“That’s where I got to. I didn’t want to go scrambling around in the formulas, though. It’s password protected for a reason, right? And the only other thing to check is the raw data, and those files scare me.”
Jackie smiles. “I can see why. But, again, we’ve got backups.” Something in Tate’s expression gives Jackie pause. “Tate, about the changes in the results. Was it anything important or just slightly different numbers?”
Tate rubs the bird of paradise tattoo on her arm. “You know how your results were really encouraging?”
“Sure. Having significant results at this stage is exciting. Especially the eye-tracking data.”
“Well, it’s gone.”
“What?”
“Look.” She clicks to a sheet with two line graphs, the old results and the new ones. Each data point is bracketed by the confidence intervals, making the shift in the results obvious.
Jackie stares at the screen, unbelieving. “How is this possible?”
“I have no idea.” Tate picks at the skin on her knuckle. “I’m worried I did something.”
“Please don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.” Jackie forces confidence into her voice. In truth, she’s alarmed. She has a presentation to give tomorrow, and her data might be corrupted. “I’ll take it from here, Tate. I appreciate you bringing this to me. As soon as I know what happened, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Okay, Jackie.” Tate closes her laptop and goes to the door.
“Oh—and I’m going to talk to everyone as soon as I can—but do you happen to know who might’ve been in that spreadsheet since my analysis, since last Thursday?” Because lab assistants and grad students come and go, everyone in the lab except Jackie uses a shared log-in instead of having separate accounts, so it’s not easy to know who logged in.
Tate thinks a minute. “Kyle probably wasn’t, since he’s up to his ass with his own study. Sorry. Language.”
“It’s fine. I guess Rhiannon and Reese aren’t around much, either, because they have finals coming up.”
“Haven’t seen them at all. So Gretchen. And Nasira has been learning how to upload the raw data from the iPads, so she might have been in there? Or maybe she’s using a separate spreadsheet to practice?”
“Thanks. That helps.”
Tate gives Jackie a thumbs-up as she disappears down the hall.
Nasira. It’s almost as though Jackie were expecting it. Although it makes no sense whatsoever.
She has no time to think about Nasira. On her computer, she mouses over to OneDrive, where all the files are stored, enters her log-in information, and opens the spreadsheet Tate was showing her. Her nerves jangled, she reviews the eye-tracking analysis and also the other results she is due to present tomorrow, comparing them to the information in her PowerPoint presentation. To her chagrin, everything Tate said is correct. Jackie copies the compiled data into a new file and runs the analysis in Excel. Same result as Tate’s. An unpleasant tingling sensation runs up her limbs. Either the formulas that compile the data have changed, or the original data that feeds into them has. Neither is good news. And who knows how widespread the problem is or how long ago it started? She might have to audit every single study—a nightmare scenario. The thought that she might have published results based on faulty data makes her nauseous. It won’t just tarnish her reputation; it could end her career.
A notification pops up on her phone. Time to leave for class. She packs her laptop, puts on her coat, and leaves the building. The air is frigid and the sky a gunmetal gray.
Think, Jackie. What’s the plan?
All the data files, the Excel spreadsheets, are on OneDrive, which keeps every version that is saved. Once a day, everything on OneDrive is automatically backed up on the university’s network. There has to be some way to figure out what was changed and when. Vince Leeds is her go-to IT guy, and with any luck he’ll have a clever trick to deploy. Pinpointing the nature and the date of the changes should help her figure out how it happened. Beyond that, she can’t guess what will transpire.
The sleuthing will take time, which she does not have. Without confidence in her results—already in the hands of Deirdre Calhoun, the foundation director—she cannot give the presentation tomorrow. She’s tempted to plead illness, but rejects the idea. Her professional integrity is sacred.
Jackie pulls out her phone and calls Calhoun, who picks up on the second ring. Knowing the director appreciates efficiency, Jackie gets right to the point.
“I’m calling with some unfortunate news. I reviewed one of the analyses I was planning on presenting, and there’s a glitch in the data.”
“A glitch?”
“Yes. Everything is backed up, so it’s not a serious problem, but until I find out what happened, I cannot share any results.”
“I see.” A long pause. “This casts something of a pall over your work, Dr. Strelitz. Especially since the results you sent seemed so encouraging.”
A pall? “I take data management very seriously.” Jackie avoids the term “data security.” “I’ll let you know immediately once I understand what the issue is. It’s my top priority.”
“I’ll notify the board.” Another long pause as the director deliberates Jackie’s transgression. “We’ve been enthusiastic about supporting your work, but might have to take a closer look at further funding.”
“I understand and will be in touch. And please communicate my regrets to the board.”
“I will.”
Jackie closes the call. That went well. Undoubtedly Calhoun suspects she fudged the data to grease the wheels for her upcoming grant submission. Jackie hates the idea of her reputation slipping in the eyes of the foundation, but the call was unavoidable.
At the building entrance, a student jogs past her. Jackie’s late. She hurries into the lecture hall, her heart beating too fast, her stomach in knots. She sheds her coat, attaches her laptop to the projector, and clicks open the file for today’s lecture. The students tuck their phones away (for now—they always come out eventually). Jackie takes a sip from the water bottle she carries in her bag and wills herself to calm down. Luckily, she has taught Methods for Behavioral Science several times and, unlike other classes, the course content only changes if Jackie updates the examples.
Jackie looks out at the sea of heads. “Good afternoon, everyone.” She glances behind her to ensure the image is focused properly. The slide is of a road sign, with arrows labeled “Right” and “Wrong” pointing in opposite directions, and a third arrow in the middle, “It Depends.” In her distress, she’d completely forgotten today’s lecture topic: ethics.
Vince Leeds arrives at the lab conference room at seven thirty the next morning, his hair still wet from showering. Rosy patches of eczema stand out on his pale skin. He’s wearing an ironed button-down shirt instead of his usual plain long-sleeve T-shirt, and Jackie wonders if this is for her.
“Good morning, Vince. I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you for helping me with this—especially so early.”
“Hello, Jackie.” He pulls at the cuffs of his shirt. “I’m always happy to help you if I can.”