Carlos Gonzalez

The PSYCHOSIS From WITHIN

Why now?

Why is this time any different than the ones beforehand?

———————

A BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA Eagle Scout certificate is the first of many achievements aligning the long, narrow ivory hallway. Even without walking past the line of black frames for the millionth time that morning, I already know all my accolades by heart. These include letters from United States senators and Vice President Joe Biden congratulating me on the rapid growth of my startup company, AiLenses. Adorning the last frame is my most recent and proudest accomplishment: an early copy of the November 2018 edition of Forbes’ 30 Under 30 magazine featuring my picture on the cover with the title, “The Next Steve Jobs?”

Guests will walk past my “hall of fame” before entering the showroom for the event. Before I deliver my speech to potential venture capitalists, our current investors, and news reporters, a short video showcasing our journey from inception to today will play. Most of the potential investors are from Partner Fund Management, who are currently desperate after one of their past investments went south. I need to make a compelling sales pitch to secure additional capital funding, which is the only obstacle preventing the company from mass production and distribution within the following year.

It also gives the company more time to work out the technological kinks and initial health problems discovered during our previous prototype test. 

My Chief Technology and Artificial Intelligence Officer, Martin Short, can avoid any questions regarding these issues during his portion of the presentation. We’ve meticulously crafted his “inspirational” spiel, starting with his dream of working for NVIDIA’s software team before being rejected because he failed to meet their “standards.” He will conclude by captivating the guests’ attention and interest, igniting their anticipation for a potential contract with a prestigious semiconductor chip manufacturer in the near future. 

It’s a deal that can redefine our business. The NVIDIA rumor should be enough to dim the spotlight away from me at the end—the beauty in Martin’s speech of making everything come full circle. 

Meanwhile, my Chief Marketing Officer, Tiffany Lewis, who is also a collaborator on Martin’s speech, is doing her best to stall the presentation’s initiation while also looking for me. She’s already thinking ahead for the next marketing campaign, which has been a sore spot lately. 

I excuse myself and try not to look anxious as I make a swift exit, heading down the hallway to the bathroom to escape. 

Tiffany is frustrated by our disagreement over my last-minute removal of future product promotions. Her team is also infuriated with me because of whom I chose to announce the product demo and the company’s missed opportunity to hire more rising TikTok stars for paid partnerships. All the while, I continue to voice my concern about the influencer bubble popping at the wrong time, similar to the dot-com era in the early 2000s. 

Sooner or later, it will happen if a scandal does not come first from individuals who can’t even fathom how they became famous in the first place.

Walking into the bathroom, I realize I’m carrying an empty glass. Typically, it should be filled with Don Julio 1942 Luminous Tequila, complimentary of the event. Although I’m desperate for more, it’s no use for the unwavering dread surrounding me today. 

I lean over the sink, the glass trembling in my hand as I place it on the black marble countertop. The cold water I splash on my face does little to calm my rapidly increasing breaths. Each exhalation seems to reverberate in the bathroom, the sound growing louder with each passing second. The fifteen-minute cushion before my presentation is rapidly shrinking, the imaginary clock ticking, matching the pace of my heartbeat. 

Seconds turn into minutes. A tightness grips my chest, and I can only stare at my reflection in the mirror.

A 26-year-old man with short, jet-black hair and dark brown eyes looks back at me. His outfit consists of a red silk jacquard Gucci tie complementing a white Versace dress shirt and a Tom Ford dark blue three-piece suit, strikingly similar to the one Daniel Craig wears as James Bond.

My breaths continue to cut into my chest, sharp and rapid. I reach for my glass, hoping for a few remaining drops of reassurance from Don Julio. I clumsily knock the glass over, seeming to fall slowly before crashing to the floor and shattering into a million pieces, echoing throughout the empty room. I curse to myself before finally glancing at my Apple Watch.

Thirteen minutes. 

Before I can catch my breath again, I hear her voice. 

“Luis…” 

A shiver runs down my spine. I shut my eyes, dreading someone else being here with me. I try to ignore the voice by concentrating on taking deep breaths, but it proves futile.

“I knew you wouldn’t forget about tonight,” I hear her whispering. “This date has been on your mind for months. It’s my birthday. I’m not wearing any—”

“Stop!” I shout. It’s no use. I force my eyes open as split-second images from the past race quickly in the pitch-blackness of my mind. I reluctantly turn and come face-to-face with her. 

