After months of rumors, Mayfair Mutual received word they’d been acquired. Disillusioned by long hours and disappointing commissions, new hires took the news in stride, blasting out resumes and hooking up with recruiters. Carrie Winters had been thinking of quitting and returning to catering. Older employees like Ted Matthews were downcast, facing the prospect of starting over with a new company in a tough market. A single mom, Jennie Proxmire just hoped she could hold onto her job. The agents trudged into the annual meeting, expecting the worst.
Everyone’s mood changed the moment they entered the auditorium under a rainbow banner reading WELCOME TO RUBICON! Mayfair’s president, typically dour and sour-faced, was buoyant. Grabbing a microphone, he cheerfully announced, “Guys, get ready for great news! We are now part of Rubicon! And you guys won’t believe what’s in store for you.” He smiled, gazing at rows of eager faces.
“Folks, we’ve been struggling to survive in a high-risk field. Everyone knows the challenges we face insuring residential properties. High claims, class action lawsuits, property management collapses, aging infrastructure, and natural disasters. But we know there are good properties that make great customers. But they’re hard to find. Until now.”
He picked up a remote. “This is what we’ve been working with, right?” On the screen behind him, the Mayfair Mutual website opened to an agent’s page. That’s what you’re used to seeing right? An address, a description, and a two-year-old screenshot from Street View. No more information than a Zillow listing. Look at this property. Forty-eight-unit apartment building built in 1957. Not much to look at, right? How much work, how many hours or days would you have to put in to get the info you need to write up a quote? Wouldn’t be worth it, right? More likely you’d skip to this prospect. Looks nice, don’t it? Oceanfront condo. Four hundred units. You can imagine your commission, right? How much work would you put in this one before finding out underwriting won’t touch it? Cracked foundation, two shootings, twenty-five percent vacancies, another ten in foreclosure, rampant vandalism, and a condo board in the red zone on its financial reserves. How many days would you waste on this turkey?”
“Those days are over! Folks, we’ve been asleep at the switch for twenty years. Hell, we been in a coma. Doing business the same old way. Now, it’s time to wake up to the future. Welcome to Rubicon,” he cried, waving his arms like an evangelist. “This outfit is powered by the latest AI and supercomputers. Their ability to gather data and analyze it can’t be beat by the CIA. You guys are salesmen. You shouldn’t be wasting your time going through financials and legal listings. IBM used to say ‘machines should work, people should think.’ Well, Rubicon says ‘machines should think, people should sell.’ When you show up Monday, this is what you will see on your screen! Look at that. That’s no two-year-old screenshot, that’s live feed from a surveillance camera. We’re checking this property in real-time. Let’s go inside.” With a click, the screen fragmented into dozens of mini-screens. “We can tap right into their private security system and look at the lobby, the parking structure, even the utility room. And the data! Rubicon doesn’t just let you know how many units are vacant or how many evictions they’ve had. We have credit ratings, bank statements, tax returns, employment, and arrest records on every tenant, not to mention everyone in the management company. We got lists of 911 calls, complaints, building code violations, civil suits, and insurance claims. And once we sell them, Rubicon security and loss prevention step in. Smoke detectors and cameras? That’s the Stone Age. Rubicon properties are equipped with sensors monitoring water pressure and metal fatigue in the pipes, seismic shifts in the foundation, leaks in the roof. They got fiber optic cameras going down the sewers and up the chimneys. They can spot problems before they happen. For security, they got drones with high-def night vision plugged directly into law enforcement. Guys, Rubicon wants to make a killing in this market. They’ve done the scouting and the homework. All you gotta do is sell ‘em. ‘Renew with Rubicon!’ that’s all you gotta tell ‘em. And by insuring only the gems we can offer premiums that are affordable to them and profitable to us. You’re used to closing two properties a month? Plan on two a week. Get up to speed, and you guys will be closing two a day! We are going to make a killing!
“Now, pick up your smartphones. See that link in your email? Download it and press activate! Welcome to Rubicon! Your phone will alert you to new sales opportunities and clue you in on your properties if anything goes wrong.”
The auditorium flashed with a hundred screens and cheery Welcome to Rubicon greetings.
