Chapter 17: The Meeting

6 November 2025

The City of London churned outside the triple-glazed windows of the bank with a frantic, self-important energy. Inside Bob’s office, the tension was more measured.

Bob had two dossiers arrayed on his expansive desk. He was very proud of his desk, a polished oak relic he’d reclaimed from a long-failed competitor which seemed almost entirely out of place in the modern offices of the Bank of London.

The current headquarters were located in the upper floors of a stone building at the point of the block between Lombard and Cornhill, while the lower floors were occupied by a law firm. When they moved into their new location shortly after the pandemic, the owners upgraded and modernised everything. Bob, however, insisted on outfitting his office with a slightly more traditional charm, including the decades-old desk.

He was challenged to explain why it meant so much to him. Typically, he was a man of the ledger, a man who understood that everything – risk, loyalty, even love – could be quantified if one looked closely enough at the margins. But as he stared at his papers for today’s meetings, the numbers refused to settle.

"Knock knock," Ginny said sweetly as she brought Bob’s second cup of coffee. He hadn’t seen her when he arrived before 07:30, which wasn’t a surprise. She was expected at her desk by 08:00, and she rarely let him down. He knew that, no matter how much of a wildcat she may be personality-wise, during work hours, Ginny would be timely, well-prepared, and never too inappropriate in front of supervisors or customers.

Today was no different. She was wearing a sleeveless knee-length sheath dress in electric blue. To call it form-fitting was an understatement, and the way it showed off her bosom was eye-catching, especially as she bent down to set the coffee on his desk. But she was also wearing a black lightweight cardigan which, he was certain, would be buttoned by the time of his first meeting.

"You’re staring, Bob," Ginny purred, a small, knowing smirk playing on her lips. She straightened up, smoothing the blue fabric over her torso in a way that only drew more attention to her curvaceous figure. "Is there something wrong with the cream?"

Bob restrained himself from spluttering his coffee as he took a sip.

"No," Bob said as he cleared his throat, and too-carefully put down his cup. "The coffee is fine. Just getting ready for the long morning."

"Well, hopefully you can make this first meeting shorter, so you have more time for Lord Haddington and his bla bla bla,” Ginny sniggered as she moved her hand like a nattering windbag.

“Manners, Ginny,” he chided softly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if his Lordship’s business indirectly helped pay for that outfit.”

“Maybe so, boss, but I didn’t pick it out for him.” That, combined with her charming smile, rendered Bob speechless once again. He ran his hand through his thinning hair and tried in vain to think of a riposte.

She knew that she had pushed close to the line, and that it was time to pull back to safer ground. “Anyhow… what did you think about the doctor’s business plan? Were you able to get anything more from her ‘human infrastructure’ proposal than I could?”

Bob returned his focus to the file for his first meeting. “It’s intriguing for what it is. This woman has clearly done her homework in terms of how to apply for a credit facility. But it’s rather vague for a bank like ours. She doesn’t identify who has been backing her ‘private collective’ so far. And she hasn’t entirely explained what she would do with the funding, aside from developing a new headquarters.”

Ginny nodded, and pondered Bob’s spoken and unspoken messages. She agreed that Dr Thorne had impeccable credentials, and someone on her team must have some financial sophistication for the business plan to have been submitted to the Bank. But there was still something dodgy about the whole thing.

“I’m sure you’ll suss it all out, Boss. And if you want to get started early, you can. She’s been sitting in reception for the past twenty minutes.”

"She’s early," Bob commented. “I appreciate promptness. What did you think of her?”

"Honestly, boss, she’s a bit creepy. She hasn't looked at her phone once. She hasn't even moved. She’s just sitting there... waiting. Like she’s plugged into a wall."

"Give me five minutes, Ginny. Then send her in."

"Sure thing, boss," she said, giving him a lingering look that promised a continuation of her game later. As she walked to exit, the sway of her hips was a final, mocking broadcast of her teasing seduction.

Bob couldn’t help but watch, his eyes lingering on her arse far longer than was professional. He felt the craving of his fantasies pressing against the reality of his life. And a passage in the business plan kept tickling his thoughts: Our research can bring quiet order to the noise of our subjects’ lives.

"Actually, Ginny," Bob called out before she reached the door.

She paused, looking back over her shoulder with a playful tilt of her head, her red curls catching the light. "Yes, boss?"

