The Store by James Patterson

Author:James Patterson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Published: 2017-07-12T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 35

I DIDN’T have time to be pissed off about the warm hug Sam had just wrapped around Megan.

No. I had something much bigger to be pissed off about: Megan and I had been summoned for “an in-depth interview and analysis” at the Store headquarters.

“It’s no big deal,” Sam told us. “They knew Megan was here, and of course they found out immediately that you had come along, Jacob. So it looked to the senior interview committee like perfect timing.”

“But they asked us every conceivable question in the world when they interviewed us back in New Burg,” Megan said. “Does everyone get this interview treatment? Or is it just those of us who might be a little out of control?”

“Not everybody has this interview. There’s no pattern to who gets it. It’s kinda random,” Sam said. “Look. It’s only around an hour, and everyone’s really nice, and it’s just for their records, and—”

“And I guess we can’t say we won’t do it,” I said.

The stern, nasty voice of the “real” Sam Reed returned.

“I wouldn’t recommend it.”

So that afternoon Megan and I sat in a very large, very stark conference room containing nothing but four comfortable leather chairs and a small glass coffee table on top of which sat a silver pitcher of coffee, another of tea, and four bottles of mineral water.

Our interviewers were a man and a woman. Like everyone employed by the Store, they were unfailingly polite and friendly, but they did not offer their names when we shook hands. The two of them looked like they were in their twenties. They looked more like graduate students, and in fact I wondered if Megan and I were so unimportant in the great scheme of the Store that we were just practice interviewees for these “kids.”

The woman said, “Let’s begin. But I should mention that you may find the first few questions a bit…shall we say…obvious or ridiculous.” Then she read from her laptop.

“From the following list, select the group you would most likely want to be part of: A, the Church of Scientology; B, the Ku Klux Klan; C, the Store.”

“Before I struggle to answer, let me just say you were almost right,” I said. “The questions are…shall we say…obvious and ridiculous.”

“Well,” the young man said, “wait till you hear the next one.” Then he read from his laptop.

“Of the many wonderful foods available at the various markets and delivery services in New Burg, what would you say is your family’s favorite?”

It didn’t take a degree in psychology to realize that the whole “ridiculous” conversation was meant to disarm Megan and me, turn the interviewers and the interviewees into old friends. So the four of us chuckled along for a few minutes.

But within five minutes, the nature of the questions began to change.

“So a writer like you, Jacob, can’t be very satisfied gathering products down at the fulfillment center. You must be doing some writing in your spare time.”

I had barely given my evasive, bullshitty response when the

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