Social Network (4)
When I stared at her without saying anything, Trish looked at me with obvious confusion.
“Why? What is it?”
I leaned forward. “Tell me the details of that tip.”
A tip alone wasn’t enough to write a story. If you wanted to know whether it was true, you had to investigate it.
And when it came to investigation, the fastest thing you could do was ask an expert.
I was that expert.
“Well, I mean, it’s just...”
After listening to Trish, I could tell it matched the version I remembered.
The informant was definitely the same person as in my first life.
“That tip of yours. Go investigate it.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s a very good chance it’s real.”
At my words, she couldn’t hide her surprise.
Trish lifted her head, glanced around to make sure no one was nearby, and then lowered her voice.
“What do you mean? Are you saying FaceNote’s algorithm really encourages hatred and rage?”
“Yes. Continue Capital is already investigating the issue.”
At first glance, it sounded absurd.
But it was a fact, and FaceNote knew it too. That was why the whistleblowers had started coming forward.
“If this pans out, it could be a massive exclusive.”
At the words exclusive, Trish’s eyes widened.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
This was about exposing corruption inside a company ranked fifth in the U.S. and worth a trillion dollars. If it blew open the right way, it would be a scandal that shook the entire country.
“For now, keep in touch with that person and keep digging. And if possible, tell them you want to meet in person.”
“Okay.”
Trish O'Connor remembered what had happened the year before.
That day, too, she had been writing an article at Starbucks. It was a piece about the aircraft engine explosion at Atlanta Airport.
While she was working, she’d accidentally overheard a conversation at the table behind her, and she’d spoken up.
That had been their first meeting.
Right there, Han Miru had declared that he intended to build the world’s greatest investment firm.
Back then, she’d thought he was just talking big. Anyone could dream, after all.
And yet...
In barely a year, Continue Capital had become the most famous private equity firm on Wall Street.
And thanks to the stories he’d pointed her toward, the Wall Street Times (WST) had gone from a tiny online outlet to one of New York’s big three media companies, right alongside the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal.
She, too, had become a journalist people recognized by name.
In the past, she’d had to chase people down for interviews and was usually turned away at the door. Now people were the ones asking her to cover them.
Sometimes she still thought about it.
If I hadn’t met him at Starbucks that day, what would’ve happened?
WST would still have been a small local internet paper, and she would have remained an unknown reporter.
Her brother wouldn’t have received investment from Continue Capital, and if that had happened, O'Connor Burger might have stayed nothing more than a pub burger sold only in bars.
Because of that, her father called Han Miru “the O'Connor family’s benefactor.”
The more you know about him, the stranger he gets.
Thinking of Han Miru, Trish found herself smiling.
She sent the informant a message.
I relayed Trish’s story to David.
“What do you think?”
David answered cautiously. “Isn’t that the sort of tip anyone could make?”
“You think so?”
“There have been rumors for a long time that FaceNote causes addiction and depression. The same goes for the problem of sensational content and fake news.”
It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that modern people were all addicted to social media.
They woke up, logged on, and stayed on it until the moment they went to sleep.
FaceNote was overflowing with fake news, while Linstagram was packed with beautiful men and women. The people in those feeds bought luxury brands and supercars, went on vacations, and seemed to live lives made of nothing but glittering excess.
After a while, watching it could make you feel like everyone else was happy except you, and that kind of comparison could turn into helplessness and depression.
“But if the algorithm was deliberately designed that way, doesn’t that change things?”
In the past, you had to swim through an ocean of information just to find what you wanted to know. These days, you didn’t have to do that.
The algorithm simply selected the information it thought the user wanted to see and showed it to them automatically.
It wasn’t exactly a secret; everyone more or less knew that already. There were plenty of papers and reports on the subject.
What mattered was whether people inside FaceNote knew it. If they had recognized the problem and hidden it—or worse, deliberately encouraged it—that would be a massive scandal.
I thought back to my first life.
The Wall Street Journal had launched an investigation, but FaceNote had denied everything, calling it a baseless accusation.
In the end, the truth had never come out. The stock had dipped a little, and the whole thing had been brushed aside.
What would happen this time?
“If it turns out to be true, it’ll do serious damage to their image, but I doubt it’ll hurt the company as a whole.”
So even this wasn’t enough to bring down the social-media empire.
“What if Congress held hearings?”
Whether in Korea or the United States, the thing companies hated most was government regulation.
But David remained skeptical.
“That would be a different story, though I still think it would be difficult.”
“Why?”
“Big tech companies wield enormous influence over Congress through lobbyists. It’s no exaggeration to say most politicians are working for them.”
This was a company with a trillion-dollar market cap, one that provided a service used by 2.8 billion people around the world.
At that scale, it was practically its own nation. It was an open secret that big tech poured astronomical sums into political lobbying.
I said confidently, “Don’t worry. I’ve got a way.”
David looked puzzled. “What exactly is that way?”
“That’s...”
“Don’t tell me I just have to wait and see?”
I nodded.
“You’re learning.”
What mattered now was identifying the informant.
Even the WSJ reporter who had pursued the investigation in my first life had never met the source in person.
Could Trish really do it?
Even after Continue Capital launched its massive short position, FaceNote’s stock was still climbing.
The loss rate had already passed 5 percent, and $2.1 billion had gone up in smoke.
But there was no reason to panic.
Enple would strengthen privacy protections in the next NOS update and shut down user tracking by unauthorized apps.
According to the release schedule, that update was due the week after next.
As I kept gathering related materials, Trish contacted me.
“What? Really?”
How on earth had she persuaded them?