That grin slowly turns into the sinister smile that has haunted me for ages. I glance at her before turning my head and squeezing my eyes shut, hoping she’d disappear. I clench my fists tightly and hold them close to my head. My skin crawls as I feel her body close to mine. Her arms wrap around me; it feels like someone placed a giant boulder on my chest as I desperately try to breathe. 

She seems to disregard, dare I say even enjoy, my panic attack as her lips hover close to mine. As a last resort, I slowly whisper, “The only company that can integrate augmented reality and artificial intelligence into a health product… No one will ever have to say goodbye too soon—”

“Oh please,” she says as I feel her arms let go of me. I fall forward but catch myself on the counter, desperately clutching it for dear life. 

“You CEOs and politicians are all the same.”

“Get out,” I scream frantically. “Why now? Why is this time any different than the ones beforehand?”

“Drop the charade, Luis. You can’t fool me. You know exactly why.”

Nine minutes left.

I clutch my chest, feeling the sharp pain shooting through my body, and my vision blurs. I feel a lump in my throat, making it impossible to speak. 

Is it just me, or is my world collapsing around me?

I can't tell anymore.

“You need me,” she mockingly teases and taunts me as the whispering continues. “Did you really think you could run from me? The self-proclaimed love of your life? What a joke when you blatantly lie about your ‘motivation’ for going through with AiLenses. Face it, your true inspiration is standing right in front of you.”

I turn away and run towards an empty stall, vomiting. 

Too much to drink? No… No, that’s impossible. I only had two… or was it three—?

“Luis!” she shouts, her voice trembling from anger, stomping her foot on the marble floor. 

“You’re doing it again!” she wails.

I stumble awkwardly out of the stall before collapsing to the floor. I lay my head against the wall, looking up towards the ceiling to avoid giving her more satisfaction. 

She slowly walks over and stares down at me with piercing green eyes that appear grayer and more lifeless than usual. The shallow use of mascara only slightly conceals the true mask she wears, but it’s the only makeup she has on. She didn’t bother trying to hide her freckles. Her long, dark black hair is naturally curly. She wears black heels with a floral lace maroon dress, yet her outfit is not from any luxury brand. 

Nothing particular or peculiar catches the eye of anyone who sees it except for me. That dress is my favorite, and she knows it.

“Did you really think becoming an entrepreneur would erase your problems?” she taunts, “How did that mindset end for your father?”

She strikes a nerve, yet I have no choice but to comply with her game. I feel the anger rise within me. I clench my fists and grit my teeth. I struggle to keep my hands from shaking as I hide them behind my back. 

Her smile widens once again, taking advantage of the effect she still has on me.  

“Now, that got your attention. A hard-working man with good morals that he intended to pass on to his only child…” she says, her eyes piercing into mine like hawks with their prey.

Knowing I can’t look anywhere else but at her, she bends down to meet me at eye level and suddenly becomes dead serious. 

“Then, right on the verge of his success, he died of a heart attack. All those years of blood, sweat, tears, and self-sacrifice—for what? His relentless pursuit of success had become an obsession that consumed him. What was it he used to say? ‘All to provide a better life for the family.’ Now, all he’ll ever be is a forgotten man to everyone.

“So, tell me, Luis, why should you be the one to accomplish your dreams and not him? After all…”

She leans in, and her lips brush against my ear.

“You’re a FRAUD,” she hisses, emphasizing each word. 

While my throat tightens, I finally find the strength to speak. 

“I’m about to save millions, no billions, of lives with my company’s product—”

She stands up and walks backward a couple of steps before screaming at the top of her lungs, “Tick tock, Luis! I’ve heard this all before! We do this every single time, and nothing changes! Always stick to the act you’re playing! Do you think hiding behind your achievements and the public’s praise will ever silence these thoughts?”

I stare at the ceiling and ponder her question, trying to separate logic from emotion. Once again, she rushes over and whispers aggressively into my ear, “Isn’t it ironic how history repeats itself? My only regret from our time together is that you failed to fulfill my wish for you, to drown from your wrists like you said you would… But I’ll accept these circumstances. 

“After all, this is your legacy.”