"Don't bring her in here," Bob said, standing up and smoothing the front of his suit jacket. He felt a strange, instinctive need to move the meeting to a more impressive setting. "Take Ms Thorne to the Gold Room. I’ll meet her there in five minutes."

Ginny arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "The Gold Room? For that?"

"I just want the space," Bob replied curtly. "And Ginny... make sure she has everything she needs. Water, tea, whatever. Just... keep her there until I arrive."

"You got it, boss," Ginny said, her voice dropping into her low, teasing register again. She gave him one last, lingering smile before she disappeared into the corridor.

Bob stood alone in his office for a moment, the silence rushing back in to fill the space Ginny had occupied. He walked over to his single window, looking out at the City and sipping his coffee. He thought of Mary’s checklists and Olivia’s whispers. He thought of Ginny’s constant, loud provocations. And he sighed.

***

As Ginny led Jenny towards the meeting room, the two women were a study in contrasts. The red-headed girl in the stylish dress, talking about the weather and the historic view during the ride up in the lift, led the smartly dressed woman, who moved with a silence so profound it pulled the very air out of the corridor.

The Gold Room was bright and simply modern, with the polished brass trim and hardware giving the room its moniker. The room was intended for the highest-profile visitors with double-height ceilings, a table that could seat thirty, and an uninterrupted view of the old Bank of England Museum across Threadneedle Street. Directed to the view by Ginny or her other counterparts, most first-time visitors couldn’t help but admire the vista.

Jenny appeared nonplussed by her surroundings.

Ginny politely offered beverages, which Jenny declined.

“Would you like to have a seat?” Ginny asked.

“Thank you, Virginia.” Jenny didn’t sit though. She lingered at the edge of the conference room table, looking at Ginny with an expression which made her feel a little too much like an item on the menu.

“It’s Ginny.”

Ginny wasn’t used to being made uncomfortable by someone else, and particularly by another woman. That was Ginny’s game.

“Virginia, why don’t you like me?” she asked abruptly.

Ginny flushed angrily at the inquiry. “I don’t know what you mean, ma’am. And you really should call me Ginny. I don’t know you well enough to have…”

“You don’t have to lie, Virginia. I’m a big girl, and I won’t get my knickers in a twist. You’ve been judging me since you first laid eyes on me.”

Ginny stepped closer to Jenny. She was suddenly conscious of being shorter than her, despite her stiletto heels. But she wasn’t going to back down to this bitch, misnaming her and calling her out like this.

“I don’t trust you. You don’t deserve to get a meeting like this. Your proposal is…”

“Dodgy?”

“Yes. Exactly that.”

Jenny smiled, and looked down to Ginny.

“Do you want to know why I belong here, Virginia?”

“Enlighten me.”

Jenny leaned down until she was nearly nose to nose with Ginny. “I belong here because your Mr Edwards is going to be receptive to what my research is leading towards.” She paused, and Ginny held her pose without backing up. “And he will be receptive to what I can do for you too.”

“And what, pray tell, can you do for me?”

Jenny didn’t answer with words. Instead, she moved her mouth next to Ginny’s left ear and whispered, “I can do this.”

And she kissed Ginny softly at the hinge of her jaw.

Ginny’s hand immediately lifted up to touch the spot where Jenny’s lips had been. The spot was tingling, and Ginny felt cold and hot at the same time.

“What the fuck?” Ginny whispered. She wasn’t angry anymore, although she was sure that she should be hopping mad at this bitch. She was shocked by the forwardness, of course, but she was also surprised by the almost anaesthetic reaction she had.

“I’ll check on you after I talk with Mr Edwards, Virginia.”

Ginny’s eyes remained wide with shock, but she just nodded silently.

***

A few moments later, Bob entered the Gold Room, the polished metal door sliding silently open before self-closing behind him with a soft whoosh as the air pressure equalised again. To him, the Gold Room usually felt like a transparent ballroom, the sort of place with elite aesthetics which hosted the parties to which Mary yearned to be invited. But after Bob closed the privacy blinds and walked towards the head of the table, the room felt oddly smaller than usual.

He found Jennifer Thorne standing next to Ginny. Ms Thorne was wearing a light tailored jacket and matching skirt. She didn't turn to face Bob when he entered. She didn't offer a polite smile or reach for a business card. She just stared at his PA with a posture that was ramrod perfect.

