We-Write #12: October Partner Week - Phantom

@zeldacroft, @freewritehouse

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Partnership: @phil-glaz , @mgaft1

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The contest

“Hey Palmer,” captain MacPherson greeted the man who looked attentively at the computer screen. “What’s going on with the Phantom shooting case?”

Palmer leaned back in his chair and crossed his feet.

“Well, we found fifteen people, who have had quadcopters within 3 miles from the shooting site and we summoned them to come to for questioning.”

“Why three miles?” MacPherson rolled his lip and that added additional curvature to his already round face.

“Quadcopters cannot be kept in the air that long. Batteries die out. Some of these people I let go, but one of them seems…”

“Is that the one whom I saw in the interrogation room?” MacPherson interjected.

“Yeah. I asked him to stay. Checking some data. ”

“Why him? He looks like a typical pencil pusher.”

“Who did you expect? El Capone?” Palmer smirked. MacPherson grinned in unison. “That model that he owns is actually called Phantom, and…”

“Hm … so you figured that… just because the model is called the Phantom…”

“No. But, if we are to believe her bodyguard, these were senator Cranston’s last words before she died. At first, we thought she was trying to describe some kind of super-duper ninja – think about it - no prints, no escape vehicle, nothing. But it could simply point to the model of a quadcopter. ”
MacPherson knocked his head in understanding.

“What’s the story with that guy?” he pointed toward the man who sat in the interrogation room.

“He’s saying that it was just a toy he always wanted to have, but couldn’t do it until he came to the States.”

“Hm…Do you mind if I question him?”

“Knock yourself out. Here’s the protocol of the preliminary questioning.” Palmer handed MacPherson the manila folder.
MacPherson opened the folder and started reading…

“… no criminal record,” he murmured, “… came to the US you say. Where is he from?”

“He’s Rusky…”

“Ah… The Russians are coming,” MacPherson lowered his voice and both investigators chuckled.

“He said he didn’t do it.”

“But how does he know about quadcopter?”

“He’s saying he sold them in Russia.”

“You think he’s feigning?”

“Who knows those Russians? Read his testimonial. He wrote the whole nine yards, the entire essay…”
MacPherson flipped a page and continued reading...

Phantom – that was the name of the quadcopter model on which Ivan's entire business was built. On my first working day in the new place, I listened to his whole story - how Ivan was the first to bring DJI Phantom to Moscow. How his friends and he, who were graduate students of Moscow State University for several days were drooling over this white drone, trying to understand what makes it tick...
I didn't catch those first happy days when Ivan's business was just starting - but I was there when it ended.

When Ivan hired me to the sales department, things were going well. It was my first job in a cool modern office, in an "open space" format - we had everything almost like in top "Silicon Valley" firms, only slightly more modest.
The online store with a showroom and drone repair workshop were located on the territory of the "Science Park of Moscow State University." Office buildings stood in the middle of a small pine grove... Fresh air around and a walking distance from the nearest shop or cafe.

I was happy when I got the job after running different types of shops in shopping malls for several years. I sold all kinds of things - books, souvenirs, smart-toys (designers like Lego and radio-controlled robots). I knew all ins and outs about opening a store from scratch and setting it up... So I had no problem passing the interview. Ivan needed exactly the kind of person capable of focusing on minor details and current orders while other team members “dreamed big”... and were engaged in strategic planning, of course.

That year and a bit longer, I occupied a glamorous modern office, but never learned how to launch and pilot "Phantom." It wasn’t interested in it. It was much more interesting to sell them.

MacPherson stopped reading and put the testimonial down.

“He was only the salesperson and didn’t even know how to operate quadcopters.”

A naughty grin crept over Palmer’s face, “Don’t ever trust a Russian.” Then he shook his head as if in a recognition of the stated fact and added, “He must have learned how to do it when he arrived in New York.”
MacPherson smiled and dipped his head back into the document.

Drone fans are a bit crazy - in a good way – like the true fans of a popular rock group. Their eyes shone when a new drone model appeared on sale, or when it was possible to repair a "Phantom," which survived the crash.

I really enjoyed the sales process. Every day we sent parcels all around Russia, and occasionally - even abroad. Once an order came from a French firm, which, judging by its name, was involved in the mining of bauxite and aluminum somewhere in West Africa. Why these people ordered "Phantom" from Moscow, with the delivery to their home office – only God knows.

Many of Moscow celebrities came to our office and even a filming crew to shoot a story about us for television. Ivan organized lectures for beginner pilots of "Phantom."

As for me, I was only modestly engaged in the everyday routine, swimming so to speak with rich business sharks and celebrities. It was cool, really cool! It was the most fun and unusual job in my life. More importantly - everything was so simple - "Phantom" sold itself. All I had to do was to make phone calls, write emails, and sign accounting documents.
Then something happened - and our fun ended. One Moscow millionaire invested a huge amount of money in creating a large chain of shops that offered drones and other radio-controlled models. Competitors died out quickly - including Ivan's small firm.

The flow of clients gradually dried up. At the time, Ivan did not understand what was happening, that it was necessary to put the emphases on “service” and "show," as we advised him.
The day came when he said, "Friends, I am broke and can’t pay your salary anymore." He paid everyone a generous compensation though. We spread in different directions, while Ivan's business returned to its starting point - one engaged enthusiast with a dozen of "Phantoms" in a small warehouse.

Maybe Ivan didn't become "Russian Bezos," but... briefly he created such an atmosphere that is still pleasant to remember. Perhaps even in fifty years the whole team of that firm and I will remember how fun it was to sell "Phantoms" in the Science Park of Moscow State University.

“hm… what do you think his motive might be?” MacPherson queried almost rhetorically drumming his index finger against his lips.

“Read his testimonial further. He recently lost custody of his two children to his ex-wife. The female judge nailed him; he lost his house and had to pay a huge alimony and child support, but recently he lost his job.”

“So?”

“So…senator Cranston; she pushed new legislation regarding family law that favored women, and…”
Palmer made a pause, as MacPherson was still waiting for him to continue.

“You see. It looks like the Russians heard something about feminism, but didn’t make themselves prepared for it when they come here.”

“and… you think he snapped?”

“That’s what I figured.”

“hm…” MacPherson squinted his lips as if weighing in mind Palmer’s argument, ”He doesn’t seem to be of the type to go forward with such a sinister plan. Look at him.” he pointed at the man quietly sitting behind the glass wall ”He seems like such a…” he was looking for a descriptor,” such a lamb.”

“Lamb?” Palmer chuckled, “Do you know what the most dangerous animal is?”

“I dunno, lion, tiger?”

“No, a cornered ram.”