Her words echo in my mind. Suddenly, I hear my Apple Watch’s alarm. Without looking at the time, I know what it signifies: the five-minute warning before my speech. 

She’s quiet until the alarm abruptly stops. The ear-piercing silence is deafening as I continue to look into those merciless, glass eyes. 

My brain scrambles for a response, clutching my Gucci tie, still finding it hard to breathe.

“Tell me, Luis, is all this internal torture worth their phony recognition and applause? Aren’t you forgetting what happens to those who give in to the false comparisons made about them? It’s the same story over and over, time and time again. So don’t act like you are this ‘savior’ whose company is working towards the good of humanity in the digital age. Would these people still look at you the same way if they knew the real you? The way that I do? Your true motivation?

“Answer me,” she hisses. I feel her long, blood-red fingernails digging into my wrists. “God is not here now, but he gave you everything you ever wanted.”

She hesitates, then mockingly laughs at me.

“Well, almost everything. The question is… can you handle everything else?” she asks.

I feel drawn to her, ready to let go and reach salvation, until the bathroom door slams open.  

“Luis!” 

I let out a sigh of relief; it was Tiffany’s voice. I can finally breathe again. My eyes water as I look towards the ceiling. 

Perhaps it’s a gift from God himself.  

Her usual cheerful mood seems flustered. Her long strides create an echo from her Gucci Priscilla patent leather shoes. She bought a soft green $3,000 Prada crepe satin dress for the celebration. Although naturally good-looking, she wore makeup for the event. She’s wearing a platinum and diamond Tiffany & Co. pendant with an emerald setting that matches the color of her dress. She straightened her wavy, long blonde hair for the occasion. 

I could have sworn I heard her curse under her breath, which would have been a first.

“I’ve been searching hell and high water for you,” she says, glancing at her Apple Watch and quickly swiping the touchscreen on her iPhone. She finally stops and takes a moment to look at me.

“Lord almighty, Luis, are you drunk?”

I finally snap out of it, stand up, brush myself off, and return to the mirror. 

“That’s preposterous, Tiffany,” I reply as I quickly fix my hair, straighten my Gucci tie, smile in my reflection, and then turn around to face her.  

A sigh of relief washes over her face. 

We exit the bathroom and travel down the long hallway as she fills me in on the urgent situation, “Well, I won’t go into detail about the next marketing campaign with this amount of time, but my team and I are ready with a proposal in store. Our new commercial will play at the end of the speaker sessions. Martin also wanted to talk with you; I think it had something to do with the 3-D printer.”

My iPhone X suddenly starts ringing.

I sigh. “Speak of the devil, it’s Martin.”

I pick up before quickly plugging my ears and walking a few short steps away from her.

“You have thirty seconds,” I declare.

“We have to cut the product demo entirely,” a huffed voice begs from the other line. “If we don’t, there’s a two in three chance that the printer will malfunction when it’s creating the frames, and the program continues to crash when the glasses attempt to sync up with your moment in the presentation—”

“This was all working perfectly fine two hours ago,” I emphasize, gritting my teeth. I close my eyes and sigh heavily.

“Okay,” I reassure myself, “I won’t attempt the SYNC feature with the AIR Lenses. That should save the program from crashing entirely. Do we have a 3-D printed shell of the glasses?”

“Yes,” he hastily replies.

“Okay,” I say, holding up the iPhone between my head and right shoulder, clasping my hands together to my mouth.

“Here’s what we’ll do: your team gets five minutes to execute this. Remove the 3-D printer from the left side of the stage and put in one of the finished pairs of glasses. Make it run a simulation or do whatever your team needs to do to make it look like it’s printing. Cover any transparent part with black duct tape; the darkness from the stage should be enough to mask it. When the time is right, program some smoke to come out and have the lights glow in a turquoise color when I manually open the printer.”

“Luis, 3-D printers don’t emit smoke—”

“Martin, they don’t know that,” I emphasize, “Besides, this is for show. We’re presenting the future, the next technological revolution of Silicon Valley. This is what people expect from the movies.”

“How are we going to get smoke—”

 I interrupt him, “What I’m hearing is you’re wasting time.”

“Luis?” Tiffany asks behind me, tapping at her Apple Watch. 

I turn around and block Martin from hearing my response, “Trouble with the color schemes, you know, Martin….”

