“Out of an abundance of caution,” Brovski continues. “I hope you understand.”
She doesn’t reply.
“You’ll be home soon. I’m sure your sister can provide you with a new one then.”
Nothing.
“Also,” he adds, “the battery is very low. Don’t worry though. A charger will be provided for you on the plane.”
Show him nothing, Maggie tells herself. “How long until the helicopter arrives?” she asks.
“Ten minutes.”
“This outfit is itchy,” Maggie tells him. “I’m going to change into something else for the trip.”
“Of course.”
Maggie heads into the bathroom and closes the door. The bathroom is what you’d expect—gold, marble, ornate. She waits to hear him leave. When he does, Maggie turns on the shower—and then she unlocks the phone.
Yep, the griefbot app is gone. Or at least, the little icon is.
Maggie doesn’t know much about technology, but what Brovski’s undoubtedly cocky experts don’t know is that Sharon sets up her proprietary apps so that they cannotbe deleted without facial recognition from both Sharon and Maggie, plus a password. If someone else tries to delete them—like Brovski’s experts—the icon does indeed vanish from the screen so that it appears deleted—but in reality, it just moves to a hidden folder.
Maggie swipes, hits the news app, which isn’t really a news app, and accesses the hidden folder.
And voilá, the griefbot app is there.
She allows herself a small smile.Sharon, she thinks,you friggin’ overcautious, anal genius.
She clicks the icon and AI Marc returns.
“Hey,” Griefbot Marc says to her.
The battery is indeed low, maybe 10 percent. No time to waste. “Tell me about your tattoo.”
“I must have told you a hundred times, but okay. I was in New Orleans—”
“That’s a lie, Marc.”
“What?”
“I need you to tell me the truth.”
The bot even perfectly mimicks Marc’s perplexed expression. Well, if Marc had indeed been genuinely perplexed when he was alive. Maybe that had been an act. Maybe it had all been a lie.
No, she tells herself, don’t do that.
Don’t start questioning everything about the man you loved.
“I need to know about the tattoo, Marc. I’m not angry or anything. You probably had your reasons for not telling me. But that’s in the past. I need to know now.”
“Maggie, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I saw a woman who had the exact same tattoo on her leg.”
AI Marc grins. “Hey, maybe it’s an ex,” he says.
“What?”
