A Darker Side Of Privacy

A Darker Side of Privacy

By

Paul Wolfle

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Paul Wolfle on Smashwords

A Darker Side of Privacy

Copyright© 2012 by Paul Wolfle

Thank you for downloading this eBook. Your support and respect for the property of this author is greatly appreciated.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Adult Reading Material

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I hope you enjoy reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

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A DARKER SIDE OF PRIVACY

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Chapter 1

Who thought it would ever come down to the federal government selling compulsory privacy policies to all of its adult citizens. When the Senate and the House of Representatives initially realized they could mandate such purchases, lawmakers wasted no time lunging head first into the business of brokering confidentiality. What's more, they made sure no one was there to stop them.

When the seeds of Privacy Allocation, or as its sometimes abbreviated, PA, were first planted during the initial days of the post-911 Patriot Act, legislators in Washington secured total control over the nation’s affairs, collective as well as singular. The feds subsequently turned their absolute power into a wholly corruptible assortment of profitable sleaze, which spurred the creation of a newly defined American oligarchy, unofficially referred to as the Politician Class. Privacy policies quickly became one of their instruments of wealth.

Similar to a holier-than-thou caste, the Politician Class claims to be culturally superior to the rest of the population. It’s the main reason why the same old names keep reappearing in every election cycle. The tradition was first perfected years ago during the Clinton, Bush and Cuomo eras of voting; coincidentally, when the richest zip codes in the nation moved to Washington, D.C.

In contemporary society, starting at the age of 21, every citizen is now required to purchase a privacy policy. Residents who don’t comply are often left to defend themselves against the ever present throngs of voracious paparazzi and blood thirsty rag journalists on the prowl. This is a new breed of ruthless, unrelenting media, the likes of which would have made Princess Diana turn over in her grave. If she only knew how personal privacy was being doled out with a price tag. Find the dirt on someone and then release as many secrets as you can to the highest bidder. That had always been the cardinal rule; however it went completely out of control.

Available only in America, privacy policies, modeled after domestic healthcare plans, offers a variety of premium strategies. These assorted Privacy Allocation products allow different degrees of digital penetration into the personal data of each U.S. citizen.

In essence, the more a subscriber spends, the higher the insulation from public scrutiny. Of course, only a small well-connected group of brokers are licensed to negotiate the sale of such policies, due to the enormous commission involved. In many ways, it’s nothing more than an enforcement pay-off from the government.

Within this community of strange Orwellian policy brokers, privacy is a marketable commodity, much like crude oil and soybeans. Entertainment celebs, rock stars, professional athletes, Wall Street executives, Internet legends, captains of various industries and famous politicians represent some of the super wealthy who have the means to keep their personal information hidden. They can pay for the finest government issued privacy policies, ensuring the greatest insulation against prying.

Conversely, ordinary folks can’t afford to buy costlier privacy policies. As a result, they live their lives under threat of the ever present and all too intrusive public eye. One wrong move could cause a person’s life to fall between the cracks of their own privacy policy, only to be thrust into hordes of cut-throat media types, waiting to descend upon work and home without notice.

In order to render privacy policies enforceable, every bit of a person’s personal information must be collected, starting from their first moments on earth. All vital statistics, even the slightest minutiae, are recorded by the federal government. The litany of transcribed facts includes:

Hospital charts, physician records, fingerprints, banking paperwork, driver’s licenses, school grades, an individual’s height, weight and sexual preference, eyeglass prescriptions, Social Security numbers, immigration documents, birth certificates, old addresses, photographs, criminal histories and perhaps most troublesome of all, skeletons from the darkest of closets. It all goes into government storage, as well as favorite colors and foods, names of friends and acquaintances, preferred restaurants, immunizations and allergies, dental cavities, personal DNA sequencing, sports accolades, identities of childhood teachers and coaches, religious affiliations and standing, descriptions of pets and their names, vacation spots with addresses, songs listened to, types of clothing bought and the status of family relationships. The statistics are staggering but still managed by the state.

In the past, a paper trail had the potential to be hidden, sealed or ultimately destroyed, but what do you do about a cyber path, where material, true or false, authorized or not, remains perpetually available?

When the cost of digital storage dropped to an all-time low, the federal government recognized definitive and ultimate control over all its domestic citizens could be achieved if every little thing about each person was archived and fully retrievable upon command. The cost of amassing a citizen’s life averaged out to be merely fractions of a cent. Consequently, giant databases sprung up over night in order to accommodate such an exponential undertaking. Before long, there was no escaping the clutches of Washington’s information highway.

Defying the federal government’s computer technocracy meant social suicide for most residents. That is, for everyone but Andy Stone. By some means, Andy, 31, a college educated civil service clerk, inadvertently slipped under the PA radar. How ironic that he worked in state government for the past eight years and was never required to purchase a requisite privacy policy, which happened to be fine with him.

From the time he was born, Andy’s individual stats were recorded in their entirety, following the usual governmental procedures. When he turned 21, the age every resident was obliged to acquire a privacy policy, he had all the normal social credentials just like anybody else, including a driver’s license, car registration and Social Security card. To his credit, Andy had no skirmishes with the law, not even a traffic ticket. His public profile was as clean as a whistle. He lived free from any type of media scrutiny. That is, until now.