“Okay, okay,” he says. “We should be able to work out the rest. If you can, give us five minutes.”

“You now have four,” I declare, glancing at my Apple Watch. I chastise myself for leaving my main watch behind.

“Also, Martin,” I add, trying hard not to smile to myself, “Never tell me the odds.”

Immediately, he begins shouting from the other end of the line.

“No, no, no, you don’t get to quote Empire Strikes Back in a moment like this—”

I hang up and return to Tiffany, who greets me with a look of concern.. 

“You know, we have a popular saying in Mexico that if you keep making a worried expression, pretty soon that will be the only one you’ll have,” I joke. 

Tiffany doesn’t bite at the one-liner.  

“Mind telling me what exactly is going on?” she asks, folding her arms.

“Have the team play the new advertisement,” I reply. “Technically, we start on time with the guests viewing it. Everyone will get excited and be able to see the hard work that your team has put together. That should also give Martin and his team the five minutes to get everything ready.”

“That’s not usually how traditional tech companies begin product demos—”

I snap my fingers and point at her. 

“Because we aren’t a traditional tech company,” I finish her sentence. “Excellent job. I agree that it’s a great line for the next campaign. It’s the unconventional approaches and types of messages that have gotten us this far.”

Tiffany stays silent for a moment. I can see her thinking about the new scheduling change before slowly nodding. 

“Very well,” she answers before smiling. “If you disappear again, just remember that Martin voted for me to take your place as ‘The Next Steve Jobs.’”

I reluctantly acknowledge her joke and laugh to avoid breaking character. 

Once again, there it is. 

I take a moment to consider a hypothetical scenario in which I do not follow in Jobs’ footsteps and rig the product demo like the iPhone in 2007. Still, I stop myself from going further for some inexplicable reason. Instead, I look past Tiffany and focus on the Forbes magazine cover.

I recall the vivid arguments with the photographers over my outfit selection for the photoshoot: a newly sent black single-breasted wool tuxedo cut-away jacket, long-sleeved cotton shirt underneath, matching wool tuxedo cigarette pants, and a monogram gradient tie, all from Louis Vuitton. Sent over from LVMH’s marketing team, the magazine cover was intended to headline their upcoming ‘NeXt’ campaign. Yet the crown jewel of the outfit was a Rolex Daytona Ceramic Bezel White Dial 116500 watch.

Their response: “Listen, the designer clothes are great, but why don’t you try out the black turtleneck that we had flown out for this occasion? Replace the Rolex with a Seiko… Switch out the tuxedo pants for some Levi’s jeans… Last but certainly not least, the titanium rimless, oval glasses… This has to be better than the last time we did it… Do the thinking pose for me, please, when you look into the camera...”

Yet, all I could think about was the fate of the last candidate who held this unofficial title. Her company dissolved, plummeting from nine billion dollars to zero in less than two months. I still ponder whether we are that quick to bury the past or that desperate for a sequel.

While I wore the Louis Vuitton outfit for Fortune’s “The American Dream” magazine cover, LVMH was unhappy when news broke about the Forbes one, unfairly raising questions about my extended role in the company. It’s why Versace, Tom Ford, and Gucci are all in a bidding war to have me as a potential brand ambassador.

“By the way, Mr. Edwards is looking for you,” Tiffany announces.

The present brings me back, not by choice.

“What? No, I can’t—” I start.

“He’s been very adamant about seeing you before the presentation. He’s waiting in the backstage area behind the screen. Either you see him, or I get promoted to COO after covering for you.”

She turns and continues traveling down the hall. I look at my Apple Watch, feeling the weight of desperation, and make a slight detour.

Three minutes left…

———————

“AH, MR. McKNIGHT. Or should I say, the next Mr. Steve Jobs?” he announces, raising a bottle of a 2015 Domaine Leroy Chambertin Grand Cru. 

I can’t tell if he’s trying to show off the Patek Philippe Nautilus White gold watch on his left hand by how he holds the bottle. Yet, it matches the dull, light grey wool and silk blend exclusive check Canali suit. His odd choice of a dark red and black Totem print Hermès silk tie stands out in heavy contrast. While I’m much closer to Tom Cruise’s height, his intimidating stature makes everyone look puny by comparison.

