27. Carter

Ishouldn’t be doing this.

I continue to stare at my computer screen anyway. Am I really going to do it?

Yes. I am. I have to. I won’t be able to let it go if I don’t check through the data.

It’s been three weeks since Inez found the wrong date on the RetLab program. Our database went live a week later, and at least some of the data should be entered by now. If I break the rules and look into the lymphoma team’s data, I can confirm on my own that everything is on the up and up.

I can’t explain why my gut is telling me something is wrong. Anyone else would’ve moved on by now. Everyone has moved on from this. Except for me. I can’t let it go.

The decision cements, and I pull up our database.

I take a moment to be proud of what my team has created. Each research team has specific login information to access only the data their credentials allow them to. The scoring programs are built into the database so that once the data is entered, it will be scored accurately and efficiently. The hope is this will streamline most of the data collection and analysis for our teams. They won’t have to enter their data into multiple scoring programs and then transfer those scores into some other format to be analyzed.

All the teams will keep the paper copies of their testing scores, of course, but if we can make it easier to analyze the data, that could mean faster results for life-saving medications.

I log into the system as if I’m a researcher. I’m pretending to be checking the database for any random bugs, even though I know no one will ever know I did this.

Once I’m on the right team’s dataset, I flip through their data. The database is set up to highlight any errors in red. And as far as I can tell, all of their data is accurate. There are a couple of red numbers, but that could be an error in the data entry or a participant’s data was skewed.

With my concerns abated, I close out of the program. Maybe my worries are just a product of my anxiety. The uncertainty about the scoring program being updated could’ve just been my anxiety going haywire. It’s still weird as fuck, but there’s no way to find out what happened without going to the source. And I don’t have a clue who would’ve done it. The company that created the program never got back to me on it, so it truly is a non-issue at this point.

I’m not exactly satisfied with not having a definitive answer, but my curiosity has been sated for now. I go back to working on the rest of my to-do list for the day. It’s about as long as my arm.

Time passes in a blur as I work. I’m not even aware of what time it is when my computer screen lights up with a call, pulling me out of my focus.

“Hey, Inez. Everything okay?”

“I’m not sure, exactly.” She sounds nervous or anxious about something, which puts me on edge. “I just got a call from the osteoporosis lab that they were having issues with our database. They said the data they entered wasn’t coming back with the correct scores. I thought that was strange, so I went up to see if maybe they were using the wrong program or something. Everything they’re doing is correct. They shouldn’t be getting incorrect scores.”

“Is this on the RetLab program?”

“Yeah. I thought we’d gotten it fixed before the database went live. What the hell is going on?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. I’ll dig into the code of the database to see if something is weird there. Can you have them use the original scoring program to find out if it’s incorrect, as well?”

“Sure. I’ll let you know what they say.”

“Thanks.” I click off the call and drop my head into my hands. This is ridiculous. I don’t understand what is happening. This whole situation is making my team look like imbeciles.

That’s the crux of why I can’t let this go. I have an incredible team. Shit like this wouldn’t have flown by us without raising a red flag.

I keep going back to the same question. Could someone be fucking with the data? If that’s true, they’re going to ruin their research. They’ll lose all credibility. Not to mention the ripple effect it would have on the company as a whole.

I send William an email asking him for the scoring criteria for the RetLab program. Then I pull up the code and start to go through it one line at a time. It’s a tedious job. If I don’t cover every detail, it’ll be my fault the program still isn’t working as it should.

Once I find the lines of code that give the parameters for scoring the data, I compare it to what the criteria should be.

“No wonder they are having issues,” I mumble to myself. Every line of this code has the program scoring the data inaccurately.

I call Eliza immediately. She was our last line of defense, and if she saw the errors, she never would have let it go through.

“Hey, Carter.”

“Hey, sorry to interrupt your day without any notice, but I just found some discrepancies with the database.”

“Really? I thought we got all of it fixed.”

“I thought so, too. When you were entering dummy data, were you checking to make sure it was scoring it accurately?”

“Of course. I went through every program, and it was working perfectly. Is it not anymore?”

“No, it doesn’t seem to be. It’s skewing the results higher than it should be.”