Her stillness made Bob a touch unnerved. She made statues look fidgety.

"Ms Thorne," Bob said, trying to break the silence as he gestured to a seat at the head of the table. He placed his leather folder on the table, the sound of the snap feeling unnecessarily loud. "I apologise for the delay. My PA mentioned you were early."

Jenny nodded to Ginny, and then to him. Ginny blinked, and then turned back to Bob. “Will that be all, boss?”

“Thank you, Ginny.”

She hurriedly made her way out, and the door closed again, leaving Bob alone with his guest.

Jenny took her seat, and Bob sat down by her right hand.

Jenny’s eyes — a piercing, unnatural shade of blue — settled on him. She didn't blink as regularly as a normal woman, and Bob was both surprised and intimidated by her stare.

"Punctuality is a by-product of efficiency, Mr Edwards," Jenny said. "I am here because your bank has a reputation for funding infrastructure projects. I know that you personally consider some types of unusual risks to be a worthy consideration rather than an automatic deal breaker. "

Bob leaned back, trying to reclaim his usual sense of command. "You’ve done some research on us. I appreciate that. And you are correct. We are willing to take… appropriate risks, when the right possibility presents itself, Ms Thorne. Your proposal mentions 'Human Infrastructure.' That’s a fairly broad term for a credit request of this magnitude."

Jenny’s expression didn't shift, but the air in the room sharpened. "Actually, it is Dr Thorne," she corrected him. "But for the sake of our collaboration, I would prefer that you call me Jenny."

Bob considered the correction, along with the offer of familiarity. He cleared his throat, adjusting his posture. "My apologies, Doctor. I didn't mean to... well. Jenny it is, then. And please," he added, his corporate charm returning, "you can call me Bob."

Jenny offered a brief, thin smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Bob observed her face resetting into its mask of sapphire-eyed stillness.

"Bob. The current human model is inefficient," Jenny stated, as if she were describing a faulty power grid. "Society functions on a series of disconnected, flickering signals. Anxiety, ego, and the constant negotiation of the 'I' create a massive loss of energy. My research focuses on biological and psychological restructurings of these systems. We are creating a framework where certain individuals are no longer a source of friction, but a perfect conductor for a singular purpose."

Bob felt a strange, cold prickle at the base of his neck. She was talking about research, about systems, but she meant people.

“Certain people?” he asked. “Can you be more specific?”

Jenny’s strangely luminescent eyes seemed to scan him, or perhaps look through him. Bob wasn’t used to being analysed, but he held her gaze and waited for her to answer his question.

“Mr Edwards…”

“Bob, please.”

She gave that faint smile again. “Bob. Can I trust you, Bob? Can I give you uncomfortable truths and trust that you won’t… misunderstand me?”

“Jenny, I am in the business of processing uncomfortable truths. The only thing that truly matters to me right now is whether I will be making a wise investment.”

“Very well. My research, which is somewhat public, started with analysis of a virus. The virus targets only women. And it makes them subject to intense biological stimulation.”

“For what end?”

“In the simplest terms, it encourages them to obey.”

Bob pondered this. On one hand, it sounded like a fantasy. On another, if she meant what she was saying, this could be like mind control. In the hands of the wrong person, the consequences could be horrific. But… what if it were real?

Jenny interrupted his internal monologue. “You are afraid, but you are also intrigued. You want the world to be subject to your will, don’t you, Bob?”

“We all want to be masters of the universe, Jenny. I wouldn’t be in this position if I lacked ambition, or was afraid of authority.”

“That isn’t what I mean, Bob, and you know it. I saw you twitch at the question, and you are flushed. So I will be direct for you. You want to have control over women sexually, don’t you?”

The question was off-putting, but she was absolutely correct. The scenario hit the exact centre of his own dissatisfaction.

“Let’s suppose you are correct, Jenny. Just how can you give me that?”

Jenny didn’t blink. “I don’t know. And I didn’t say that I was going to give you anything.”

“Then why are you here, talking to me like this? Let’s say I can support this endeavour of yours in theory, and not blanch at the likely risk of blowback for championing it. What would you do with the funding?" Bob asked, his professional curiosity battling with a growing sense of hunger. "A credit facility of this magnitude requires more than just a theory on 'friction' or a tale of obedient bacteria. You’re asking for millions for what sounds like a private laboratory."

"Virus, Bob. Not bacteria. And the virus isn’t obedient. It makes women obedient.”

