"Whodunnit?" — Sam Altman edition
Part One of The Altese Fulcrum
Disclaimer: This story chronicles the work of Sam Spade, a fictitious detective, and his equally fictitious assistant, Effie Perine. Any resemblance to real persons, legal or biological, is exactly as intentional as the firing of Sam Altman from the board of OpenAI.
Detective Sam Spade picked up his pace, his assistant Effie trailing just behind. In the heart of the valley, down the street from the Karnofsky mansion, a crime had been committed. Murder, with a blunt instrument, but with such force as to sever the head of the victim clean from the body. The two arrived on the scene just as the suspects were being carted away.
There they were: Sutskever, a balding engineer whose prints were all over the murder weapon; Toner and McCauley, think tank execs from the East and West coast; and D’Angelo, an entrepreneur local to the valley. Supposedly there for a board meeting of some type, but then… murder.
Sam took a drag on his smokeless nicotine dispenser as Effie followed him into the house and the room where it all happened. “You see, signs of a struggle,” he said, pointing to marks on the headless body. “And what a murder weapon!” Sam walked over to the thick metal slat, propped up against the wall, its edge spattered with the victim’s blood.
“None of the suspects had an alibi,” said one of the policeman still on the scene. “At least, nothing rehearsed.”
Sam grimaced and took another drag of nicotine. “This is no straightforward case,” he said at last.
The policeman shifted uneasily. “So whodunnit?”
“That’s what I’m here to find out,” the detective said.
“So who did do it, Sam?” said Effie as they arrived back at his San Francisco office, the sun setting behind them.
“I don’t know,” the detective said. “Not yet.”
The detective took a breath of nicotine and exhaled broadly. “It doesn’t add up. Some of the perps had a motive. Hated the guy. In some cases dedicated their lives to opposing people like him. But,” he took another drag. “I just don’t see them doing it.”
“And why is that, Sam?”
“Take this dame Toner. Who is she? Comes from Melbourne, joined a fringe rationality cult, then became an EA.”
“An EA for who, Sam?”
“No, not an executive assistant, an ‘effective altruist,’ you know, those guys who pulled the FTX job.”
“Right, sorry Sam,” Effie said.
“You’ve got to keep up,” said the detective. “The world moves fast in these parts. A lot of characters, hard to stay on top of it all.”
“That’s right, Sam,” said Effie. “But that’s why they need you.”
“Yeah, they do,” Sam said, taking another drag from his nicotine dispenser. “This thing’s out, get me another, would ya?” he said, tossing the cartridge to his assistant.
“I’ll get you another.”
“So where was I?”
“The effective altruists.”
“That’s right, the EAs. So Toner does a stint at this AI firm in Melbourne, then comes to the US. She works at some EA jobs, then lands a gig at a DC think tank as the ‘Director of Strategy.’”
“Sounds like a formidable woman.”
“But that’s just the thing,” said the detective. “I’ve actually met her.”
“You have?” said Effie, in surprise.
“Yeah, ten years ago. And I can tell you, I don’t mean to be rude, but sometimes there just are these hard truths.”
“I know, Sam, and you have to tell them.”
“That’s right,” he said. “I do. This Toner girl, I’m telling you, she was a pushover.”
“A what?”
“A pushover. There’s no way she did the guy in. She was there, she had a motive, but I just don’t think she would have it in her.”
“Well then who did do it, Sam?” Effie asked impatiently.
“Or take the McCaulay broad. I don’t think it was her either.”
“I don’t think anyone thinks it was her, Sam.”
“But why not?” he said. “She was there, right? She had a motive, just like the Toner woman.”
“And what motive was that?”
“It’s these EAs,” he said. “I’m telling you, they have it in for these guys. You look at their message boards and they just talk about it day in and day out.”
“I didn’t know she was an EA,” Effie said.
“Yeah, well, there’s a lot people don’t know. McCaulay. Entrepreneur. Wife of an actor. Interested in EA since, 2016 at least. Attends meetings sometimes with an advisor, says it helps her think.”
“Well that’s good, Sam.”
“Yeah, well a lot of good it did here. There’s a body without a head, and no one knows what happened.”
Effie looked down, chagrined.
“So she joins these EAs, and they make a big fuss about it and put her on a bunch of boards. Including the board of our friend here.” Sam motioned in the direction of the body, a few miles away.
“The thing is,” he continued, “I don’t think she did it.”
“Why is that, Sam?”
“As fate would have it, I met her too, five years ago.” The detective looked over at his assistant.
“How is that possible?” she said. “You can’t have met everyone.”
