Corporate Espionage

Chapter 8
Chapter 8

Chapter Description: The Northeasters finally get to see what their rival company had in store for them.

Chapter 8:

“Your little boy toy has royally fucked up.”  Mrs. Northeaster said to her daughter.  She took the glass of whiskey off its coaster and knocked it back before setting it down.  “I’m sure of it.”  It was her third glass and she was only just now starting to feel any kind of mellowing buzz.

Candice was pacing back and forth, threatening to wear a hole in the rug.  If she hadn’t kicked off her spike heels she very well could have.  “It doesn’t check out,” she said.  “It just doesn’t check out.  It was a good plan.”

“Not good enough.”  Mrs. Northeaster’s foul mood was corrupting and twisting any calming effect the whiskey might offer.  “He got caught,” she said.  “Or he got cold feet and ran.”

The younger of the two women growled a bit.  “It’s impossible. There’s no way he got caught.  We’d be catching all kinds of holy legal hell!  Wouldn't the police or something be raiding us?”

“There’s not enough proof to connect him to us.  Not right away.  I used enough proxies to get him the money and rent him that house that some serious digging would need to be done to connect us to him. Without us being directly implicated we can cover tracks and burn bridges.”  Then just to let her daughter remember who was in charge, she added  “My people know how to do their jobs.”

Candice stopped pacing and faced her mother.  “So do mine.”  She didn’t feel great about saying that with so little proof.  Then she remembered,  “Implication! If he was caught why hasn’t he confessed?”

“He’s a loyal lovesick little puppy,” Mrs. Northeaster said.  “That’s why you were honeypotting him, right?”

Candice considered it.  She thought of Mattie more like a little brother than anything, but she’d known what she was doing when she’d talked him into this.  She hoped that the amount of compensation he was getting would let him down easy.  He’d be getting what was promised, but not what she’d implied.  “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Why not get someone else?” Mrs. Northeaster asked. “Why him?”

The younger of the two women rolled her eyes.  “I already told you, Mother.  I’ve told you again and again and again.”  Candice hated it when her mom got like this.  “Mattie had...has…” she self-corrected, “the tricks and tools that we need.  He’s almost a complete unknown in the industry. And before this he was a total White Hat. That made him perfect.”

“Then why hasn’t he reported in? Not even once?  Why has he run away?”

“What makes you think he ran away?  Didn’t you just say that I honeypotted him?”

Mrs. Northeaster got up and refilled her glass.  “Not all men like honey, baby girl.”

Candice joined her mother and poured herself a drink.  “I don’t think that applies to Mattie,” she said.  “But good point.”  Hypothetically, Mattie was a shoe in.  Hypothetically, the job should have been over by now and they’d know what PharmaCorp was cooking up. Candice could argue hypotheticals all afternoon.  Hypotheticals paled in the face of results.  After far too much radio silence, Candice’s hypotheticals were  being overwhelmed by a complete lack of results.

“What do we do?” Candice asked.  “Start searching police databases for Mattie’s mugshot.”

“Way ahead of you, dear.” Mrs. Northeaster replied dryly.  She went back to the big oak desk and sat down.  “That’s why I think he chickened out.”  This time she sipped at the whiskey instead of downing it.  “At least we didn’t pay him up front.  Now we’re only out of the cost for the AirBnB.”

“That’s it!” Candice snapped her fingers.  “That proves that he didn’t just skip out!  The AirBnB he rented out confirmed the keys being delivered and returned on time!  He did the assignment!”

“The keys were returned almost two weeks ago,” Mother Northeaster droned.  “Even if he wasn’t going to transmit any data electronically for security purposes, he’d still be back by now.”

Both women felt their hopes leap up when the door to Mrs. Northeaster’s office opened up.  Their expectations quickly lowered when they saw that it was Mrs. Northeaster’s personal assistant.  “What is it, Jonathan?”

The overweight, balding man that managed the schedule stopped as soon as he’d crossed the door’s threshold, eager to leave.  He was already starting to work up a layer of flop sweat.  “Ma’am…” he started, then recognized Candice was also in the room, “Ma’ams...You both might want to turn on the T.V. to channel twenty-seven.