He’s standing next to a collapsible black table with two large stemmed wine glasses that lay barren as I finish my walk to the back of the stage. The screen reflects the reverse image of the AiLenses logo displayed to the packed crowd. 

The theme for the past two years has centered around the hornet’s nest of Raheem Edwards, who took pride in creating the recent banking trend in the “Silicon Valley Startups” bubble. He is also the Chief Executive Officer of Gold Traders Valley, the largest investment bank in the United States.

He sets the bottle down and extends a glass towards me, almost daring me to take it so he can pour the wine. For some reason, it reminds me of a poisoned apple from one of the Grimm Brothers’ fairy tales. I take the glass anyway, and he quickly fills both a quarter of the way full.

“Cheers,” I reply, the word hanging in the air momentarily before the glasses clink. We take a moment to revel in the savory and classic taste of the red wine.

I can feel him staring into my soul through those black, rectangle-shaped lenses of his Ray-Ban prescription glasses. I know he is giving me the same cold grin that reveals nothing behind the eyes.

“I hope you know I spent a little over 1% of my bonus on this bottle,” he boldly announces. His deep, booming voice bears a resemblance to James Earl Jones. 

I continue to glance at my Apple Watch.

Two minutes left. 

I take another long sip while looking out in the distance before noticing Tiffany appear from the stage doorway. He also drinks from his glass before following up with, “Yet, there’s a reason wine critics rate this bottle so highly.” 

“I appreciate you coming,” I tell him, still trying to avoid eye contact but being hypnotized instead by his devil-colored tie. “Otherwise, I would have been left in a sea of pretentious cavemen who don’t even know what AR or AI is.”

“Tiffany and her marketing team were in charge of putting this event together, correct?” he asks. 

“Yes,” I reply in between sips. “A final send-off, if you will, before we hit the market on November 11th of the following year.”

He quietly nods, raising his eyebrows.

“With that in mind, I would like for you to reconsider taking AiLenses public—”

I shake my head and smile slyly. 

“There’s always a catch with you, Raheem,” I say before he gets further into his elevator pitch.

His sophisticated demeanor remains consistent when he replies, “I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I didn’t put business at the forefront.”

Debatable, I thought, reminiscing on past events involving the endless scandals from senior leadership about their countless promising investment “bubbles.” The dot-com bubble. The housing crisis. According to some news outlets, Wall Street bears wanted to add AI to the list. 

I bite my tongue and keep quiet. 

“You will be pleased with these new stock projections,” he begins.

He pulls a manila folder from the inside of his jacket, but I shake my head as I turn around to walk away. My heart suddenly stops when I see her standing by the entrance to the hallway, almost looking like a shadowy ghost figure from the bright white light behind her. 

I freeze, standing dead in my tracks, a wave of fear washing over me. My jaw clenches, and I curl my hands into fists. The room suddenly becomes cold as a chill travels down my spine. 

“I don’t have time for this,” I say robotically, knowing she’s staring at me, but she’s too far away to distinguish if it’s really her. 

Where the hell is security?

Her hair is not as dark as it should be, but could it be because of the contrast in the hallway and the darkness backstage? 

When did she have time to change out of her dark maroon dress? 

It looks blood-red now.

I subtly explain that I have to finish my pre-presentation ritual before stepping into the spotlight again. Raheem simply laughs at my statement. 

“Mr. McKnight, let me remind you of whom I represent and how much our bank has done for you. Rarely do companies receive stock projections like this, especially those that have not yet proven themselves. This was the final work of our previous CEO, who is now the Secretary of the Treasury for the United States. Mind you, he does not like his time to be wasted. It would be quite a misstep for you not to consider. I must also remind you that your company’s IPO directly impacts the bonuses of some of our top executives. They are growing impatient, especially if AiLenses has a repeat of last year.”

“Is that legal?” I suddenly blurt out, turning around to face him.

He’s quiet for a moment before continuing. 

“You leave that to us, Mr. McKnight. We have ties to the government, so we know how to make our money work for ourselves. It’s you who has to complete his share of the bargain.”

We stand there in silence as the audience begins stomping their feet in a roar of anticipation. I see Tiffany start to linger in the doorway leading to the stage.

I take my last sip of wine before setting the glass down.

“Have you ever played poker, Raheem?” I ask. I can see the split-second confusion flash across his face before he responds.

