Memory Vesting
by Devorah Roberts
part 1
“I’ve heard layoffs are incoming,” Sara Jo said that morning, pink acrylic claws plucking at her green turtleneck.
“They’re always saying that just to keep us in line,” Leslie said.
“But this time it’s really happening,” Sara Jo said, then she lowered her voice, knowingly: “Y’know, cash flow issues.”
Leslie hummed, examining the office coffee pot percolating in front of her. This, she couldn’t deny, nor say more. She took pride in her role as the executive assistant to the firm and knew just how many cash flow issues there were. Alan hadn’t said anything about cuts to her, though, and a queasy feeling now entered her stomach. But she wasn’t going to admit that to Sara Jo, especially when the woman was clearly fishing.
“I’m sure you’ll be safe though. Alan lo-oves you,” Sara Jo said, ending in a sing-song voice.
“He likes me as much as he likes anyone.”
“Which,” Sara Jo said, “isn’t much at all.”
With that, Sara Jo picked up her coffee and, with a quick click of the heels, sauntered back to her side of the office. Leslie collected her own coffee and returned slowly to her own desk, sitting just in time for her phone to begin ringing and the day to begin.
Discovery Advertising had been Leslie’s home for the last ten years, ever since she had graduated with a fine art degree. At almost 32, she had resigned herself to the life of quiet assistant jobs, knowing that she would never be promoted at this point, but finding it too treacherous to leave either. Nice pay, nice security. No recognition. Minimal pay raises.
Leslie tried not to sink into those thoughts. Instead, she flung out her emails, launched at her phone calls and, at home, stared at her blank easel before deciding that, once again, she’d have a glass of wine and call it for the night.
It’s not like she was going to sell anything in this market. She’d accepted her place in the world. She was an artist when it came to the work she did: delicately moving calendar appointments around, gently adding flourishes to her e-mails so people would know that she was furious with them but couldn’t quite say so. She was happy. Secure. And necessary. Alan always made sure to assure her of that.
Speak of the devil: a message from Alan popped up on her computer with just two words: Swing by. He liked to keep things short to save time. She straightened her shirt and brushed her hair back before obediently walking over.
His office was her favorite part of the building: low, orange lighting because he complained the fluorescents made it hard to concentrate. Dark, burnished cherry wood desks and shelving full of the business books that he must reference every day. A side table with four leather brown arm chairs, and a matching couch off to the side, next to a bar cart that he used to entertain clients.
And then there was Alan himself: he’d been sharp-looking when she first started but had only grown beautiful with age, grey peppering his dark-brown hair and brown eyes warm with lines. He turned to her now, eyes bright: “Ah, Leslie. Thank you for coming in.” He stood and gestured her over to the table at the corner.
That’s when her stomach dropped. There were no chairs in front of his desk, so Leslie usually stood to take instructions. Sitting down meant a conversation. She kept her composure, though, and joined him, sitting demurely on the edge of the seat. He plopped down, leaning his hands on the table.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
Alan heaved a sigh. “I’m sure you’ve gathered that we’re experiencing some financial strain on the company. We’ve been looking really hard at the budget to see what we can cut and, well...” Another put-upon sigh, as he examined the ring on his left hand. When he looked up at her again, it was with a face as sincere as possible. “Well, Leslie, there are going to be cuts. And you’re slated to be part of the first round, unfortunately.”
A beat. Leslie wanted to throw up, but thought that vomiting in the CEO’s office might not get her a good reference after. “Is there a reason? You know,” and here, her voice cracked, “I’ve been here ten years. You’re my second CEO.”
“No, Leslie. It’s just a budget issue, and the leadership team is looking anywhere to cut down on administrative costs.”
So she was an administrative cost. A detriment, in other words.
“But, Leslie, you know, I pushed back really hard against this. And the rest of senior staff knows how hard you’ve worked. And we think we’ve found a solution.”
Leslie braced herself. A paycut maybe? She could do that. She hadn’t been on the top of her game lately, after all. She wasn’t as invested as she used to be. But she could try.
“To help the company and to help you, we are introducing a new HR program that has offered a special new benefit. It’s called Memory-Vesting. For every memory sold, the company will get a certain stock sum, and 5 percent of that will go into your account and be invested over time. Almost like a second retirement. Wonderful, right? And it doesn’t even come out of your paycheck. So, not only are you saving money for the day, you’re growing your savings.”
Alan smiled. An award-winning smile. A client-winning smile. Leslie had seen clients swoon just for that smile. And like them, she knew he wouldn’t even give her time to think about the pros and cons of this. All she knew were two facts: free money. And keep your job.
Leslie matched his smile; always good to mirror the body language of your executive. “Where do I sign up?”
Alan slid a stack of paperwork over. “Take this all to the 10th floor. They’ll get you set up.” He placed his hand over hers. “Leslie,” he said, “I’m so glad you’ll still be on board with me.”