“Believe it,” the detective said. “It was in an office outside San Francisco. I remember the lake outside, the park. Beautiful.”
“I’m sure it was, Sam.”
“My point is, in this business, you have to know people.”
“That’s right, you do, Sam.”
“So that’s my job. And this McCaulay broad, I can tell you, she wasn’t the sort to pull the trigger either.”
“Now how do you know that?” Effie said.
“I said, it’s my job,” he answered testily. “What sort of person brings an advisor to a random meeting with a schmo like me?”
“You said it was to help her think.”
“Well then look at it like this. The way I figure it, the night of the crime, or the days just before, the advisor is either there or they aren’t, right?”
“That’s right, Sam.”
“And if the advisor isn’t there, she doesn’t make the decision, and if they were, she doesn’t make the decision.”
“That’s a good point, Sam.” Effie asked.
“The whole thing has the marks of premeditation on it. Like it came from some sort of deliberative process.”
“And so?”
“If the crime was premeditated, then who meditated it, is my point. It wasn’t the advisor, and it wasn’t McCaulay, since the advisor would have talked her out of it.”
“I see what you mean,” she said.
“So it wasn’t her,” said the detective.
“Of course not, Sam, but there’s something I don’t get.”
“What’s that?”
“Why are you talking about the two women? Everyone thinks it was that man.”
“You mean Sutskever?”
“Yes, Sam, Sutskever. They found him standing right next to the murder weapon. His prints were all over it.”
“Yeah, they did,” said the detective, taking another long drag. “I thought it was obvious it wasn’t him.”
“Obvious to you, maybe, but not to everyone else.”
“Well that’s why you need someone like me on a case like this. Someone who can see past the mirage.”
“And what is the mirage in this case?” Effie asked.
“That a man without a motive would kill without provocation.” Sam gave her a hard look.
“But Sam,” she said, “he had a motive. It was self-defense.”
“See that’s where two and two just don’t add up. In the law, there’s such a thing as ‘clear and present danger.’ ”
“So what’s your point, Sam?”
“My point is, I don’t buy it. You see,” said the detective, “I actually met Sutskever in person once. Puerto Rico. 2015. Only overheard him for a minute, but I’ll tell you, that was enough.”
“I swear, you know everyone, Sam. What did Sutskever say?”
“He said that he thought we were doomed.”
“Doomed?” the assistant asked.
“Yeah, doomed. 1-2 years max. Literal doomsday cultist, right there.”
“Okay, but what does that matter?”
“So everyone thinks that Sutskever did it because he got worried. Thought the victim had become dangerous. Self-defense, like you said.”
“That is what they’re saying, Sam.”
“But my point is, I know these cultist types. And when they think we’re dead in two years and two years pass and we’re still alive, walking around, doing our business, they don’t suddenly change their views. They keep thinking the same thing.”
“That we’re going to die in two years?”
“Yeah, it’s like some sort of unhealthy fixation. My point is, people are saying that Sutskever got scared and offed the guy. I say, Sutskever wasn’t scared then and he isn’t scared now.”
“And so?”
“And so,” the detective said, taking another drag of nicotine, “there wasn’t a motive. He wasn’t scared, and so he didn’t get the others to help him, and so none of that’s what really happened.”
“Amazing, Sam,” said the assistant.
“It would be more amazing if I knew the answer,” said the detective, putting his hands in the pockets of his coat, which he still hadn’t taken off. “Because there’s this paradox. The actual murder was committed in haste, you can tell from the marks on the body, the suspects not having their alibis in order, things like that. But the crime itself was a deliberate act. Premeditated.”
“How could you know that, Sam?”
“You saw the murder weapon. Sutskever couldn’t have lifted it alone. He would have needed at least two others, maybe three.”
“So Toner and McCauley could have helped.”
“Yeah, they had a motive. So I could believe that. But if it wasn’t premeditated, then what was it? Sutskever gets panicked and convinces the others to chop a man’s head off with a big metal board?”
“Slat, Sam.”
“Slat, right,” the detective said. “Listen, I’ve seen panic, and that’s not what panic is like. Panic is disorder, it’s chaos. This required cool, careful calculation.”
“So what does that mean, Sam?” Effie said.
“It means that there’s someone else involved, that’s what it means. Because it sure wasn’t Sutskever, or Toner, or McCauley calling the shots.”
“My God, Sam,” Effie said. “So you think it was D’Angelo?”
“Could be, I don’t know the man,” said the detective. “But judging from the quality of his company’s product, I wouldn’t say he’s exactly a paragon of ‘operational efficiency,’ if you get my drift.”