“In a past life, yes,” he answers.

“Let me remind you how it’s quite simple. We’re both holding an Ace but are aggressively trying to get the other to fold. Let me remind you that the entire world believes I’m the next iteration of Steve Jobs. You are in this as much as I am—AiLenses goes down, and your little banking trend also goes up in flames permanently. I don’t think the world will take too kindly to knowing how you and your executives earn your millions, especially after Holmes blew a hole in your first act as CEO.”

Raheem calmly chuckles and sets his glass down as well. 

“Do not worry about our reputation, Mr. McKnight. Our early investment in FTX, led by Sam Bankman-Fried, has proven quite valuable. We have control over markets worldwide. Gold Traders will always get paid, whether you succeed or not. You’re not the only company in our new artificial intelligence bull run. You, however, are skating on thin ice with money your company does not have.”

He then steps forward, leans to the right, and whispers aggressively.

“Between you and me, my board thinks you’re the one to guide us into this AR or VR multiverse nonsense. I’m the one who thinks you’re just a passing facade. I’ve saved myself a front-row seat when you implode. That’s why I’m here. You should have taken the current stock projections before burning it down once you step onto that stage.”

I chuckle, unfazed by his empty threats, and look toward the screen with my company’s logo. I then look Raheem dead in the eye.

“Remind me to put in a good word to Sorkin and Boyle; it turns out they were more accurate than they gave themselves credit for in their Steve Jobs film. Unnecessary drama always ensues before these product demos.”

“Luis?” Tiffany now begins walking towards us with a frantic look on her face.

“You’ll have to forgive me, Raheem. I can’t keep my audience waiting for too long,” I declare.

He turns his attention to his Patek Philippe watch. He shrugs before he replies, “You’ve done it before. What’s five more minutes?”

I don’t pay him any more attention before I tug on my sleeves for the millionth time and walk towards Tiffany. A cheerful female voice suddenly overtakes the loudspeakers. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention please…”

Tiffany and I are making our way up toward the stage.

“Did you play nice?” she harshly whispers. 

“No different than before,” I remark, grabbing and loosening my Gucci tie as I struggle to stay in the present. 

“Gosh darn it, Luis! Getting into a straight-up war with Gold Traders is the last thing we need! Did he mention—”

“He mentioned the IPO,” I finish her sentence. “Listen, the ball game changes once we take AiLenses from private to public.”

“As if our product differentiation wasn’t drastic enough…” she mumbles.

“All to be one step ahead of the competition,” I assure her, “In the name of innovation.”

“The founder and Chief Executive Officer of AiLenses, Luis McKnight!”

———————

RAHEEM WATCHES THEIR EVERY move until they disappear. Then, he quickly goes out to the hallway from which Luis came. He pulls out his iPhone and fast-dials a number.

“Hello?”

“Emilio, if you ever let it go to a second ring, the only bank that will accept your resume is a sperm bank. I’ll convince McKnight to hire a new CFO at AiLenses. Understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Edwards,” Emilio hastily replies, “Has he looked at the IPO draft registration statements?”

“The meeting was somewhat unsuccessful,” he exhales. 

“Mr. Edwards, I must apologize because I don’t understand when you say ‘somewhat’ unsuccessful.”

“The bastard is playing hard to get,” Edwards exclaims through gritted teeth. “I underestimated him. He won’t go down without a fight. To think that Gold Traders gave the imbecile a 10-million-dollar investment almost half a decade ago is beyond me. This deal wouldn’t have flown with me as CEO.

“I can sleep at night with recovering pennies on the dollar instead of a total loss. If we can get complete control of the company at a discount, that’d be even better. Then, we take a page out of John Scully’s book as Apple’s CEO. Let history repeat itself and have one of the board’s first actions be to throw the next Steve Jobs out of his own company.”

“So,” Emilio reluctantly answers, “what do you need from me?”

Edwards sighs. “Do as much goddamn investigation into McKnight’s company as you can! I want to know the major players involved, including each business transaction at every step of the way, all down to how many janitors he employs on staff. Count on doing 95% of the work, so we have less trouble with the SEC.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s something I need to do.” 

He hangs up without so much as a farewell.

