extended a hand. ‘I'm Vance Deus. Nice to finally meet you both,’ he said. Every action he made was smooth and flawless. This man had clearly never made a blip with a noppler.
The handshake was strong and warm. Normal. So why did August want to shake loose?
‘Thank you for having us,’ Roxanne said, displaying more grace than August would ever possess.
"The pleasure is mine." Vance's smile did not slip. "Please, follow me. I'll give you a tour and tell you about how the next two weeks will go."
As he walked with them, Vance turned out to be a pleasant guide. he indicated offices, explained the mission of the company. he asked interesting questions about their interests and goals. he was charming. he was thoughtful. he was a type of supervisor that everyone would like.
And yet.
But August had a feeling something was off. Not based on anything he could put his finger on—just a nagging sensation in the back of his head. The stiffness in Vance's posture. The delay between his expressions. As if he were showing a loading signal beforehand.
They moved down a corridor lined with empty cubicles. Coffee cups sat atop desks, half-full. Screensavers danced across computer monitors. A jacket draped a chair.
'It's quiet today,' observed August
‘Monday morning,’ Vance continued. ‘The majority of our staff are work-from-home Mondays. You’ll be introduced to more staff later in the week.’
But the coffee was still warm. August had touched one mug when he passed.
Roxanne caught his attention. She had also noticed.
Vance brought them to a conference room that had a breathtaking view of the city. “This will be your main workspace. I have put together some material for you to go through this morning. This afternoon, I thought we would do something special—to give you a tour of our server rooms. Few interns have had this privilege before, but I think this would be interesting for you.”
"Server rooms?" Roxanne asked.
‘The center of everything we do. Where magic occurs. Where mind and code meet.’
‘Metaphorically speaking,’ he added with a fleeting smile.
They were left with tablets containing training videos and the promise that he would be back after lunch.
As soon as the door shut, Roxanne turned to August. "Alright, it's not just me, right? Something's off."
“Where is everybody?” August moved toward the window. From where he was standing, he could see that the parking lot was almost empty. “He said that people work from home Mondays. But look. There are about ten cars down there. In a building this big?”
"And did you see the cubicles? People left their things as if they'd just stepped out for a minute."
August received a buzz on his phone. Elias: "How's life in corporate America? Do you wear a tie yet?"
he typed back: "its weird here. cant explain. will call u tonight"
everything ok?
He observed Roxanne, a clean conference room with tablets containing training videos for synergy and innovation. A building that was too empty with a far too charming boss.
yeah. probably just paranoia. talk later.
He stuffed his phone away and attempted to pay attention to the orientation pamphlets. But his mind persisted in going back to Vance’s eyes—they almost had a glowing quality when illuminated properly. The smile he gave never touched his eyes. The touch of his handshake with August had been warm but. off. As if he was shaking hands with something that had skin. He assured himself he was being ridiculous. They were in need of this money. They were in need of a break. They definitely couldn’t use sabotage. But August had learned to rely on his feeling for wrongness. A feeling honed out of pain: his memories of watching his mother slip away in a hospital bed while doctors discussed everything in terms of coverage, his signature on guardianship paperwork his junior year because someone had to sign while his dad was on the other side of the continent with a new family he’d always wanted more. Wrongness was an old friend. And it was present in this sparkling building with empty cubes and a far-too-perfect boss. Vance had a bright and eager smile when he came back at two. ‘Ready for the real tour?’ he asked. A look passed between August and Roxanne. They had eaten lunch in silence thus far, trying to convince themselves that everything was fine. They were failing. “Sure,” August said, because what else could he say? They followed Vance further into the facility.