The Thorne at My Side

CHAPTER 2

“Dude, where is your head at?”

AUSTIN

"Up and at ‘em!" My sister calls out as she flips the switch on the automatic blinds in my bedroom.

"Elle, when are you moving out? I can't handle you and your morning person tendencies." I grumble as I roll away from the light.

"Austin, I'm barely a morning person, you're just nocturnal. It's seven, normal people don’t call this early."

"Is The Morning Show still on?” I know it is because I hear Showbiz Scoop in the background. It’s a segment I’ve been featured on from time to time so I have to fight the urge to throw the TV out the window when I hear the jingle. “Because that, by definition, is still the morning."

"Yes but you know I have to be up to open the studio for the 5:30 class."

"But why do I have to be up for that?"

"You’re lucky I waited to wake you up until I got home. Plus, Dad wants to see me be responsible and getting you to the office before 10:00 is one way I can show him that. "

She cheerfully knocks out a beat on my door. When I let my little sister Eloise move in with me, I didn’t know she'd try to use me as her ticket to prove to Dad she’s responsible. The piece I’m missing is how turning me into a morning person proves that she has hit the trust inheritance requirement. Had I known, I would have told her it's not worth the effort. Dad only cares about one thing, making money. He doesn't care what time of day it happens or really where it comes from as long as it hits the bank account.

I hear Elle out in the front of the condo talking to Brinkley. As I head to the shower I check the little gray rectangle I've become overly attached to. I turn it off at night, after I send my message to TalkShopGirl because if I don’t, I’ll sleep with one ear open hoping to hear the ping indicating her response. Which means the only way to tell if TalkShopGirl has responded is to turn it on.

I brace myself for not hearing back from her. It hasn’t happened yet, but the last thing I wrote to her was about a hair product Elle wouldn't shut up about yesterday so I’m concerned.

But also, these conversations as DCFox are the most genuine words I've ever exchanged with a woman. Because TalkShopGirl has no idea that I am Austin Thorne, media conglomerate heir and tabloid darling.

Most women date me for my bank account or access to the company's broadcast and gossip channels and my verified status on social media. And, while I'm certainly not complaining because those women are usually an appealing combination of attractive and inattentive, the texts I exchange with TalkShopGirl make me feel like a teenager. The pimply kid who is too tall for his muscle mass, too nervous to approach his crush, looking for anything to say to her.

Like a full paragraph on his sister’s hair products.

The little phone comes to life and I lean against the counter in my bathroom as I brush my teeth and read her latest note.

TalkShopGirl: I like thinking that our texts are this ongoing conversation. One where our messages don't have a beginning or an end. And, I love waking up to your notes. I open my eyes and try to avoid this little device as long as possible before I finally give in and check because I am desperate to know what DCFox has to say.

As soon as I start reading your words the rest of the world fades away. I don't hear the hustle and bustle of my neighborhood. I don't hear the notifications on my team’s slack channel. I only hear the rhythm of my own heart as I read my note, from you.

A wide smile spreads across my face. It's ridiculous because we don't know each other but she sounds as invested in this relationship as I am.

When I walk into the corporate headquarters of Thorne Media Corp an hour later, I head straight through the lobby to the back patio that overlooks the river.

This is where my project manager, Kevin Young, prefers to work. He'll sit outside when the weather allows or inside with his back against the marble lobby wall, laptop propped on his legs.

"Austin, good morning," he says when he sees me. I smile at him and nod towards the walking path. He snaps his laptop closed and falls into step beside me.

"I just got off the phone with the team in India and there's been a power outage so they're not going to complete their tasks for today. "

"Excellent," I mutter.

"And we got a call from the guys over at Alpha. They want to figure out how we can adapt this project for them to control the content their users are seeing."

"Alrighty," I slow my steps and look out over the river, the soft glow of the autumn sunshine washes the city in a golden hue. "And what's the status of the offshore work?"

"Dude, where is your head at?" Kevin says with a laugh.

"Sorry," I laugh at myself quietly. TalkShopGirl's words float through my head.

I only hear the rhythm of my own heart.

"You get laid last night? Is Allegra back in town?"

"What? No. No way. I mean, she's fine and all but, no.”

I clear my throat because while Kevin and I are close we don't need to be talking about my sex life a few hundred feet from the office. "So are we still on schedule?" I regroup.

"It'll be tight but we should be ready for launch next week, which is three full weeks before the election."

"We should probably announce ourselves; tell people we're coming. We're going to dominate the news cycle once we're live."

"I'm hesitant to do it too soon. With the talk of lawsuits and the anti-trust environment our current congress wears like a badge of honor…” Kevin speaks with concern in his voice.

"You think people will be lining up to picket the big, bad, AI Media company?"

