Page 1 of Only the Wicked
Prologue
The message jolted me at 3:47 a.m., cutting through the silence of my San Francisco penthouse like a serrated blade. I’d been awake anyway, staring at financial projections that made less sense with each passing hour, more determined than ever that we needed a new CFO.
* * *
This is Brandy Sussman from Congressman Mitchell’s office. The Congressman would like to schedule a meeting with you regarding ARGUS and an upcoming Senate Intelligence Committee hearing on surveillance technologies. ARGUS has been identified as a priority review target. Please respond with your availability.
* * *
My blood chilled. Miles, my partner, told me he’d shut this down. Priority review target. In Washington-speak, they’re coming for us.
I set the phone down with hands that weren’t quite steady and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bay. In the reflection, I caught sight of myself: rumpled hair, two days of stubble, dark circles under eyes that had seen too much in forty-one years. I looked like what I was—a man whose creation was about to be dissected by politicians who didn’t understand the first thing about technology or privacy.
This was exactly what I’d feared when I built ARGUS. The moment when government decided that private innovation was too dangerous to remain private.
My phone buzzed again with a text—this time from Alex, my CFO. Given the time, I could only assume that he, like this early bird congressional assistant, was on the East Coast. Another in his latest series of increasingly urgent messages about taking the company public.
* * *
Rhodes, Jonathan from Capital Partners met with Lehman yesterday. They’re talking about forcing an IPO whether you agree or not. We need that capital for infrastructure, and they want their return. Call me.
* * *
I deleted Alex’s message without responding. Going public now, with Congress circling like vultures, would be corporate suicide. But staying private meant fighting both political pressure and investor revolt simultaneously.
Dictating a message to Miles, my co-founder, it was all I could do not to call him and wake his ass.
* * *
You told me the congressional investigation was handled. It’s not. Combined with the investor pressure...this isn’t good, Miles.
* * *
I checked it and hit send.
Seconds later, the phone rang, the subtle electronic pulse ring tone amplified in the early morning silence.
“Why are you awake?” He sounded half-asleep.
“It’s happening?—”
“No, it’s not. I told you, it’s handled, and it is.”
I rubbed my palm over my face, over my burning eyes. I could have fought Miles, but he’d only tell me the congressman should be ignored and reiterate it was handled.
“We need to discuss the CFO situation. It’s time we bring in someone with more experience.”
“Wait. What? I’m getting whiplash here.”
“It’s called running a business.” Miles frustrated the hell out of me. The laid-back, friendly bullshit worked for investors and clients, and back in college it was mildly fun, but I needed him to keep up. “You told me the hearing is handled, I’m moving on. Let’s talk about Alex.”
“At three in the morning? Jesus. You need to get some sleep.”
“Alex needs to be controlled. He’s not aligned with us. He’s pushing the investors to push us. Going behind our backs.”
“Wait a minute. Rhodes. Come on. The paranoia is beating you, man. He’s not going behind our backs. This is Alex. Our friend. Get some sleep.”
“I’m not paranoid. We brought Alex on back in the garage days. He doesn’t have the skill set. He’s relying on old plays that he learned in B-school. We need someone with a different approach. Someone who gets our game plan.”
