Page 2 of Only the Wicked
“He just had his third kid and you want to shitcan him?”
“You want to keep him on? Fine. But we need to bring someone on with more experience. Someone who can monitor his dealings with our investors and package clever financing deals.”
“Can we just…” I could hear his frustration, but it was nothing compared to the alarm coursing through my veins. “Will you take a break? Christ, when was the last time you slept through the night? Lack of sleep breeds paranoia.”
“For the last time, I’m not paranoid.”
“Remember when you were convinced that tech journalist was investigating us? Turned out she was writing about facial recognition in retail stores. You’re seeing threats everywhere.”
He had a point about the journalist. Maybe I was seeing shadows where there were none. “Maybe you’re right.”
“I know I’m right. You need to get away. Clear your head. Sleep. Remember what it’s like to think about something other than risks and assessments. Maybe take Sara.”
“Seriously?” He’d stayed close to my ex, but I hadn’t.
“Forget I mentioned her, even though she probably could get away right now and she’d be good for you. She knows you. It’s been ages. You’re still friends, right?”
“Miles.” If I pinched the bridge of my nose any harder, it would have bruised.
“Fine. But take a break. I refuse to make any major personnel decisions when you’re running on fumes.”
When was the last time I slept for more than a few hours? I was way overdue for a break.
“I am overdue for a visit back home.” Nana couldn’t easily travel anymore.
“Perfect. Book it today. And Rhodes? Don’t bring your laptop. Don’t check emails. Don’t even think about D.C.—which I promise is taken care of. Just...exist for a few days.”
His concern was genuine, and despite my frustration, I found myself considering a break. Maybe some distance would give me perspective on both the congressional threat and the CFO situation.
“And Sara…” Miles could push me on many scores, but my ex wasn’t one of them.
“I prefer solo. I need space.”
“Good. You’ll come back with a clearer head. Trust me on this. Whatever’s happening in Washington can wait a week. The world won’t end if you’re offline for a few days.”
Miles was right about one thing—I did need space to think. But as I tapped out travel instructions for my assistant, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this congressional hearing was just the beginning. Someone wanted to control ARGUS, whether through political pressure, investor revolt, or outright acquisition.
In the mountains, away from Silicon Valley’s pressure and Washington’s threats, maybe I’d find the clarity I needed. Maybe I’d figure out how to keep ARGUS independent while navigating the political minefield that was about to explode around us.
From consumer groups to privacy advocates to investors, risks to ARGUS—my creation—darkened the horizon, but I refused to surrender. Not to Congress, not to profit-hungry investors, not to anyone who wanted to turn my technology into a weapon.
First, I needed to get away, escape to a place where the only oversight would be my own conscience and the only pressure would be deciding which trail to take. Maybe then, I could sleep. Recharge.
Miles was convinced I was being paranoid, seeing threats that weren’t there. I hoped he was right. But my gut told me that in Washington, in Silicon Valley, paranoia was just another word for preparation.
Chapter
One
One month later
Rhodes
It’s Tuesday morning and there’s not a soul around. Clouds in the distance, winds from the southwest, a slight chill in the shade, and enough heat to break a sweat in the open sun. I lean on the railing, taking in the famed three-hundred-and-sixty-degree Blue Ridge views. A need for solitude brought me to these mountains from my youth, bum elbow and all. Miles was right—I needed distance from more than just the boardroom pressures. It took weeks to get away, but I’m finally here.
I close my eyes and inhale, breathing in the fresh, crisp air. High-pitched chirps punctuate the quiet. A vision of my office and the white board with red and black scrawls infiltrates my inner sanctum, and I open my eyes, choosing the real-life view before me. The canopy of leaves provides shade from the sun and a sense of wilderness, the feeling that undeveloped lands exist and flourish. It’s a perfect, languid summer day. Back in San Francisco, summer lost meaning. But here, I feel the season in my bones, or at least, I remember what it used to mean, before...
Miles was right to shove me out the door and insist I take time to recharge. Besides, if one of us didn’t step away—give some space to our disagreements—we might have resorted to blows.
