Kill Process Read Online Free Page A

willing to take that chance. I could find me if I clicked on the article, even if run-of-the-mill police couldn’t.
    Instead I do a few database queries here inside the firewall where I control the logs, find people who shared the article on Tomo, and read the article excepts that are part of their posts. I’ve done the job, and that’s what matters. Helen is free to seek help and rebuild her life now.
    The window I’m reading fades to black and I look up. My manager, Daniel, approaches.
    There’s a fascinating and useful application called ItsPersonal, which uses the webcam to monitor people-shaped blobs approaching, and automatically hides sensitive windows the user designates with a keyboard shortcut.
    Running the original ItsPersonal would be foolish. The embedded neural network is trained to recognize patterns every time a window is marked sensitive, so that over time it can automatically determine what you want protected. My guess is a future software update will upload that sensitive data to their corporate servers, and the firm will blackmail its twenty million users.
    That’s why I borrowed only their image recognition code, and threw away the rest. Then I cobbled together my own version.
    If you think that’s paranoid, you should see how I route my data connections.
    “Angie,” Daniel says, rapping on my desk for no reason, considering that I’m looking straight at him. “We have a meeting at eleven. I need you there.”
    “What’s it about?”
    “Marketing came up with a new privacy-related product, and they’re socializing the idea around the organization.”
    I could puke at the idea of another marketing meeting. Bullshit dished out verbally and by slides. Oh, joy. “You sure you need me there?”
    “You said to include you in any meetings involving data and profiling. You complained about being left out of the data re-architecture meeting.”
    “That was a technical meeting, Daniel. Deciding the structure of the data we store, a fundamental aspect of how we analyze and profile our users. Not a bunch of marketing flacks discussing possible plans for the future.”
    “So you don’t want to give any input on our privacy policy?”
    Oh, jeez. If I say no, it virtually guarantees they’ll make a major decision in my absence I’ll disagree with and will suffer the consequences for months to come.
    “Fine, I’ll go.”
    “Thanks, Angie. Oh, and one other thing.” He leans forward and lowers his voice as though we’re being spied on. “Maggie’s going out on maternity leave in a few weeks.”
    “Yeah, we all know. Her belly is about to explode. You don’t need to whisper.”
    “Yeah. I assume you’re planning a party and a gift for her?”
    I clench my fist and release it. Twice. “Why would you assume that?”
    “Well, because you two are close.”
    “I’m not sure reviewing her code counts as close. Is it possible you assumed that because she’s female and I’m female?”
    “Well, no, of course not.” Daniel stands up straighter, manages to look a little indignant.
    “Or because I’m a woman, so only I could plan a maternity leave party?”
    Now I stand and Daniel backs away.
    “You know what, it’s fine. I’ll take care of it.” Daniel practically runs away.
    Asshole. My heart pounds slightly, but I’m not panicked, merely angry. Keep me in an open, public place with lots of escape routes, and my PTSD rarely kicks in.
    *     *     *
    Laptop in backpack, coffee in hand, I walk into the meeting room. A long table occupies the middle of the space, a flat-screen TV on the wall to my right as I enter.
    My breathing tightens as I see the seats nearest the screen
—
and therefore those closest to the door
—
are all filled. To take a seat at the table would mean putting eight people between me and the exit, six of whom are men. This is unacceptable to some lizard portion of my brain. Rationally, I tell myself to walk in and take a seat, yet it’s not that easy, and