I was so sure, so stupidly certain, that America would fix all our problems. Their doctors would cure her. Their senators would welcome you. All I had to do was get there and leave everything else behind.

Chapter 23

From the diary of Monica Tsai, backed up on three servers spanning two continents

November 5, 2018 (2018-11-05T21:58:12.218777)

loc: Cambridge, Massachusetts. United States of America (42.3721865,71.1117091)

There’s been some good news on the work front lately. Apparently, Prof. Logan spent fall break presenting EMBRS to potential investors, the first step in turning it from a research project into something bigger.

I watched his pitch a few times—him onstage with a headset, large banners of the name of the conference in the background. He wore a T-shirt with the EMBRS logo (a doodle I made of a fire with sparkling eyes and jazz hands) and emphasized his words in the way startup founders do, all passion and drama. Behind him were his slides, and suddenly the picture of Louise and Meng—Louise beaming, Meng squinting at the camera—blown up for thousands to see.

He went on to explain how grandmother was looking for her cousin, how they were separated during the Chinese Civil War, and were now over ninety years old and had lost contact. His performance was a more elaborate version of what I sent him—and at times, completely made up. He talked about me, an engineer on his team who journaled about her grandmother’s wish in EMBRS, and how EMBRS connected me via this photo. Then he showed my visualization of the data, the connections and algorithms that took place to make this happen. He did not include a conclusion, only the implied reunion.

“This program isn’t just about sparking lost connections,” he said, his voice deep with emotion. “It’s about sharing enough of ourselves to form true, real connections. Never in the history of the world has there been as much information freely shared as there is now. Let us use it to spark connections in every part of our lives.”

He flipped to the last slide. It was a picture of me and grandmother on her ninetieth birthday next to a tray of roast beef sandwiches. I had sent it to Prof. Logan along with the other EMBRS-related assets. I had never imagined he would end with it.

The room erupted in thunderous applause. Now there were some big-name investors who wanted to pour money into EMBRS.

He called me that night.

“Monica,” he said warmly. “The one who ignited EMBRS to life.”

“That’s you,” I corrected. “EMBRS was always your idea.”

“Yes, but you were the one who successfully used it. You were the one who saw what it could do, even when it was a bunch of bash scripts cobbled together. You made it work, and that story about your grandmother resonated, let me tell you.”