"Oh, but you are fast enough to bring blame on yourself, aren't you?"
Steve surprised her with his question.
"What do you mean?"
"Let's think of serial killers, for example. After they kill their first victim, and she is found, the cops working that case should be, in your opinion, directly responsible for all the subsequent killings, until the serial killer is caught. Right?"
"Well, to some extent—"
"No, that's not correct. Not unless they do a sloppy job, lose evidence, not show up for work, or whatever else they could do other than their absolute best to get the killer caught. Are you with me on this?"
"Yes, but I don't see how it correlates to my situation," Alex pushed back.
"Wait for it. Are you doing your absolute best to get this job done?"
"Yes, I am," she smiled, starting to see the encouragement he was giving her.
"Then you should be fine, and you shouldn't be blaming yourself for any potential future drone-related deaths that could happen until you catch your killers."
"OK, I get it."
"Self-blame, check!" Steve said humorously, marking an imaginary task list. "Let's move to self-doubt now, shall we? What's on your mind?"
"I don't know that I'll be able to figure all this out, to the last one of the questions we have. Who did what and why? I've been right there among them for a month now and I don't seem to know any more than I did the first week. I have more suspicions about some individuals, but nothing concrete. What am I missing? I can't stop thinking that someone faster, more experienced than me, would do a better job at this."
"Do you want to throw in your towel? You know, you would have every right to, especially after last weekend," Steve asked, referring to the traumatic event of her arrest.
"That was scary and disappointing. I felt alone, frightened, and abandoned. I hated feeling like that. Then I felt relieved and grateful when they released me, only to feel cheated hours later, when Tom said he had not raised a finger to help me. None of you did."
"I can understand that, and you're justified in feeling all that." Steve paused for a minute, letting Alex appreciate he was not challenging her at all. "You know, Tom lost someone a couple of years back. One of us."
"I didn't know that. Who? And how?"
"He was a promising and talented computer expert, just like you — ambitious, bold, and smart. He was deployed to work with a client, and then he caved under the pressure and turned to drugs. Never said a word to any of us. We all noticed he was a little edgy, but we blamed it on the stress of his double job. When asked, he also blamed it on the stress of his work. A month later, he was hooked badly on amphetamines, crystal meth, and any other form of performance-enhancing drug he could lay his hands on. Then he made a mistake on the client side, and jumped off the roof. Tom was devastated, he felt personally responsible. We all did."
They sat silent for a while.
"I'm still not going to forgive Tom that easily for last week, you know," Alex said, in a softer voice. "He should have trusted me. He should have given me the benefit of the doubt."
"Yes, he should have. Brian got the coffee filter analyzed, and the rest of your office and home, looking for clues."
"He was in my home? Oh, my God!" She thought of her habit to leave her clothing scattered on the floor, just where it happened to fall, and blushed.
"He didn't mention anything worth worrying about. When he found the meth traces in your coffee filter, Tom realized just how wrong he'd been. But, by then, they had already released you."
"Not forgiven yet," Alex repeated.
"I'm not asking you to forgive him. Just allow him to make it up to you."
"That, we shall see," Alex said, smiling.
"Ah, the steaks are here," Steve said, rubbing his hands together.
They started eating their succulent meals.
"You know," Steve said, "the best way to gauge the quality of the food is by observing how silently people eat. Good food allows for no conversation."
"True. So, why are you talking?"
"I gotta apologize for not speaking with you while we have our dinner together, right?"
"Wrong. Please let me enjoy this steak without having to talk my way through it." They both laughed. It felt so good, just being herself with him.
With dinner out of the way, Steve resumed the original course of conversation.
"We haven't dealt with self-doubt yet, you know. What else is bothering you?" Steve asked, refilling her glass with wine.
"These guys, I can't figure out their limits. How far would they go? Initially I thought they would only go so far, but then I ended up in jail and figured out we were in a different kind of game. I'm afraid I'm not that good at reading people. I don't know, even from the victims, if some of them wouldn't do something stupid, just because of the pressure."
"The victims?"
"Some of these leaders are victims of others. They are constantly pushed and humiliated, mocked, insulted, set up to fail, and threatened. Some of them might cave. I can't even figure out why some of them don't just get the hell out of there. Why do they let themselves be subjected to such abuse? You see, I feel like I lack the basic understanding of human nature, to figure out even this much."
"OK, let's figure it out together," Steve said calmly. "Life is mostly easy when you're young, free, and single. If you have a wife, potentially sick, and a bunch of kids to feed, you don't own your life anymore. Chances are you barely make ends meet, and you can't afford the dignity of walking away from abuse, holding your head up. Nope, if you're that man, you endure. Sometimes it happens that you can't endure anymore, and can't leave either. Then you snap. You do something stupid, break the law, get a gun, and shoot someone. We've all seen it in the news. It even has a name, it's called going postal."
"In reference to the incident where a postal worker shot his manager?"
"Yes, only there wasn't just one incident, there were many more." Steve paused to take a sip of wine. He raised his fingers discreetly, pointing at the empty bottle. The waiter returned promptly with a new bottle.
"It could also happen that, due to prolonged exposure to abuse and the impossibility to leave, some victims, as you call them, end up developing Stockholm syndrome. You'll recognize these victims by the fact that they will endorse the abuse, find excuses for it, even defend the abuser."
"I think I have seen one of those," Alex said, thinking of Miles Putnam.
"You have to keep in mind that, most likely, the majority of these employees are, in fact, hostages. Do you remember we discussed this?"
"Yes. How far can a hostage go? After all, it's just a job—"
"It's not just a job, it's survival. It's having food and shelter for tomorrow, for yourself and your family. It's so much more than just a job. They can go really far if they're pushed."
"Let me ask you something else then."
He nodded, encouragingly.
"How far would you take this? Would you settle to figure out the majority of the problem, and the most likely wrongdoers, so Dr. Barnaby can fire them and fix the issue? Or would you continue digging until you have proof enough to hold some of them responsible in court?"
"Personally, I would hate to let the villains go with a nice severance package instead of a prison sentence. Setting you up last week was a crime, you know. Do you know who did it?"
"I have an educated guess, that's all I have," she sighed.
"Then that's not enough, or, at least, it wouldn't be for me."