“I do, Sam.”
“No, we have to start thinking bigger.”
“So who then?”
“See that’s where this gets tricky. If you look at the people in the room, it was just Toner, McCaulay, Sutskever, and D’Angelo.” The detective started to pace, gesturing as he spoke. “Toner and McCauley were patsies, Sutskever the fall guy. Whoever it was either forced Sutskever’s hand directly or used Toner and McCauley as pawns.”
“Two levels of puppet master,” Effie said, drawing in her breath.
“Look, if this were easy, you could just hire the next bloke. It’s when things get messy you need someone like me,” he said.
“That’s right, Sam, we do.”
“I don’t think it’s any of the victim’s business partners. No motive. Only stood to lose out. The strange thing,” he continued, “is the composition of the board. You’d never put together a board like this. Not if you went to Startup School.”
“That is strange, I noticed that.”
“Yeah, a lot of people noticed that. Here,” the detective said, tossing his assistant another cartridge. “Get me a refill.”
“There’s one right there on the table,” the assistant said. “I got you three.”
“I knew that,” said the detective, giving Effie a look. “But anyway, this board. The way I figure it, the board’s been tampered with. From the outside.”
“But how is that possible, Sam?”
“Well, it’s a bit complicated, but let’s just say, you can do a lot with thirty million dollars.”
“Thirty million dollars!” said the assistant.
“That’s right,” he said.
“But Sam, I don’t understand, no one was getting paid here, not Toner or McCauley, or even D’Angelo… except Sutskever, but you yourself said he didn’t have a motive.”
“Yeah, and they certainly weren’t getting paid thirty million dollars,” the detective said.
“So who was it then?”
“The victim.”
“The victim, Sam, that doesn’t make sense. No one gave the victim thirty million dollars except-” Effie met Sam’s eyes.
“That’s right.” The detective slowly nodded.
“Karnofsky,” they both said together. A silence settled upon the pair. The sounds of cars and San Francisco nightlife filtered in.
“Okay, but Sam,” Effie said, “the Karnofsky money was given for charity.”
“Thirty million dollars given to a charity that becomes the world’s fastest growing for-profit outfit? The thing stinks, if you ask me.”
“So why was the money given, if not for charity?” she said.
“I dunno yet. Protection maybe. Whatever it was, he didn’t get it, and so he left and set up his own racket, working through intermediaries.”
“Just like here,” said the assistant.
“Just like here,” said Sam. “And he leaves the Toner dame in his place. That way, if he ever needs revenge, he can have it.”
“But Sam,” she said, “why would Karnofsky want revenge? He has billions of dollars, would thirty million really mean so much to him?”
The detective took off his hat and placed it on the table with a sigh. “Karnofsky is a difficult man to understand,” he said. “Though I know him, I’ve known him for years. Ex-wife used to work for him.”
Effie raised her eyebrows. It was rare to hear Sam speak about his ex-wife.
“It ended badly,” he said, pursing his lips.
“Things with your wife or with Karnofsky-” she started.
“Both,” he said, pausing for a while. “But the point here is Karnofsky. He’s a complicated man. He kept his distance from the EAs at first, then later bought them. He laughed at the victim’s entire industry too, called them tools, and now wants to regulate them.”
“But why, Sam, why?” asked his assistant.
“Jealousy. Control. All under the guise of openness and philanthropy.”
“A real villain,” she said.
“That’s my hunch, at least,” the detective said.
“But Sam, no one’s going to believe this.”
“Yeah, well, we got a big chunk of metal covered in blood but no smoking gun, if you get my meaning.”
“I do, Sam,” said his assistant.
“And worse,” the detective said, “that may not be the whole of the story, if you understand what I’m saying.”
“What else could possibly be going on?” Effie asked.
“Forgive me, darling,” he said, turning away, Effie frowning at his persistent sexism. “If we’re going to go any further, I’m going to need a drink. Because this is about to get complicated.”
Suddenly, the phone rang. Sam picked up his hat and walked over to the receiver, an old, ‘60s-style phone attached to a landline.
“I don’t know why you keep that old thing around,” said Effie. “Just get a cell phone.”
“When I’m ready,” the detective said. “My question is, who would be calling at this hour?”
Sam picked up the phone. He listened for a half a minute, then put down the receiver and looked his assistant. “They’re going to try to reattach the head,” he said.
Next: Part 2 of The Altese Fulcrum: “Who stands to gain?” — Sam Altman edition
• Images GPT-4 with human touch-up • © 2023 • Jocelyn McManus • All rights reserved •