FaceNote’s headquarters was in San Jose.
“Come with me.”
Miru, too?
“Yes. I was planning to meet Sid anyway.”
Okay.
“What about the flight?”
We need to book one. What time should we leave?
“Economy?”
She answered as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
For business trips, we always fly economy.
“I see.”
I used to fly economy all the time. Not anymore.
I told her, “Leave the hotel and plane reservations to me.”
I met Trish at JFK Airport.
She was dressed comfortably, a backpack slung over one shoulder and a suitcase in tow. She looked more like a college student heading out on vacation than a reporter on a business trip for an investigation.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been to California. I wonder how my brother’s doing.”
Her brother, Sean O'Connor, was in Silicon Valley with Fernando Domingo, working hard to expand O'Connor Burger.
Once we boarded the plane, Trish was stunned.
“Huh!”
“What’s wrong?”
“Th-this is first class.”
“Yes. If we’re going, we might as well go comfortably.”
She couldn’t sit still, so she pulled out her camera and started taking pictures in earnest.
“Can I drink the wine? I heard first class serves premium wine.”
“Yes. It’s free, so order whatever you want.”
Strictly speaking, it was already included in the fare.
Maybe because she was so excited, Trish ordered wine along with all sorts of in-flight meals.
I asked with a worried look, “Are you really going to be able to eat all that?”
Trish answered with the expression of someone who had made up her mind. “Of course. I’m going to finish everything. When else in my life am I going to fly first class?”
“...”
We’d booked round-trip tickets, so she’d be flying first class again on the way back too.
The plane left JFK Airport and, after five and a half hours in the air, arrived at San Francisco International Airport.
Having drunk plenty of expensive wine because it was free, Trish’s face was bright red by the time we got off.
“Are you okay?”
“Y-yes, of course. I’m fine. I’m totally fine.”
“...”
She looked drunk to me.
We got into the car waiting for us and headed to the Blackwood Hotel.
After check-in, while we were taking our key cards, Trish asked in a tiny voice, “Y-you didn’t just book one room, did you?”
“Yes. If that’s uncomfortable, should I book a separate one?”
At my answer, she waved both hands. “No, no. I’m fine. We should save money, right? Hehe!”
We rode the elevator upstairs.
The room I’d booked was a presidential suite.
It was larger than several ordinary suites put together, and it was divided into two sides by an interior door.
We could lock that door and use the rooms separately, or leave it open.
“Trish, take this side. I’ll use the other one.”
Trish looked disappointed. “Ohhh, so that’s how it was set up.”
“...”
What on earth had she been imagining?
Trish must have been tipsy, because she lay down on the bed and fell asleep right away.
I left her there and headed to Snow Crash alone.
“Thank you for coming all this way.”
As soon as I stepped inside, a middle-aged Black woman wearing glasses greeted me.
Her name was Kathy Volard. She had originally been an accounting assistant, but after Continue Capital acquired the company, she’d been promoted to CFO.
She’d been inexperienced and made plenty of mistakes at first, but now she was helping Sid keep Snow Crash running smoothly.
“Where’s CEO Lucas?”
“He’s working.”
Following her guidance, I made my way over to Sid’s desk.
Just like when I’d first met him, Sid was wearing headphones and coding away. On one of his monitors, zombie footage was playing.
I gave his shoulder a light tap.
When Sid saw me, he jumped and pulled off his headphones.
“Hyung!”
“What are you watching?”
“A zombie drama from Korea. It’s not as good as Zombienado, but it’s pretty watchable.”
Zombie movies had always been a genre more popular in the West. That was why films, dramas, and games in the genre were usually made there.
But lately, it seemed like K-zombies were gaining traction.
Come to think of it, there had been a wave of zombie fandom around this time in my first life too.
“You been well?”
“Of course.”
In the meantime, Sid had accomplished a tremendous amount.
For one thing, he’d built a data-analysis cloud system for the FBI and NSA, and both agencies were now peering into Mona App as easily as if they were looking through a glass pane, happily baiting criminals into traps.
Because they reported it as though they’d caught their targets using other evidence, the criminals never imagined that Mona App itself had been compromised.
He’d also worked with the Blackwood Hotel to overhaul not just its home-sharing system but its entire hotel reservation infrastructure, and in secret he’d quietly improved AMZ’s security systems as well.
In Silicon Valley, Sid Lucas’s reputation had risen to absurd heights.
Before, Snow Crash had competed with other cloud companies on price. Now it was the kind of service people used even when it was expensive.
Revenue had risen sharply too, and this quarter it was expected to post a profit for the first time.
“Have you eaten?”
“Hmm. I think I did. Did I?”
Then CFO Volard said, “Yes. You had a sandwich earlier.”
It seemed that if no one was around to look after him, he barely remembered to eat at all.
I moved with Sid to the lounge.
The lounge was stocked with a variety of drinks and some light snacks.
Sid drank milk, and I grabbed an energy drink.
“So what brings you here?”
Rather than answer right away, I asked him a question of my own. “What do you think about HMD technology?”
“It’s lame. The idea that you can just put a single video in front of your eyes and call it virtual reality is ridiculous.”
“Then what about BCI technology?”
“That’s necessary. To build true virtual reality, the fastest method is for the computer and brain to exchange signals directly. It’s still at a basic stage, but that’s the technology that’ll end up going mainstream.”
Just as I’d expected.
“Do you know a company called LinkLabs?”
At the question, Sid’s eyes widened.
“Oh! Of course. I’ve read every paper Dr. Hawkins wrote. It seems like it’d be fun to work with them.”
I got to the point.
“Should I buy them?”