Page 147 of Only the Wicked

That’s the piece I’ve been trying to figure out. It could so easily backfire. He wants us to go public. A public scandal, a congressional investigation, would tank a public offering.

“You want to force me out of the company. Right? Did you go to Dristol to help with that endeavor, or is that just a side hustle? Have you been greasing the wheels, selling information to jackasses like Dristol, for what? Extra money? Why? You don’t need more money. Why do this?”

The mythology metaphors from my conversation with Sydney flash through my mind. Miles isn’t playing the role of Apollo, god of light and truth. He’s Icarus, flying too close to the sun of power and wealth, not realizing his wings are melting. He’s the one who will fall.

He deflates, releasing a sigh that carries the weight of decisions he can’t unmake.

“You’re not going to cave, are you?” The anger in his voice can’t quite mask the resignation. “Too fucking pompous for your own good.”

I want to rage at him, to demand explanations, to remind him of what we stood for.

Do good!

Or at the very least, do no fucking harm.

But beneath my anger is something worse: grief for a friendship I now realize is lost, perhaps long before this moment. Miles Johnson is not the man I befriended. When did he change? How did I not see it?

Miles sinks onto a sofa and leans over, forehead in his palms.

This version of Miles…this moment…it’s surreal.

“What have you done?”

Sydney now stands in the doorway with a calculated stillness. I haven’t been watching her directly, but I’m peripherally aware of her subtle movements—positioning herself where she can better monitor the security guys, the almost imperceptible touch to confirm her phone is still securely tucked into the side of her leggings.

Miles hasn’t looked directly at her since his initial dismissal. He’s underestimating her—seeing only the woman I met hiking, unaware she’s an operative who planted surveillance software in a Russian embassy. His security team, however, keeps repositioning slightly to keep her in their sightlines. They, at least, recognize a professional when they see one.

Her eyes catch mine for a split-second—a silent communication that conveys both caution and readiness.

“Miles, when we built ARGUS, we agreed. The only way to ensure an ethical company is to remain a nonprofit—to never let growth or profit become our sun. Never. I caved on the nonprofit front. That wasn’t enough, was it? What’re you doing now? All those executive team meetings where you and Alex tag-teamed me about profits—was that all theater? Were you already selling us out?” Instead of a surveillance device at the Russian embassy, I should’ve asked Daisy to monitor Miles’ communications. Fuck me. The rumors about ARGUS deciphering state secrets and selling them are true…because of Miles. “Did Alex put you up to this?”

“You are one arrogant son of a bitch,” he growls. “Alex is an employee. I’m your partner.” He pounds his chest with his finger, proud. “Your co-founder. But fuck it all if I don’t do it all! I’m the one who brings in our funding. I’m the one who gets us contracts. You sit back and futz around writing code and doing fuck all!” He’s back to pacing. “It doesn’t even matter. I don’t need to waste my time or energy. This little trap you’ve built. It’s pissed off some powerful people. Dristol? Reid? You don’t think those NPCs are reporting to someone?”

“Of course I do.” Hence the override protocol. No one would’ve caught on. No one. As a matter of fact, how did Miles? He must’ve looked to see what Daisy was accessing, maybe what we were both accessing.

“What’s done is done. You chose poorly, friend.” He sighs dramatically, as if he’s starring in a Tony-worthy play. “You’re going to need to go with these guys.” He looks to Sydney. “Your lady friend too.”

“Go where?”

He throws his hands up in the air, and mutters, “Arrogant prick. I thought I could send you off on vacation, get you away from it a bit, but fuck you and your need to make every decision and keep everything under your control. What’s best for the company never matters. It’s all about what you want. How you see things. And you’ve got this naive fucking view.”

He’s still pacing, going off in some madcap soliloquy, while one suit steps forward, closer to me, tracking Sydney the entire time.

“What’s the plan?” My gaze lifts to the chandelier above. “Where exactly do you want us to go, Miles?” If his goal is to go public, he won’t want a scandal. The founder dying a suspicious death won’t serve his purposes. “I’m too young for anyone to buy a heart attack.”

Suicide, I suppose, might be something they could pull off. Car accident. Plane crash.

“They’re not looking to kill you,” Miles says, resigned. “At least if you wake the fuck up, they won’t. That’s what they’ve told me,” he says, lips pursed, his expression one of disappointment and hopelessness. “They’re going to talk to you. Help you see reason. And…” His head cocks sideways in the direction of Sydney. “She’s going to help them with that.”

Motherfucker. “Torture? You’re willing to work with a group who wants to use torture to get their way?”

“If not her, it’ll be Daisy.”

Jesus. If anyone out there is listening to this, I hope they just dispatched a security detail to Daisy.

“You know, I knew you were a greedy bastard, but this is a new low. Daisy is your friend too.”

“What the fuck do you not see? I don’t have a choice. And neither do you.”