Stubborn as well as intelligent, Andy Stone was no pushover. He was not the kind of person with whom others liked to tangle. His defiant nature led him to the conclusion that privacy policies were a government racket, so he avoided them like the plague.

About privacy policies, he insisted, They are not needed if people would just learn to stay out of trouble.

Muscular and tall with dark hair and blue eyes, Andy was mostly German and Italian with a bit of Irish and Norwegian thrown in for good measure. He reveled over what his girlfriend, Kim, frequently told him:

Italian people are of the earth. They got it here and they got it there and don’t forget, you’re part Italian!

Whenever Kim expressed this theory, she would first point to her head and then hold out both hands, implying Andy’s ancestors were strong in mind as well as body. She thought he had plenty of intellect and brawn, a century’s old blend which proved to be a valuable combination.

One day at work, while sorting emails in his cubicle, Andy received a phone call from the program manager, William Prober. A portly curmudgeon resembling a squatty box with a rounded bottom, Prober managed the entire Centerton customer service facility, located in Pine Brush County on eastern Long Island. He may have looked asinine and hapless but make no mistake, underneath it all, Prober was a callous autocrat.

Andy didn’t report directly to William Prober and he rarely encountered him during the course of the day, maybe once in a while, in the men’s room. He never went out of his way to speak to the graying wet-blanket. Getting a call from him was rather peculiar; therefore, Andy immediately realized something was amiss.

A, hi Andrew, a can you come here and see me in my office?

Hi, Mr. Prober, you mean right now?

Yes, Andrew, right now.

As a kid, Andy’s parents called him Andrew whenever he was in trouble. Prober’s Andrew sounded just like that.

Okay, Mr. Prober, I’ll be right there.

Prober’s office was in the administrative center, about 100 feet away from Andy’s work station. As the program manager, everyone answered to William Prober including the administrative staff, supervisors, clerks, security, tech people, delivery drivers, vendors, lawyers, local labor unions and anyone else who set foot on the property.

Once inside his private office, Prober told Andy to close the door.

Hello, Andrew, a, come in.

Hi, Mr. Prober, how are you.

Um, I’ll get to the point Andrew. I received some complaints about you recently, it concerns coming in late and leaving early.

I don’t know anything about that. I’m always here on time, usually early as a matter of fact. You know, Mr. Prober, can’t you just check my log in times? I’m confidant you’ll see I haven’t been late.

Um, yeah, but some of these complaints came directly from your supervisor.

What? Are you serious, from Dwight? Dwight Edwards said that?

Yes, Andrew.

But I’m never late. Why would Dwight say such a thing?

Ah, yeah, then there’s the matter of taking long lunches.

Wait a minute. Hold on here. I pass you every day when I come back from lunch. You know I’m never late getting back and if I am it’s because I received permission from Dwight. You know that, Mr. Prober.

"It has also come to my attention that you do not have a current, up-to-date privacy policy. Ah, and as you know, with my connections in Albany and Washington, I have the authority to sell you such a policy. I’m an authorized broker. That should resolve all issues, it’s a federal law you know.

Hey, wait a minute here. What does allegedly coming in late and leaving early have to do with a privacy policy? One thing has nothing to do with the other. I’m never late, I don’t leave early, I can’t afford a privacy policy and I don’t want one. I’ve been fine up to now without one. Mr. Prober, is there something else going on around here?

You see, that’s the whole thing, Andrew. Just suppose, in theory, the media knew you had gotten in trouble here in Centerton due to various employment infractions. And then some type of disciplinary action against you ensued. What do you think would happen if the media knew you had no privacy policy? They would have a field day. Tell me Andrew, do you think the paparazzi would come here first or go to your home? Whaddaya think, Andrew?

Yeah, I see Mr. Prober, I dunno.

I can tell you that if they came here, I’d have to cooperate to the fullest extent of the law, seeing how there’s no policy with your name on it.

I already told you I’m not interested in a privacy policy.

When you come right down to it, I think a year’s salary worth of coverage should set you up nicely with some adequate privacy protection. That’s what you really need.

No, Mr. Prober, I don’t think so. This is very fishy to me. I wanna know why Dwight Edwards said those things about me. And what does a privacy policy have to do with me being late for work?

Because everyone’s supposed to have a privacy policy. It’s the law and you know you’re not above the law.

Yeah, a fake law, designed to collect everyone’s hard earned money.

I’m sorry you feel that way, Andrew.

What happens now?

"You tell me, is that all Andrew?

Well, I sure hope not. I think there’s something going on here because you and I both know I’m never late. I’m one of your most productive workers. I’ve passed every supervisor exam and I have a lot of friends here. And I’m not sure why you’re so concerned about me having a privacy policy.

Ah, yeah, Okay then. If there’s nothing else, I’ll speak to Dwight Edwards but ah, we’re probably going to have to write you up.

But Mr. Prober, this is unfair. Then I’ll have to grieve this with the union. I’ve never used the union’s grievance process before, but all that stuff you said is unfounded...this is very weird.