“And we know you guys get prospects on your own. You target a property, tap the address into your phone. Hell, just take a pic and hit submit. Rubicon will do the rest and zip, back comes the report on the property, the tenants, the owner, the management company, everything. Prospects are rated gold, silver, and bronze. Gold is already underwriter-approved and tagged for immediate sale. Rubicon gives you the premium rates, conditions, selling tips. You just got to read the notes and schedule your presentations. Folks, starting Monday, go for the gold!”
Sid Carew whispered to Ted Matthews, “I think we just landed on the gravy train,”
“Hell, more like a rocket to the moon!” Ted beamed.
***
Heading home that night, Ted Matthews stopped at O’Malley’s to celebrate. At fifty-four, he’d been dragging all year, working harder and earning less. His sales dwindling, he’d been out of bonus territory for six quarters running. With two kids in college and a mortgage, he was feeling the pinch.
At the bar he ordered a beer, then another. When his pals showed up to watch the game, he decided to stay, treating them to shots of Jack Daniels. The Marlins won, and Ted finished the evening with a final brew, then hit the men’s room. Drying his hands, he glanced at himself in the mirror. For the first time in years, he wore a smile. The smile of a winner, confident and relaxed. He hadn’t seen that face in a mirror since his honeymoon in Vegas when he scored twenty grand on blackjack.
Ambling to the parking lot, he tumbled into his Buick and hit the start button, but nothing happened. He tried again, then heard a voice from his smartphone:
You have exceeded the recommended intake of alcoholic beverages. Your ignition has been temporarily disabled. An Uber has been called to take you home. A driver will deliver your car to your residence. Repeated incidents will be reported to HR for review and possible intervention. Welcome to Rubicon
***
The next morning, Jennie Proxmire was scanning groceries at the self-checkout. After swiping shampoo, toothpaste, and lotion with easy waves of her hand, she noticed that her apple turnovers did not register. When she tried again her smartphone beeped an alert text:
This item is not approved. Before shopping, please check your nutritional app for a personalized list of recommended products. Instead of pastry, select fresh fruit and whole-grain alternatives. Welcome to Rubicon
Having spent the afternoon planning a trip to Cancun with her anticipated bonus, Carrie Winters cuddled up in bed with a glass of Chablis and some Godiva. Feeling relaxed and a bit frisky, she opened her personal laptop to check Tinder. When she tapped in her password, the screen flashed a message in bold red font:
This site has been deemed inappropriate and has been blocked. A review of your online and social activities indicates high-risk sexual behavior. A mandatory STD screening has been scheduled by HR for Tuesday at 7:55 am. Failure to appear will result in immediate termination. Welcome to Rubicon
***
On Monday morning, those agents who had not received personal messages hurried from the parking lot, eager to sell. Noticing the trepidation on the faces around them, they joined the groups of colleagues whispering and shaking their heads. Hearing their stories, they slowed their pace and tentatively approached the main entrance, now featuring a WELCOME TO RUBICON sign.
Walking down once familiar corridors the agents heard an eerie androgynous voice booming from the newly installed PA system:
Welcome to Rubicon. An individualized orientation packet has been placed on your desk. All workplace activity and conversations will be monitored and recorded for further review. Welcome to Rubicon. Welcome to the future!
Jeannie and Carrie settled into their cubicles. Turning on her computer, Carrie watched her agent page light up with a panel of gold-star properties. The prospect of easy sales boosted her spirits. “Looks like we’re going to make a killing today.”
Still hungry after her Rubicon-approved breakfast, Jeannie opened her snack drawer. Her Milky Ways, Twinkies, Snickers bars, and M&M’s were gone. In their place was a small apple and a lone rice cake.
“Yeah,” she nodded glumly, “we’ll make a killing if they don’t kill us first.”
Mark Connelly’s fiction has appeared in The Berlin Review, Bristol Noir, Cerasus Magazine, Indiana Review, Cream City Review, The Ledge, Smoky Blue Arts and Literary Magazine, Change Seven, Light and Dark, 34th Parallel, The Chamber Magazine, Altered Realities, Mobius Blvd., and Digital Papercut. In 2005 Texas Review Press published his novella Fifteen Minutes, which received the Clay Reynolds Prize.
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