Page 9 of The Session

“Why is a group of accountants expensing things in Eastern Europe and Central Asia?” Tru asked.

“I don’t know, but that’s when the problem started,” Susan said. “I put together a report and gave it to Donald. Then the next day I came into work and I was told that I had a Session.”

“They gave you a security check for reporting this?” Tru asked.

“It was six hours long. I’d never been in a Session that lasted that long. They started asking me about my family, my friends, who I may have spoken to, whether anybody had asked me to do this—and of course not. I told them why, but that didn’t seem good enough for them. Then they started showing me photos of people I might have talked to once at the supermarket, or my neighbors. Then it got even more personal. They started asking me about, well, guys I’d met on dating apps. I mean, who even knew about that other than me and the person I met with? Like, I didn’t even use my real name. But they knew. They knew. And they knew, you know, like what time a date left. Really personal things, Tru—things I don’t tell my sister!”

“I’m sorry about that. You never should have had to go through that,” Tru told her.

She had been through elevated Sessions, but they were typically reserved for higher executives seeking to advance. They were supposed to serve as a form of self-improvement, helping people acknowledge weaknesses and experience personal growth. But the dirty secret was that they could also be used as a form of intimidation or as a security investigation.

The key was restricting intense Sessions to the inner circle—people who were fully on board and understood the need to keep the whole system private. Putting a fringe player like Susan through such a grueling ordeal could create terrible optics.

“What happened next?” Tru asked.

“Well, at the end of the Session, they mentioned some other personal things about me—about my mother, about my sister—things her husband doesn’t know. And you know, they suggested my secrets were safe with them, but really what they mean is they’re only safe as long as I behave. You know?”

Tru nodded.

“Then I was told my services were no longer needed and escorted out of the building.”

“Did they make you sign anything?” Tru asked.

“Of course—the huge NDA document. I couldn’t even show it to a lawyer. But I figure I’m okay talking to you because you work there,” Susan said.

“And you trust me?”

“I’m telling you this because I want you and them to leave me alone. I don’t know if you’re part of it or if you’re not, but I know I’m being watched. I’ve seen the car across the street. I can tell when somebody is keeping track of me. I’m not stupid, and I just want you to know I’m not going to say anything,” Susan assured her.

The conversation had begun cordially. Tru wasn’t sure why Susan had suddenly become paranoid about her. Of course, if Tru protested, it would only make poor Susan more suspicious.

“Listen, I don’t know what’s going on. I’m not part of that. I’ll try to find out what is really happening.”

“I’m sorry. Thank you. I just . . . I hear footsteps outside my apartment. My computer sometimes acts weird, like it just starts to back up. My hard drive’s being copied. I hear it spinning and I don’t have anything connected to it. Maybe I’m being a little . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know. But I’m scared.”

“Did you talk to anybody else about this?” Tru asked.

She hesitated. “Can I really trust you?”

“Talking to me doesn’t break your NDA.” Untrue, but Susan was the first person she’d spoken to who had confirmed Tru’s own suspicions that something odd was going on behind the scenes at Summit.

“Do you know David McCready?” Susan asked.

“No.”

“Really nice guy, quiet. He worked in It. Around the time I found out about the credit cards, I told him about it. He said he’d noticed some odd things too, and that he would look into it.”

“And what happened?” Tru asked.

“I haven’t heard from him. He hasn’t been at his desk. He doesn’t answer his phone. I don’t know where he lives, and he never had a Facebook account or anything else, but it’s like he doesn’t exist.”

“Sometimes when people royally screw up, we ask them to relocate,” Tru said.

“I know, and I’ve heard about the ship, and the place in Belize, and some other stuff that I don’t know if it’s true or not. And the Vault,” she added.

“Summit has a lot of conspiracy theories.”

More were truer than Tru cared to admit.