Bob tried very hard not to overreact to this statement. He maintained his best poker face, thankful to be seated across an opaque table.

“Please continue,” he said blandly.

“We need to expand the physical footprint of the project," Jenny replied. "My research has moved beyond the theoretical. I have achieved high-level successes in my initial subjects. To scale the architecture — to bring this stability to a wider population — I require specialised venues that can facilitate the transition without external interference."

“Cut the high-minded doubletalk, Jenny. It sounds like you’re saying that you’re engaging in experiments on women. Have you… enslaved women? Here, in England?”

Jenny leaned forward, and rested her arms on the table. “We have engaged in limited human experimentation, and the results are… promising. But I am still in beta testing. I can’t say for certain that there may not still be variables to be accounted for as my work proceeds.”

“What sorts of variables?”

“Once the subject is under the influence of the virus, I have figured out how to tap into certain advantages which stem from their symbiotic relationship. But I’ve yet to unlock other functionalities.”

Bob tapped his pen against the table. "You’re speaking about people as if they’re... hardware. Setting aside the fact that I'd need to present potential benefits to compete with the usual 'empowerment' or 'well-being' pitches in the sector - you said this is enslavement. So what functionalities are you still missing?”

That question earned Bob a direct stare. Bob was sure now that her eyes were glowing. He wondered if she was wearing coloured contact lenses.

“I don’t expect you to understand this, Bob, but we are still missing the Master. I know what the virus is supposed to do, but I don’t know how to make it happen.”

“And that’s where I come in? I supply the money to… what? Hire a so-called Master? That doesn’t sound very empowering.”.

"Empowerment is just another word for noise, Bob," Jenny said calmly. "And no, your bank’s money will fund the facilities and the continued research. We aren't looking for you to be a partner to understand the work, or to be approving of my goals. We are looking solely for an investor to sponsor the expansion.”

“Investment implies a return, Jenny. What do we get?”

“The return on your investment will be a world that no longer requires your bank to manage its chaos.”

Bob knew he should have ended the meeting there. The pitch was both oblique and obscenely blunt, the goals were either messianic or misogynistic, and the woman across from him treated him with the indifference of a scientist observing a dull specimen. Most importantly, she was intentionally avoiding the fact that she lacked the data points which were mandatory for a credit application, such as costs, rate of return, and collateral. But as he looked at her — at the absolute, intense quiet of her certainty — he felt an irrational urge to be part of whatever world she was building.

"What data can you furnish me to give me some confidence that this is real?”

Jenny didn't smile, although Bob was sure she was convinced that she had just won. She reached into her bag for a thin, sleek memory stick, and slid it across the table to him.

"The data are there. They are undeniable," she said. "The only question, Bob, is whether you are capable of recognising the opportunity when it is presented to you."

Bob inserted the memory stick into the conference room console. There was a single folder, labelled “Yes.” He opened it, and double-clicked on the first of a series of numbered MP4 files.

The 4K monitor on one wall flared to life, displaying a sterile, white-walled room. There sat a woman with lush auburn hair. It was a couple of shades darker than Ginny’s bright red tresses. It took only a few seconds for Bob to conclude that she didn’t look like a normal woman. She sat in a simple chair, her hands resting on her lap, her eyes focused on a point just off-camera. She didn't blink. She didn't twitch. She moved only when a voice — Jenny’s voice — gave a command.

"Subject 05, stand," the recording said.

Sarah stood with a startling fluidity. There was no hesitation, no adjustment of her clothing, no flicker of self-consciousness.

"Subject 05, recite your lessons."

"I am a vessel," Sarah’s voice came through the speakers, devoid of any static of personality. "The self is noise. The signal is peace. I exist to serve."

“Why do you serve?”

“I serve because the Master demands it.”

“Who is the Master, Subject 05?”

The woman paused for a moment. But if she was troubled, there was no sign of it in her expression.

“I do not know yet. When it is time, he will find me.”

As Bob watched, mesmerised by the lack of conflict in the woman's face, he heard the soft rustle of fabric behind him. He hadn't noticed that Jenny stood up until she was directly behind his chair.

She leaned down so her head was over his right shoulder, pressing her breasts into the fine wool of his suit jacket. Bob was quite uneasy with her close proximity.

He felt her breath against his ear as she watched the screen with him.