Okay then Andrew, if there’s nothing else.

Andy had no blemishes on his employment record when trouble suspiciously arose. William Prober and Dwight Edwards filed a disciplinary notice with human resources indicating he was insubordinate. That was usually the first step taken when they wanted to get rid of a person. Andy filed grievances with the union in response to the warnings.

How and where would his complaints be arbitrated? Right there at work. Recently, due to a bad economy, the Centerton facility contained a number of vacant office suites that sat unoccupied. In an effort to offset the enormous rental cost of the property, the idle space was utilized in a variety of ways.

Though Centerton was originally set up as a customer service operation, some of the empty offices were converted into a large hearing venue which had jurisdiction over civil service employees in the region. Workers were required to resolve all disciplinary actions at Centerton.

Three weeks after filing his request, Andy’s grievances were heard at an inquiry held in the Centerton facility. Only moments after getting underway, surprisingly, the complaints filed by Andy were summarily dismissed. As it turned out, according to the latest collective bargaining agreement, William Prober held the distinction of being the state’s judge, jury and executioner, all rolled into one. Incredibly, when the last union contract was drafted, all mediation power, on every level, was conceded to the state. That meant William Prober held total control over the grievance resolution process.

He ruled that Andy’s grievances were unable to be supported by any facts rendering them inadmissible under the current union contract. The procedure was entirely legal since this was civil service territory, with its own set of harebrained rules and preposterous regulations. Too bad that wasn’t the end of it.

For the next six months, Prober tied Andy up with recurring allegations, by and large involving tardiness, insubordination and dereliction of duty, all fabricated. After filing 31 new grievances with his union, Local 23, of the Clerical/Administrative/Internet Technical Support Unit, Andy requested one of their attorneys to look into the matter. His request was denied.

Being from a working class family, Andy expected the union to pick up the gauntlet on his behalf, especially in view of the fact he was being unduly targeted. After all, he was up to date on his dues and had always supported local organizers. It came as a shock when the union wouldn’t assist him. Apparently organized labor had been in bed with the state due to political affiliations in Albany. They didn’t want to rub particular people the wrong way.

Members of the rank and file, some of whom called Andy’s predicament a witch hunt, started receiving harsh treatment from Prober, the same kind given to Andy. As a result, coworkers who were willing to step forth on Andy’s behalf abruptly backed down. He was going to fight this battle solo.

After a while, the job related problems became magnified. They started to seep into Andy’s life outside of work. He shared an apartment on the beach, in Ocean Inlet, Long Island, with his girlfriend, Kim, 31, a marketing entrepreneur and dark haired beauty. Ocean Inlet, located in neighboring Tricester County, was approximately a twenty-five minute drive from Centerton.

Though the couple spoke about marriage only once in a blue moon, they knew they loved each other and wanted to be together. At the moment, both were afraid Andy was going to lose his job. In next to no time, anxiety about work gathered in his psyche, not slowly, but like a ton of bricks.

What do you think, Kim? What’s my next move at work? I’m not sure which way to go on this.

I don’t know, but leave my nipples alone, they not ready for playing. It’s three o’clock in the morning and I was asleep.

They just looked so nice and since I couldn’t sleep, well, you know…

Hey, hands off!

All right, all right, good night. I don’t know how I’m gonna fall asleep. I haven’t slept all week.

Good night, Andy.

Chapter 2

Andy’s union representative, Tony Bongiorno, called to say the latest grievances filed about William Prober fell outside of the collective bargaining agreement. The union’s hands were allegedly tied and there was no other civil service department or source of help Andy could turn to. Nobody could help started to have a prophetic ring.

Tony, listen, I read the collective bargaining agreement. At the beginning of the contract, even before chapter one is the union’s mission statement. It says, ‘There shall be no hostile work environment’ and ‘all employees are entitled to a safe and equal workplace.’ Mr. Prober’s actions violate this declaration, which is certainly hostile. Ask my coworkers, they’ll tell ya. Tony, why aren’t you and the union doing anything about this?

It’s like I told you Andy, there’s nothing we can do about it. Our hands are tied. The union agreement doesn’t cover it.

Tony, then why did I just pay eight years’ worth of union dues, for what?

I dunno. I spoke to the other delegates and they agreed that your complaints fell outside the contract.

Desperate and tired, Andy searched for help everywhere. One of Kim’s friends, an attorney in trusts and estate law, suggested he contact one particular high powered labor lawyer for assistance. His name was Kevin J. Sapell.

Sapell was well regarded in the legal community and came highly recommended. That was before video footage appeared on the ten o’clock news showing him being arrested for masterminding a fraudulent mortgage scheme. Accompanying photos ran in The New York Times business section. Needless to say, that was the end of Mr. Sapell as an attorney.

After a diligent search, Andy couldn’t locate a single lawyer willing to fight for his job. Public agencies and advocates proved to be no help either. Most indicated there was nothing they could do to address his situation at work. When he contacted the so called Whistleblowers Hotline, representatives decided Andy did not qualify for their assistance. Once again, that familiar phrase echoed in one ear and right out the other:

There’s nothing we can do.

It looked as though Andy was being set-up to