Outside the cafeteria, a pop-up was serving craft coffee from a roastery in Santa Cruz. On a teak bar sat an espresso machine just like the Founder’s. A sandwich board displayed a limited menu: espresso $4, cortado $5. Dozens of Corporation employees stood in line, chatting with the team of baristas about crema and milk texture. “You know this roastery?” Henry asked.

I sipped my Philtered Soul, unable to taste anything but hazelnut syrup. “They’re decent,” I said, silently vowing never to order from the roastery again. Couldn’t the Corporation stop itself from acquiring at least some parts of my life? “What if we replace what we take away?” I suggested, focusing the discussion back on work.