"The one that destroys everything these politicos hold dear?"

I laugh. "We'll just have to win them over with our sheer volume of content and high powered search engine. Until then, let's start running ads, coming soon, a TMC AI Media initiative so stock your doomsday cellars today."

Kevin and I share a laugh. We might joke about it but we both understand the reality. This project has been four years in the making and when it goes live, it'll revolutionize the way people receive their information.

The AI database we built is powered by an algorithm that factors in just about everything the user does on their device. And as soon as it’s live it will deliver personalized news to users eight times a day. The articles will be written specifically for them so they find them interesting and helpful.

That's the public facing side of the project. Then there is my pet project, a version of the tool that will write speeches , responses, and talking points for politicians based on what their backers, followers, and opponents have said in the last 24 hours.

Their content will be customized to address trending topics and our technology's ability to match the candidate's tone of voice will ensure a natural sounding script. We'll be able to draft digital content as well. And the speed at which we'll do so will put all the trolls to shame.

It's an expensive product to develop but like how the first AIDS pill cost a billion to produce and the second only cost a dollar, this thing will have a low operating cost and the profits will turn almost immediately. And those profits will grow exponentially when we add in sponsored, in-line content and more obvious ads.

And like Kevin said, the government is not in our corner on this one. There are already laws in the E.U. that protect user generated content from AI scrubbing and I bet the U.S. will follow. Especially if Senator Quinn is elected. Digital safety and privacy are key to her platform.

There is a TMC marketing coordinator assigned to AI Media and they’ll get the word out as soon as we give the green light. I’ve had a few promising meetings about the speech writing side of the business and should get those contracts closed this week.

My biggest worry at this point is the final pitch to Dad. He doesn’t care about the innovation of the product. He doesn’t care about the user projections. He only cares about the bottom line. In fact, my “presentation” could be as simple as it cost A to make, we’ll make B from advertising and as long as Dad feels like it’s enough we’re good to go.He’s going to ask for my numbers and then jot them down on his notepad.

Where all those notes go remains a mystery.

I’ve heard the outgoing president leaves a note in his desk for the next guy, maybe when Dad transitions the company to me next year I’ll get access to the notes archive.

When the elevator doors open on the 24th floor I head straight into my dad's office. I see my grandfather is in the office today which will make this pitch more entertaining. He likes to hear more than numbers.

Alfred Thorne is the patriarch of Thorne Media Corp. He started this company with money he saved cutting lawns in ritzy neighborhoods around D.C.. He'd overhear discussions and started to write them down and soon realized he was sitting on a wealth of information because no one took him seriously. He published a one-page flier with a salacious headline but an all true story from what he overheard in the backyard of the Secretary of State and soon the royalties were pouring in.

He, of course, losthis access as a lawn boy but he quickly organized a team of rag-tag reporters who would follow important people around and pick up whatever they could.

He basically invented the paparazzi.

My dad took over when he turned 35 and he expanded the Thorne reach into every type of media you can imagine. He started buying up radio stations and later podcast production studios. He bought up flailing social media apps at bottom of the barrel prices. He even got into the streaming service game.

Now it's my turn to take the company to the next level with my AI driven news product.

Dad sits behind his desk and my grandfather sits in one of the chairs in front. I take the other. I remember grandad’s office being wood furniture and wingback chairs. A smog of cigar smoke was always present.

Dad, of course, redecorated when he assumed the CEO position. He hired a trendy 80s designer who delivered the epitome of office decor at the time with red desks, light gray chairs with chrome legs, and a curved sofa.

"Austin, glad you could join us," Dad greets as he continues to read something on his computer. "Your grandfather and I were discussing the AI project."

"I spoke with Kevin before coming up here, we're on track but we're a little worried about the launch."

"How so?" My grandfather asks.

"Well, we're concerned about the current congress's affinity for regulating user generated content apps, the EU is already ahead of the US with restrictions on AI combing social media, and the speech writing component will not be well received by anyone employed in D.C. to write speeches."

"Speech writers are a dime a dozen," my father says dismissively.

"Well there certainly are dozens of them, especially in an election year."

"Don't do that son, don't aggrandize them. You give them too much power and it'll come back to bite you."

"Who are you most concerned about?" My grandfather asks.

"The marketing team mentioned two earlier this week. One, Miles Frick is working on the Goeglier campaign down in Florida and getting a good response. Another is Maggie Collins who is working on the Quinn campaign here in D.C.. Apparently she has really taken them to the next level."

After we discuss a few more specifics, including the numbers I knew Dad would want to jot down, I head back to my office. I need to decompress after meetings with my dad.

Only a few more hours until I can get home, change into loungewear, mix a cocktail, and respond to TalkShopGirl. By far, my favorite part of the day.