Leslie forced her smile wider. “Me, too, Alan.”
“If you don’t mind, please keep this to yourself. We’re only offering this to a few very trusted employees, first.”
“Of course, you know me: keeper of secrets.”
Alan laughed. “And that’s why you were on my first list to save. Now get down there. We don’t want them to change their minds suddenly!”
* * *
The 10th floor, as far as Leslie had known, held only two offices: another branch of their advertising agency and an accounting firm. The address on the paperwork said to go to the end of the hallway, Room H41. When she found it, it was simply a locked door that could have been a janitorial closet. As she approached, the door slid open without her even touching it. From the hallway, all she could see was a cold, blue light emanating from within.
Gotta pay the bills, Leslie thought and plunged inside.
The door slid closed behind her. When her eyes adjusted, she realized there was no one else there. Just a wall of servers, and one computer on a lone, old-school children’s school desk. The computer was so thin, she didn’t even realize it was a screen from afar, its light shining as if from another dimension.
“Hello, Leslie.”
Leslie jumped at the voice: an automated, robotic voice coming straight from the computer, echoing in the empty room.
“Hello. I’m here for, the uh, memory-vesting.”
“Welcome, Leslie. You are right on time. Please sit down and scan your paperwork into the computer.”
Leslie sat at the computer and found one opening at the bottom. The mouth of the computer, she laughed to herself, before sliding the paperwork in one-by-one.
“Processing paperwork, very detailed. Thank you, Leslie, we can begin. Please place the two electrode pads to your right on your temples. We will be downloading your very first memory today.”
Leslie looked at the wires, with a light grey pad at the edges. They reminded her, eerily, of what they might use to shock people with in a science-fiction movie. “Do I get to choose the memory?”
“Your first five memories are yours to choose. Afterward, I’ll have a sense of what is not important to you and be able to choose for you.”
“And I can stop at any time.”
A beat.
“You are free to make any decision you would like. If you wish to terminate, you’ll have to submit your resignation to your supervisor.”
“I see.”
“We are almost 5 minutes into the appointment. Let us begin.”
Leslie placed the electrodes on her temples.
* * *
Two weeks into the Memory-Vesting program, the office had begun to thin out. Whispers were going around that people were quitting on the spot, rather than taking the program. A stream of copywriters seemed to leave from Alan’s office each day, holding their notebooks close to their chest, tears barely contained. And the ones that stayed after were starting to look... different.
Jenny, the CFO’s assistant, for example: 22, fresh out of college. She had always been a little plump with baby fat still on her cheek. In just a few weeks, the fat seemed to be gone, and her cheekbones had been carved into a sharp, angular fashion. The cat-eyed glasses she used to wear had disappeared too, revealing bright blue eyes. Jeans had been traded in for leather skirts or pants, all things Leslie could easily attribute to just trends or a new shopping spree.
The phone ringing interrupted Leslie’s examination of Jenny. Leslie picked up the receiver and an automated voice answered: “Leslie, it’s time to commit your weekly vesting.”
That time already? Leslie could have sworn she had done one yesterday, but maybe that was Friday? The vestings were blurring together more quickly than Leslie would like. It had only been a few sessions, but she was starting to forget things. She knew, vaguely, that was the point of the program. But, this morning she had spent — what was it? 10, 15 minutes? — looking for her keys.
The automated voice again:“Please proceed down to the 10th floor.”
Was it her, or did it sound pushy?
Leslie began her descent. On her way out, Jenny gave her a wide, cheery wave, skin seeming tight around her cheeks. Leslie nodded, before hurrying out. Alan had reprimanded her the other day for being just a little late to one of her vesting appointments, asking if she was sure she was committed. They could always discuss other options, he had said.
The elevator arrived to the 10th floor more quickly than she would have liked. She stumbled her way past the other offices until she was in front of the janitorial door again.
“Welcome, Leslie,” the computer greeted. “How are you today?”
“Fine. How are you?” Leslie asked, on autopilot, before she remembered she was talking to a robot.
“I’m well, Leslie.” Maybe it was her imagination, but the robot seemed pleased she asked. “Please take a seat so we can begin your vesting.”
She took her place at the school desk, where the electrodes awaited her. What would be taken from her next? She had long ago stopped choosing the memories, though she couldn’t say which ones she had selected. Terrible ones, she hoped. It would be easy to cast aside some of those memories.
She wondered what type of person she would be if she gave away all the memories that pained her: more confident maybe? Or less well-rounded and less sympathetic? Would she be able to relate to others if all of her pain was taken away? What about creating art? But giving away her good memories certainly didn’t seem like an option to her.
“Are you... can you tell me what memory you’ll be taking?”
“Don’t worry, Leslie. We’ll choose wisely. Did you know with this appointment you’ll have saved $2,000?”
She certainly couldn’t argue with that number.
* * *
Copyright © 2026 by Devorah Roberts
