Page 1 of Only the Wicked (The Sinful State #1)

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.”

“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.