Page 109 of No Charm Done
“Well, that guy says he’s with the Securities Exchange Commission.”
“We’re a hashtag, boss.”
“Ohhhh, we’re #CastRDisastR.”
“CastRDisastR . . . gotta admit, that’s pretty good.”
“Shut the fuck up, all of you!” Vex howled. One of the laptops suddenly made a sound like a dying seagull. He lunged for it and stared at the screen as his face drained of color. “I’m a meme,” he said in horror. “I’ve been memed.”
Over by the bookstore, Scarlett was on her phone, too. “Ye gods, ladies . . . Just look at this.” The top post—the one with 10,000 shares and climbing—featured a photo of the smoking wreckage of a stack of computer servers. Melted equipment and cables. The caption read: “VEX’S CAREER IN ONE IMAGE.”
The top comment said, “Goodbye, #DumpsterFireGIF, hello #CastRDisastR.”
Below that post, a second photo was gaining traction: a side-by-side comparison of Vex at his previous height versus Vex now, five inches shorter. Caption: “WHEN YOUR APP DOESN’T MEASURE UP.”
Vex made a sound like a balloon deflating.
“The livestream,” one of the assistants said weakly. “Boss, we’re still live—”
Indeed, they were. The cameras were still rolling. The chat was still scrolling at impossible speed—thousands of comments, most of them variations on “SCAM,” “FRAUD,” and “I WANT MY MONEY BACK.”
Chuck’s phone rang. Everyone turned to look at him.
CastR’s top investor couldn’t look more at home in his folding chair, legs stretched out, ankles crossed one over the other. He looked at the screen, raised one eyebrow, and answered. “Hello?” Pause. “Yes, this is he.” Longer pause. “Oh really? A class-action lawsuit? How fascinating.” Chuck looked directly at Vex. “Yes, I did invest, quite substantially.” Another pause. “Oh, I’m very interested in joining. Please do send me the paperwork.”
He mouthed to Vex: You’re fucked, boyo.
Vex’s face had gone from red to purple to an unnatural shade of grey. “You . . .you can’t—”
“Do you know how much media this is going to get? So much. Lawyers, news coverage, maybe I can squeeze a congressional inquiry out of it . . . Hell, Ashton, I thought the demo was going to be my big attention-getter, but this?” He practically shivered with pleasure. “This is magnificent.”
“Boss,” said one of the minions cautiously. “CNN wants a comment—”
“The BBC is asking if we’re shutting down—”
Vex looked like he might cry, vomit, or both.
“Boss,” a helper whispered. “What do we do?”
Vex opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Like a goldfish.
In the absence of Vex’s leadership, the young man turned to the camera and said, in a voice of pure defeat: “We’re experiencing technical difficulties. Please stand by.”
The chat’s response was immediate and merciless:
“STAND BY FOR WHAT? BANKRUPTCY?”
“FUNNIEST SHIT I’VE SEEN ALL YEAR”
“SOMEONE CALL THE FBI”
“MY GRANDFATHER’S INVESTMENT IS GONE, YOU ABSOLUTE CLOWN”
Luna watched all of this from her position with the other witches, still trying to process everything that had just occurred. The CastR app had collapsed. The demo had failed spectacularly. All those investors they’d hypnotized were losing both their shirts and their minds. Vex’s entire operation was imploding in real time.
It was everything they’d hoped for.
And somewhere out west was the smoking wreckage of a server farm. Scarlett still had the image open, the destroyed rack still visible on the screen.