———————

APPLAUSE ERUPTS WHEN I take my first steps onto the stage. I orchestrate a pleasant look on my face and wave to the audience before taking my place behind the podium. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s give a warm round of applause for the captivating TikTok influencer Olive Litarsky!” I announce as the audience applauds once more. A 24-year-old with auburn hair, adorned in a stunning Prada business ensemble, meets me in the middle of the stage. She beams and waves before gracefully descending the stage to join her uncle. 

“Today marks a special day for me,” I announce, getting a clear view of the audience for the first time. “Not just because I get to share with you the fantastic technological breakthroughs our company has just achieved, but because of who we will be able to help. These breakthroughs have the potential to make a significant impact, and I am excited about the possibilities they bring.

“Growing up, my Tío Ricardo was my biggest inspiration. A few years before my parents, he immigrated from Mexico to Silicon Valley, where he made a name for himself during the dot-com boom. My uncle had an eye for graphic design like no other. From a very young age, I remember him showing me the endless limitations of the internet. At that moment, I discovered my love for entrepreneurship and technology. I wouldn’t be the man I am today without him.”

I hesitate, gathering strength before I continue. 

“Then, he was diagnosed with stage 4 ocular melanoma at just 45 years old. Imagine—your entire career centers around designing shapes, outlines, and colors to create something original, something never before seen, that captures your attention and transcends your imagination. Well, he used to say that a life without art is a life not worth living.

“Then, just days after his diagnosis, he took his own life… He would’ve been 60 today.”

I take a deep breath, look down at my notes, and then back towards the audience as I stick out my chest. I hear a ding in the far right beside me and see a green light flash on and off at the 3-D printer. I begin to walk over to it.

“He is the reason why I’d like to introduce the AIR Lenses to you!” 

As I unveil the 3-D printer’s compartment, a wisp of smoke gracefully dances around me. I proudly held the sleek, ivory design in my hand. Cheers and applause erupt all around me.

“AIR stands for Augmented Intelligence Reality. In other words, we’ve created the first-ever prescription lens glasses that utilize augmented reality and AI. We proudly present DOLUS, or Digital Optimized Lens Ultra Software. These breakthroughs have the potential to make a significant impact, and I am excited about the possibilities they will bring. The AIR Lenses will retail for the low cost of $249.99.

“But don’t just take my word for it,” I state.

As I put on the glasses, the screen behind me comes to life, displaying a pair of our AIR Lenses. A voice reminiscent of Siri introduces itself, “Hi, I’m DOLUS. You will never have to stress about your eye care again.”

I move away from the podium as I hold the clicker in my right hand. 

“Many of you may be asking, ‘What is artificial intelligence, and what does it have to do with AiLenses?’ It’s the first use of a digital life algorithm that can consistently keep up to date with the latest medical information on new diseases and diagnoses. It works using state-of-the-art, patent-pending micro-cameras built into the lenses to track the movement and size of your pupils, ensuring accurate and reliable data for your eye health monitoring.

“If DOLUS detects anything out of the ordinary, it will send an alert to your physician, saving you time, money, and any surprises during daily checkups. We’ll be able to save the precious gift of eyesight for more people. No one has to suffer a fate similar to my Tío.

“We’re also proud to announce that we’re working towards a partnership with the head of the optometry division, Dr. Richard Litarsky, from the University of California-Berkeley.”

A spotlight from above shines on an older man with fair gray hair, a white lab coat, and prescription aviator sunglasses. He waves while I give the audience time to cheer for him.

I continue, “It will allow us to establish a physician and patient dispensary for the DOLUS system here in California. Despite being in the heart of Silicon Valley, sorry, Stanford, you lost the bid.”

I can hear laughter from the darkness.

I hesitate momentarily, then look up at the sky and point to it.

This is for you, Tío Ricardo.

I slowly return to the podium and move on to the next slide. 

“That’s not all DOLUS can do, however. Say you forgot your expensive pair of sunglasses at home?”

I turn back and yell at the screen, “Hey, DOLUS! Turn brightness down!”

A graphic of the glasses immediately zooms into a first-person view as the sight of a sunny day in the park suddenly becomes shaded. I can immediately hear the audience’s ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs.’

“Hey, DOLUS, turn brightness up to the next level.” The view of the park shines more intensely. 

