In retrospect the remark felt telling. We’d seldom discussed his years in prison and never the crime that put him there. His outwardly easygoing manner could lead you to conclude that he had shed any lingering sense of remorse.
Amy, again, had seen deeper, identifying a masochistic streak in Luke’s character — the need to test, limit, and punish himself. He’d become, successively, a vegetarian, a vegan, and a paleo vegan. Pretty much he ate cashews. As a recovering addict, he’d placed himself in an awkward position by working where he did. He didn’t exercise so much as scourge his body and, by extension, his soul.
I came to the warehouse. No signage out front. I rang a buzzer set into the brick and a voice instructed me to show my ID to the camera eye. I started to reach for my badge, swapped it for my driver’s license.
The woman who opened the door was in her mid-twenties, with pixieish features and a persecuted, watchful expression.
“Evelyn Girgis,” she said.
She handed me a timestamped visitor sticker and escorted me over the main floor, a warren of communal desks and freestanding glass conference rooms beneath exposed ductwork. At quarter to six the pace of activity was strong. I said as much to Evelyn, who shrugged.
“Scott’s almost always the last to leave,” she said.
“I appreciate his seeing me on short notice.”
Her smile implied that she’d made an effort to prevent this meeting from taking place.
Among the employees, a few blatant stoner types stood out. The majority were Silicon Valley technocrats, extruded by the same die that made worker bees for every Bay Area start-up. Mostly white, mostly young, full of energy and FOMO. Dreamers for whom hope was spelled with an I and a P and an O.
The place was set up for their gratification, with bike racks, videogame cabinets, and branded swag from the annual retreat. The kitchen offered electrolyte water and healthy snacking choices. Dogs wandered or snoozed underfoot.
The most significant difference between this and most workplaces within a thirty-mile radius was literally in the air — a resinous funk emanating from dozens upon dozens of marijuana plants. They replaced standard office greenery, livening up dead spots and nodding beside the recycling bins in decorative planters, thrusting forth lush masses of leaves and glistening alien cones of orange and purple. Staked placards identified the strains.
I’m no stoner, but I live where I live. OG Kush and Cheesequake I recognized. The unfamiliar ones had me stifling a smile. Purple Monkey Balls. Bob Saget. Alaskan Thunderfuck. Dank Ewe. They exuded melon and pepper, skunk and tangerine. And just plain weed.
High along a brick wall ran a series of eight-foot-tall signs bearing the slogan I AM CANNABIS. Soft-focus portraits accompanied testimonials to the plant’s manifold benefits: medicinal, social, economic. The subjects represented a wide slice of humanity. A firefighter with a herniated disk. A female veteran with colon cancer. A man with debilitating OCD. A man who had served a lengthy prison sentence under the old drug laws. A fieldworker. A minister.
I’d slowed to read. The content was engaging, the execution stylish and empathic.
Evelyn Girgis said, “Part of a campaign we created for our expo booth last year.”
“Nice work.”
“Luke’s idea, actually.”
“Really?”
Another thin smile. She checked her phone. “Scott’s ready for you.”
I followed her up a floating staircase toward a glassed-in pod elevated on I-beams and overlooking the main floor like an aerie. There was no desk. The computer and keyboard mounted to a rolling stand, similar to those found on hospital wards but made of bleached wood and designed by Scandinavians. An altar table displayed twenty-odd bonsai marijuana trees under bell jars. Cucumber slices floated in a jug of ice water beside a stack of compostable cups.
Scott Silber lolled in a bamboo papasan, boat shoes kicked off, talking to the ceiling.
He held up a finger. Evelyn froze on the top step.
He finished his call, plucked out his earbuds, and gestured permission.
Evelyn unfroze and held the pod door for me.
Scott bounded forward to give me a pound hug. “Bro... Thanks, Evvie.”
She withdrew and shut the door, zeroing out the ambient noise.
“Please please please,” Scott said, reseating himself. “Shit, man. What’s it been?”
I took a slingback chair. “Not since Luke’s wedding, I think.”
“Right. Right. You look good.”
“You too.” I meant it. Scott had hardly changed since high school. Same curly black hair, three-day beard, Mick Jagger lips. Gone were the FUBU denim and Wu-Tang hoodies; navy slacks and a pink button-down open at the neck probably made it easier to raise capital.
“Yeah, well, I gotta keep up with all these fucking kids I work with. On that note: You got a family.”
“A daughter.”
“Pssh.”
“We’re expecting again.”
“Psssh. Respect. Luke told me about your little girl. He said she’s a genius. I expect nothing less, you guys come from brains.”
By “you guys” I didn’t know if he meant me and Amy, or me and Luke. “And? What’s your deal, Mr. Silber?”
Sheepishly he held up his left hand, wiggling the bare ring finger. “Did my mom send you? For real, though, that’s dope. You guys must be busy as shit.”
“Coming from you, I’ll take it as a compliment.”
“I know, right? Wild. I knew we had something special but I never imagined it’d blow up like this. You have a dream, and for a long time that’s all it is, a picture in your mind. Then you wake up and there’s all these people, it’s this giant organism taking on a life of its own. Five years ago you told me I’d be in this position... ” He shook his head. “Dreams have a life of their own, too.”
His speech had the practiced quality of an investor pitch. He dropped the starry-eyed act and grinned. “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t fun as fuck.”
“I saw Luke’s posters. Very compelling.”
“Oh my God, we are so lucky to have him. He’s such a huge value-add.” Scott clapped and sanded his palms. “So what’s up? If you’re going to ask about throwing in, I’m straight up gonna have to disappoint you. At present we’re fully subscribed.”
In the company’s early days my brother had approached me, asking me to act as his proxy investor. When I refused, he enlisted our mom.
I glanced at the hive of commerce beyond the pod walls and wondered how much their shares were worth today. It made me question why he’d need to sell his car. “No worries. But it’s not that.”
“Okay. So what’s up, man?”
“I’m having trouble getting in touch with Luke. Has he come into the office today?”
“I don’t think I’ve seen him.”
“Is there a way to find out?”
“I can ask downstairs to check if he’s used his keycard.”
“You mind?”
“Not at all.” Scott took his earbuds from his breast pocket and inserted them. “‘Call Evelyn Girgis... ’ Yo, Evvie. Real quick do me a solid: See if Luke’s scanned in today. Thanks.”
He took out the earbuds. “Everything cool? You look kinda stressed.”
“I’d feel better if I could talk to him.”
“Did you ask Andrea?”
“She said he took off sometime on Sunday but hasn’t heard from him since. She thought he might be on a work trip. She mentioned you ask him to travel on occasion.”
“Time to time. He’s amazing in a room. Get him in front of buyers, it’s practically a lock.”
“But not in the last few days.”
“Yeesh... Honestly, bro? I don’t remember. We have two hundred seventy-seven employees. Even if I wanted to micromanage them, I couldn’t.” He wiggled his fingers. “You have to let the baby birds fly.”