"Do you see it, Bob? The absence of the struggle? She isn't performing. She is simply... ready."

Bob’s heart hammered against his ribs. The closeness was overwhelming. He could smell Jenny’s perfume, and he also noticed another scent, which he couldn’t quite place. Having this woman pressed against him, made him think of his fantasies, except this was as if the tables had been turned on him. This woman may be offering him the chance to get control, but right now, she was the one holding the keys.

"She looks... content," Bob managed to say, his voice thick.

"Don’t be coy, Bob,” Jenny whispered. “Contentment is another word for a lack of purpose. Sarah isn't content. She is focused. She is optimised. She has been relieved of the burden of her own free will.”

Jenny slid her hand along the top of Bob’s arm, to reach the mouse and pause the video. Then she stood up, forcibly rotated Bob’s chair, and occupied the space in front of him. “Bob, think of a world where your wife doesn't feel the need to manage you. Where your assistant doesn't tease you. Where you are simply the Master of each of them as a perfect, willing machine. Any perfect machine you wish."

She leaned in closer, her presence like a weight upon him. He felt small in his own workplace.

"I am building that world," Jenny said simply. "I just need you to furnish the seed money for my foundations."

Jenny straightened up then, the pressure on him vanishing as quickly as it had arrived. She remained right in front of him, waiting. Her stillness felt calculated, as if she were waiting for the temptation to take hold and displace his cold reliance on numbers and protocols.

As Bob faced Jenny, the image of Sarah’s vacant, peaceful face was still glowing on the wall. The idea of her - any her - cast a spell over his reason, and he didn’t want that spell to break.

"Jenny," Bob started, his voice steadier than he felt. "This... 'optimising.' You talked about it as a grand design for stability. I don’t trust other people to be stable. And that’s why I have been successful. I’ve spent twenty years reading people. I saw the woman in that video. You’ve obviously done something to her. But what? And how? Assuming that this is the result of your work, of this virus, where did her 'self’ go?"

Jenny’s expression didn't soften. If anything, her gaze became more fixed, as if she were trying to see and test Bob’s soul.

"Her 'self' didn’t go anywhere, Bob," she said softly and calmly. "It simply stopped screaming. The virus suppresses undesired behaviours, and focuses the subject where she should be focused. Sarah is now waiting to be claimed. Her ego was a leaden weight pulling her down. It was the source of every doubt, every impulse, and every disappointment she ever felt."

“And now?”

Jenny smiled this time. “Now, it is gone. She waits for the Master.”

Bob’s face flushed, and his eyes opened wide at the term. Jenny, sensing his reaction, reached out with her fingers to graze the lapel of his suit. He didn’t sense it as a caress or a flirtation though. She was measuring him, to see if he would rise to the bait.

“A slave without a Master?” he asked with a bit of a sneer. “Who will that be?”

"I don’t know. I can only prepare for when we find him. I bet you would like to be a Master, Bob.”

Bob rose from his chair, and approached Jenny. “Is that supposed to be a jibe?”

“Hardly, Bob,” Jenny answered, maintaining eye contact. “I know some things about you. You look at your wife and see a manager. You look at your assistant and see a tease. You look at your daughter and see a ghost. That is the 'self' at work for each of them, Bob. You are feeling cut off from all of them. My work with the virus, and the psychological training that follows, doesn't destroy women like Sarah. It refines them. I have taken a chaotic storm and turned her into a laser."

Bob winced internally. Jenny had done her research on him. It wasn’t that hard to learn from social media and public sources that he was married and had a daughter. But still… how many of his potential clients had ever been that thorough? Not to mention the fact that this woman saw through him enough to understand things he was hesitant to admit to himself.

From her expression, Jenny seemed satisfied. She turned and made her way back to her original spot at the conference table. Without saying anything, she started packing her bag. Then she reached to the console, and plucked out the memory stick.

Sarah’s image vanished from the screen.

“I’m sorry that you can’t help me, Bob. I had such high hopes.”

“Wait,” he said.

Jenny deposited the memory stick in her bag, and zipped the compartment closed, before she slowly turned back towards Bob. She just looked at him, and did not say anything.

"I will consider authorising the credit facility," Bob said softly. "But I want to see the facility. I want to see the subject in person."

Jenny’s lips curled into what he took as a satisfied smile. "Of course, Bob. We can go straightaway. The proof will be more impressive when you are standing right next to it."