They go back and forth for a while, and when Dr. Sharma runs out of things to say, they cut back to Cyrus and Stephen. There’s a photo montage of Cyrus—Cyrus being greeted by a raptuous crowd, Cyrus shaking hands with Bill Gates, radiating his confident CEO smile, Cyrus glowing as if he’s been dipped in caramel. Then, for a little while, the virus story takes over. Pictures from Wuhan, where the streets are empty and everyone is under lockdown. Time moves slowly and it’s two a.m., then three. Jules and Gaby sit quietly on the sofa, their eyes glued to the TV, while Ren and I monitor the platform. Suddenly, the broadcast ends and cuts to commercial.
I have this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. “I think he’s done it.”
Li Ann turns up the volume on the television. “I’m very sorry to report that Stephen Grant, the thirty-two-year-old man from Bridgeport, Connecticut, who’s been standing on the roof of Utopia, a co-working space in Chelsea… I’m sorry to say we have just learned that Stephen has ended his life. We go live now. Chris, tell us what happened there in the last tragic minutes.”
Chris, the newscaster, is on the sidewalk across the street from Utopia. “Well, Dan, the scene here is heartbreaking. It seems that the CEO of the social media platform, WAI, was trying to talk Stephen out of his actions, but ultimately, Cyrus Jones was unable to persuade the young man to come down, and as you know, Dan, he took matters into his own hands.”
I feel a ripple, a tear in the membrane that surrounds us; everything is muffled and strange. Jules is crying softly in a corner. Ren has stopped typing and is sitting with his hands folded in front of his computer. Tina has brought me a glass of water, and I drink it. “How do we— How do we know Cyrus is okay?”
“There are a lot of firefighters up there,” Li Ann says. “They’ll take care of him.”
I’m suddenly very tired. I want to close my eyes and sleep through the next few hours, but Tina won’t let me; she’s nudging me, giving me things to do. “One of you has to start getting on top of the story. You decide who. I’ve got all the networks lined up for interviews. Asha, maybe you want to go on Today, and send Julian to some of the afternoon shows. I’ll have my team make a schedule with talking points.”
Ren is back at the computer; Li Ann is breaking open a bag of peanuts. She looks up, meets my eyes, and gives me a short nod. “Okay, Tina,” I say. “I’ll do the interviews. I’m not sure if Cyrus will be up for talking, but it’s probably better if he addresses the community directly.”
“You’re keeping coolheaded,” Tina says. “I respect that.”
“This is my company,” I say. “I built it with my own hands.”
* * *
Dawn is cracking open over New York. The building is safe, the firefighters have said. We can’t go to the roof, but we can return to our desks. There’s a stretch of Tenth Avenue that’s cordoned off, but here on the fourth floor, it’s like nothing ever happened. Jules, Ren, Gaby, and I are waiting for Cyrus to come down. He’s being supported, one of the firefighters tells us. “But is he okay?” I ask. “Did he—did he get hurt?”
“No,” the firefighter tells me. “He’s just in shock.”
We wait in silence. Every once in a while Jules gets up, walks around the room, and sits back down. Our teacups clutter the surfaces. Eventually, Cyrus comes in, walking very slowly. I wonder if he is hurt, but he shifts his weight and I realize it’s not an injury, at least not one I can see.
Our eyes meet, and before I know it, I’m crossing the room and wrapping my arms around him, telling him it’s okay, that it wasn’t his fault, that he did everything he could. Jules reaches for us and we all hold each other for a long time. Cyrus is crying softly. “It wasn’t your fault,” I tell him. “You did everything you could. And I’m sorry too, Cy, I’m sorry for what I said. I’m so sorry.”
Tina texts to say the car is waiting and I should come down. I hesitate; I want to stay in this huddle a bit longer and make sure Cyrus is okay. Maybe even have my own little breakdown. But I have to go; I have a job to do. I put the speech into Cyrus’s hand and explain that he has to tell the community what has happened. And then I tell him to go home and wait for me. I’ll be there as soon as I can, I say. And then he kisses me, a soft, tearful kiss.
Gaby walks me through the building and down the stairs. “I don’t care that I was right,” I say as soon as we are out of earshot.