“Are you serious? How is that possible? I swear I dotted all my I’s. It was perfect when I handed it off.”

“And it went live the next day, which means the code has been altered since then.”

“But by who? I know I didn’t change anything. After I got it from William, it was perfect.”

“Could Paul or Inez have changed it?” I reject the idea almost immediately.

“There’s no way. What would even be the point? It would just make us look bad.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.” I sigh. “Thanks for your help, Eliza.”

“No problem. I’m sorry you’re having to deal with this.”

I click off the call and begin the painstaking process of updating the code. In any other circumstance, it would be a quick update. Instead, I spend an exorbitant amount of time ensuring that each line is correct.

Once I have it updated, I put in some dummy data to ensure it’s running how it should. Each test produces the expected numbers, and I feel like I can finally take a deep breath.

I call Inez’s cell since I haven’t back from her yet, and she answers as if she’s out of breath.

“Something weird is going on, Carter.”

I frown. “Yeah, I know. I just got the database updated. The osteoporosis teams should be good?—”

“No.” She cuts me off. “When I was up there with the research assistants, something happened.”

“Are you okay?” Worry starts to seep into my gut.

“I think so? I mean, yes. Physically, I’m fine. But I just got a weird vibe.”

“From the osteo assistants?”

“No, from Dr. Hutton in the lymphoma lab.”

“Back up a step. Start from the beginning because I’m not seeing the connection.”

“Hang on.” All I can hear is her breathing for a minute while I wait. “Okay, I’m back in the office. I did not feel comfortable talking out in the hallway.”

What is happening? How many times can that thought cross my mind before it loses all meaning?

“Right, so I go up to the osteo office to have them enter the data into the original scoring program. Apparently, they’ve been down a couple of assistants and had a backlog of data to enter. When the news about the database came out, they decided to wait until it went live to enter it. That’s why we didn’t know this problem existed before now.”

“But the lymphoma team uses the same scoring program. Shouldn’t they have noticed something?”

“Not necessarily. They could’ve transferred the data over and not have double-checked the results.”

Except, I checked their data, and there weren’t any errors. While Inez is talking, I pull up the database to determine if my updates affected their scores.

“Anyway, while I was up there, I had them go through their data entry process just to make sure they weren’t doing something incorrectly, which they weren’t. Then I had them use the original RetLab scoring program as you suggested, and it gave the same errors as the database.”

“What?”

“I don’t know how that’s possible, Carter. I checked the program myself and so did Paul after the original database snafu. It should be running as the manufacturer intended.”

“So, what do we do? Tell everyone at Pharmatech to not use either the original RetLab program or the one in the database?”

“Maybe? But that’s not all. Here’s where it gets even weirder. Dr. Hutton from the lymphoma lab came into the office to ask what we’re working on.”

“Why would he have done that?”

“Exactly. I told him we’re having issues with RetLab and to hold off on any data entry. He said his lab wasn’t having any problems with the program, and then he asked if I’d done something to change the code. I told him you and I are looking into what the problem could be, and maybe I’m reading into this, but… Carter… something in his eyes changed. He walked out soon after, so it could’ve just been my imagination, but it was weird.”

“He could just be pissed that his data might be wrong.”

But then I focus on my screen to find that the data entered into the database is all erroring out. None of it is accurate.

“Inez, I think we need to take this to Tom. This isn’t right.”

“I thought he was out on PTO.”

“Shit. Yeah, he won’t be back until Monday.”

“So, what should we do for the next few days? People are still trying to enter their data into the database right now.”

“As far as I can tell, it’s just the RetLab program we’re concerned with, correct?”

“I think so.”

“Then I’ll put a block on anyone using that specific program so everyone else can still enter data. Be prepared to respond to any emails about the block with the message that we’re making some updates.”

“Sounds good. Thanks for talking me down off the ledge.” Inez’s humorless laugh tells me whatever Dr. Hutton did really freaked her out.

“Thanks for bringing this to my attention. We’ll get it sorted, and maybe stick around the office for the day if you can.” I’d rather not have Inez take any shit for something she can’t control. Researchers can be hateful if something is messing with their studies.

“I plan on it.”