He scampered out of the room as soon as he’d said it, as if he was afraid that one of them might lob something at his increasingly shiny head.  Candice was frustrated enough that she might have done it if presented with the correct opportunity.  Instead, she snatched up the remote and turned on the television.

According to the infographic at the bottom of the screen, standing at a podium was Brittany Walsh, C.E.O. of PharmaCorp.  Not that either of the Northeasters needed to know that.  They knew who their competition was.  “ -Corp is responsible for a variety of different innovations in the pharmaceutical industry,” the speakers cut in.

“‘Innovations’,” Mrs. Northeaster spat.  “More like rip offs.”  Candice took a moment to shoot her mother a dirty look.  If PharmaCorp were doing some kind of press release, this meant that whatever they’d sent Mattie to peek in on was likely ready.

“From laundry detergents, dish soap, cold and flu relief, and infant care products, we are putting ourselves on the front line to meet consumer needs for over the counter hygiene and medical needs.”  The hint of a smile was starting to creep up on their chief competition’s face. “But with innovation also comes refinement.  Besides inventing new products, it is also our company’s philosophy to improve and revisit past offerings and perfect them so that the maximum amount of good can be done.”

A reporter, likely a plant, raised their hand and asked the most obvious question.  “So what blast from the past are you bringing out of the PharmaCorp vault this time?”

“Plastic backed diapers!”

Both women watching T.V. spit their drinks back into their glasses.  “That?  That’s their big deal?  Why?!”

It was almost like the rival C.E.O. had their office bugged- a terrible possibility that hadn’t occurred to either of them until just then.  “Based on industry surveys and research,” she said, “the majority of medical grade diapers are, in fact, backed with soft plastic.  They have better containment capabilities and odor control and structural integrity than their cloth backed counterparts.  It’s something of an open secret that factors like ‘breathability’ in disposable cloth backs were largely invented.  With current diaper technology there’s no practical difference in terms of wearer comfort and rash prevention. The move to cloth-like covering was motivated largely as a cost cutting maneuver.”

The hand of another paid shill shot up.  “Does that mean that these plastic backed diapers are going to be more expensive than other disposables?”

“Not at all.”

“How’s that?”

“Yeah,” Candice heard herself asking. “How’s that?”  These were all things that the Northeasters would have preferred to learn days if not weeks ago.

“Good question,” Walsh smiled.  “The answer to that lies with the fact that PharmaCorp provides so many services to other clients.  Little Caesars undercuts the costs of its pizzas by providing supply chain services to other restaurants.  McDonalds can sell its burgers cheaper because of land revenue.  In that spirit, we’re going to make our baby diapers cheaper by opening ourselves up to a brand new clientele.    We’re unveiling not just one, but two new lines of products!”  She turned her head and spoke to someone off camera.  “Go ahead. Roll the ad.”

The screen clicked off for a moment, and gentle music came wafting on as the clip played.  The dark blue of night time that could only be achieved in a studio, shone on a nursery. The camera closed in on a young woman, a new mother most likely, lovingly looking down into a crib.

“For both you and your little one, sleep is important,” an off screen narrator’s soft feminine voice whispered.  “Neither of you want to wake up because of a wet diaper.  And leaks are the worst.  That’s why we’re introducing Sleeperz nighttime diapers.”
From the bottom of the screen in cloud shaped bubbles, the letters S-L-E-E-P-E-R-Z drifted onto the screen.

“With a Z?” Mrs. Northeaster scoffed.  “A little nineties, isn’t it?”

Meanwhile, Candice leaned over to the keyboard and started doing a Google search.

The commercial shifted away from the live shot, showing a computer rendered version of the diaper.  “Sleeperz has a more absorbent core that wicks away moisture from your baby’s skin, and combines it with strategically placed cooling gel so that even the warmth of wetness won’t be felt.”  As expected, the animation whirled around with digital arrows pointing to the design features.

Candice looked at the search results and her face went rigid; her eyes didn’t dare leave the computer screen.  “Mother…?”

Mrs. Northeaster ignored her, focusing on the television. “Are those four tapes on the landing zone? Why?”

The commercial continued unabated. “Your big baby won’t even feel their nighttime accidents and remain blissfully asleep, ready to play in the morning.” 

The camera cut back to the faux nighttime scene, with the mother leaning down.  “Is that a drop down railing?” Mrs. Northeaster asked herself.  “I thought those were recalled.”