The screen quickly changes as I continue, “It also works for nighttime. In just a few simple phrases, it’s easier than changing the brightness on your phone or laptop. Why bother buying multiple pairs of glasses when you only need one?”

The audience cheers once more; I have their full attention. 

“This is just the tip of the iceberg. We have a dedicated team of the best and brightest from across the nation. We work around the clock back at Palo Alto on the endless possibilities that DOLUS can offer users. We’re working to develop a super app that allows patients to access all of their optometry health and prescription information at their fingertips. Imagine: there will be no need to go to the doctor for new contact lenses; DOLUS constantly keeps up to date by tracking your pupils. 

“For example, you wake up and realize you’re almost out of contact lenses. With our AI, a restock is as simple as a command.” 

I turn to the screen. 

“Hey, DOLUS, restock contact lenses, please!”

The screen goes black. A bright, light blue circle begins to whirl, similar to the one Apple uses on its Mac laptops.

“Okay, sending an order for contact lenses, pending approval by Doctor Litarsky.”

I struggle to finish the final portion, fighting over the roar of applause from the audience.

“Daily checkups that last at most fifteen minutes! Lenses that match your contact prescription, even if you’ve lost or forgotten to wear them. Expect these features to be available on the market by 2021. All that is left is to ask everyone gathered here today one question…”

I lean into the microphone and shout, “WHO IS READY TO ENTER THE SIXTH DIMENSION WITH AILENSES?”

———————

FOR THE FIRST TIME during my presentation, I look straight up the aisle and spot Raheem leaning against the wall. My gaze locks with his, yet his expression is unreadable. Just as I’m about to look away, I realize that he’s not alone. As if from the shadows, she eerily emerges next to him. 

I was wrong; it was that same familiar maroon dress.

I look down at my notes again, feeling a sharp right pain in my chest as I clench my jaw tightly. 

No, not here, not right now, god damn it!

I quickly shake my head, urgently needing to regain control. I then orchestrate another smile for the audience. I avoid looking straight down the aisle where they are, but I feel my composure slipping like sand through my fingers.

Suddenly, a voice chants from the dark abyss, “Has the FDA approved the lenses for patient use?”

I’m caught off guard for a moment and laugh it off. 

“We were supposed to have it today, but the Palo Alto team found a way to improve the colorway settings. Let me emphasize that when we finalize this revolutionary technology, the FDA must change its regulations to fit our product…”

More hands instantly shoot up. A dominant chant fills the room. With each question, it feels as if a sharp arrow is piercing through the air. 

“Where is FDA approval?”

“Where is FDA approval?”

“Where is FDA approval?”

I finally look back at Raheem and find him holding up a glass of wine, almost giving a toast in the direction of the person who asked the first question. She drapes herself across his shoulders. I watch him offer her a sip, then raise his glass and gesture toward me.

Like a broken record, I can only repeat the following statements: “We’re mass-producing and distributing on November 11th of next year… this technology takes time to implement…”

Why is she here?

Each repetition only serves to heighten the frustration and anxiety.

With each passing second, the lights on the podium become ever more blinding. As if someone controlling the lights turns up the intensity, I feel the first drops of sweat start to rain down.

The audience near the stage blurs into a single, menacing entity; their outstretched hands emerging from the dark abyss, reaching for a piece of me. I try to rush off stage, but my feet are bolted to the floor. 

They seem determined to pull me down, beneath the podium, six feet under, to meet Jobs at the bottom of his grave. He would surely mock me for dragging his name through the dirt, even if the news outlets held the power to an unofficial title. 

I mumble a quick thank you before exiting the stage. The attendees grow increasingly enraged, their shouts echoing backstage to the AiLenses staff. 

Tiffany stands there, wide-eyed, with her iPhone hanging at her side. 

“Luis, what the hell was that?” she desperately asks.

I don’t acknowledge her as I hurry back to my temporary haven. Everyone rushes past me, yet time appears to stand still. I feel drenched in sweat. 

As I stare at my reflection in the bathroom, the same thoughts keep running through my head. I find myself whispering the same revelation over and over:

“Her face was too perfectly drenched in makeup.”

“Her face was too perfectly drenched in makeup.”

“Her face was too perfectly drenched in makeup…”

Raheem meticulously planned the bait, and I walked right into it. The question was, how was his lookalike able to replicate her exact appearance?