“Mother, you need to see this!”

The final shot of the adl ended with the young lady giving her infant son a kiss on his blissfully sleeping forehead. The one noticeable wrinkle was.  “IS THAT A MAN?!  IS THAT AN ADULT MAN?!  WHAT THE-?!”

“Buy Sleeperz.  Because a good night’s sleep is priceless.”

Candice roughly yanked her mother by the arm and directed her gaze to the desktop.  “It’s not just any man,” Candice said.  “It’s Mattie.”

It must have been the booze hitting her all at once.  Mrs. Northeaster felt wobbly and sat down in her chair.  The website Candice had clicked on had Mattie’s picture on it. Correction: Pictures.  Plural.

In them, Mattie laughed; Mattie smiled; Mattie sat; Mattie crawled; Mattie laid back and played with his toes; or peeked backwards through his legs. They were the kind of poses that infants and toddlers were posed in on boxes of diapers.  Which, in a way, was appropriate, since a diaper was the only thing he was wearing besides a confused or glazed over expression.  Super appropriate considering that one click on the website led the user to buying boxes and boxes of adult sized baby diapers.

“What is...A...B...D...L…?” Candice asked.

“That’s right,” the C.E.O. of PharmaCorp said back at the press conference. “We here at PharmaCorp are killing two birds with one stone.  We are making a premium adult diaper and selling it to the adult baby diaper love community to help undercut the cost of our infant and toddler lines.  PharmaCorp is proud to announce its Z-Stage line of products.  We’ll be meeting the needs of all babies, from A to Z.”

“Oh God…” Mrs. Northeaster whispered.  “Why didn’t we think of that?”

“What?” Candice balked.  “Mother!”

“Miss Walsh,” a media plant asked.  “Do you mean to say you’re promoting what some might call a sexual fetish?”

Miss Walsh nodded confidently.  “PharmaCorp has always had close ties with the incontinent community.  We’ve just also discovered that there are people who wear for recreational uses.  As to your asking whether or not this is sexual, that’s none of my business.” She paused for a beat.  “Though PharmaCorp also makes condoms and birth control.”

Laughter erupted from the television.

“Mother, look.” Candice hissed.  “There’s more: Sleeperz.  Surferz.  Balloonz. Starz.”

“And they have Mattie’s face on them.”

“All sales will continue to be primarily online,” Miss Walsh said to the reporters eating out of their hands.  “We’ll of course continue to sell our non-printed diapers as well, but for people interested in something closer to the nursery instead of the nursing home, know that they’ll be helping keep the cost down for real babies, too.  And to add to that feeling of authenticity, all of our Z-Stage products will have the same style print as our baby diapers, so that members of the ABDL community can have the full experience!”

“Miss Walsh,” A final pundit asked.  “Where did you get your model in that commercial?”

Mrs. Northeaster’s sworn enemy stared directly at the camera.  “You might say he fell right into our lap.”  Just before the pause became pregnant, she said.  “Let’s bring him out.  Come on Mattie!”

Happy music rumbled and canned applause and cooing awwws greeting as a skinny brunette woman pushed a stroller big enough to double as a wheelchair onto stage.  Sitting in the wheelchair, looking dazed, confused, and completely overwhelmed- just like any baby would in front of a crowd-was Mattie.

“What is our hacker doing diapered on stage at their press event?”

“Forget that!” Candice yelled.  “What is my childhood friend doing on their website?!”

Mrs. Northeaster felt numb all over.  “It’s just a still,” she said. “but it looks like he’s getting ready to poop. You looked like that when you were about one and a half years old…”  She was barely holding herself up. Now she felt drunk.  “You were so cute at that age.  Times were much simpler then…”

Before they knew it, the press event had ended.  Jonathan weaseled his way back in.  “Um...ma’ams?”

“What?”  Candice asked.

“Phone call on line one.  It’s the C.E.O. of PharmaCorp.”  He was out before anything could be chucked.  She reached over and pushed the speaker button instead.

“Hello?”  Mrs. Northeaster asked.

Miss Walsh’s voice rang out from the speaker.  “Did you see the press meeting?  How do you like our new adult spokes baby?” she asked.  “More importantly, how would you like to make a bet?”