Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Rhodes
Sweat drips down my brow as I push through mile fourteen, my lungs burning with each breath.
I’ve been running since dawn, punishing my body in a futile attempt to clear my head.
Last night’s revelations, Sydney’s confession, our subsequent intimacy—it’s all a tangled mess I can’t seem to unravel at any pace under seven minutes per mile.
I check my watch, not for the time, but for the temperature.
It’s going to be a hot day, and while the trees in Rock Creek Park provide momentary shade, the humidity clings to my skin like a warning.
A familiar figure comes into view on the trail ahead—short dark hair, laptop open on her lap, face more serious than I’ve ever seen.
Daisy. I always say she’s like a little sister, but really she’s my most trusted lieutenant.
I tried to get her to come on as a partner, but she refused, claiming she didn’t like to stay at one company for too long.
Meanwhile, she’s still with us, although admittedly, she insists on remote work and hasn’t stepped foot inside the office in two years.
She’s the last person I expected to travel to D.C. , but here she is.
I don’t slow until I’m right on top of her, and she squeals.
“Jesus F Christ, Rhodes! Mother. Trucker. Gross. You dripped your sweat on me. Ew!”
Her outburst has me both chuckling and scanning the trail to see if anyone’s worried I’m mauling an innocent woman. But, at the moment, we’re alone on this section of the trail.
“Why are you so smelly?” she continues. “Did you do something maniacal? Like sprint the Watergate steps?”
“No. But that is on my list.” My never-ending to-do list.
“Don’t. It’s over-hyped.” She slaps the laptop shut.
“What has you worked up?”
“Nothing.”
I’m calling bullshit. Daisy Jonas doesn’t do “nothing” moods.
She’s my paradox—the most brilliant coder I’ve ever met who refuses to conform to stereotypes.
While other techies dress in hoodies and spout AI ethics platitudes at conferences, Daisy climbs mountains (literally—she summited Mount Kilimanjaro last year), practices competitive archery, and can dismantle any tech bro’s argument with devastating precision and zero jargon.
She’s the only executive at ARGUS who calls me on my bullshit directly to my face. The only one who saw what ARGUS could become before I did. And the only person besides my grandmother who gets away with digging into my personal life. If she’s in a mood, there’s a reason, and it’s not nothing.
I’ve run too many miles to sit without risking a muscle cramp, so I pace around the bench, letting my muscles cool and the stream of sweat slow.
“You got any water?”
She peers up at me, scowling. “You didn’t pack?”
“Should’ve grabbed the Platypus, but I didn’t.” This morning when I left the hotel, I wasn’t thinking about anything other than not waking Sydney as I bolted.
“What’s in your pack?”
I am hauling a small backpack, but it’s not a Platypus designed to hold water.
“No water.”
Daisy opens her backpack and passes a half-empty bottle of water. It’ll work.
“You going to tell me what’s up? Did Miles do something?
” He definitely pissed me off last night.
She doesn’t really have any interaction with Alex, although if she did, he’d definitely be pissing her off.
Alex and Miles have been pushing the same financial agenda, and Daisy’s in my corner on this one.
She shakes her head and pushes her lower lip out in her signature I’m-not-pleased-with-what-you’re-saying expression. “Nothing work related.”
“Are you dating someone?” It’s conceivable she’s here in the D.C. area for personal reasons.
“Is that shock on your beet-red face? You think you’re the only one who can get laid?”
“I didn’t mean it like—are you?”
“No. It’s a personal thing.” Her gaze drops and she picks at her jeans. “Someone close to me passed away.”
“Daisy.” I hold out my hands in a what-the-fuck gesture. “Why didn’t you say something? Why were you working last night?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Daisy.” It’s clearly not nothing; she can’t even look at me. “Is the funeral here?”
“No.” Her lips purse, eyes still cast downward, and she shakes her head slightly. “He lived in LA. I missed the funeral.”
Her shoulders rise and anyone can tell she doesn’t want to talk about it, which means she’s seriously hurting.
“At any rate,” she announces like she’s concluded that segment of our conversation, “I’m here because I’m doing a little investigating. If you get a call asking for a reference, I need you to say I’m fab.”
“Wait. What? I’m not letting you quit.”
She places her palms on each side of her face and stretches her fingers out like her head is going to explode. “Rhodes,” she says, gritting her teeth, “I need you to do this.”
“Alright. You’re going to have to back this one up.”
“Fine. Sixty-second version.” She finally looks me in the eye and I half expect her to flip me off.
“Go.”
“There’s a man who basically raised me.”
I nod while pacing. This isn’t new. Daisy doesn’t always see eye to eye with her mother.
She has a much younger sister and began working for us remotely when she moved home years ago to help take care of her.
I thought things were better. Her sister’s in college.
Daisy left LA. Lives in Chicago, at least, she did the last time I asked.
“He died.” She swallows and looks to the side, lips pursed, and she swipes under one eye.
“Unexpectedly. Seems like he wasn’t taking care of himself, and I hadn’t been home in ages, so I had no idea.
I know you’re going to say it’s not my fault and I get that; I’m working through that.
I can’t change…” she breaks off and mutters “sixty seconds” to herself.
“He was swindled. Lost his entire savings. He was a vet. Vietnam. Living off Social Security basically but he had enough that he said he’d never be a liability on anyone.
Anyway, I looked into this company. They target retirees and vets.
It’s shady as fuck. They’re hiring a coder, looking to build a system I’m sure so they can swindle more people online. ”
“Wait. You’re going to work for these crooks so you can, what? Catch them?”
“It’s shady. They have to be breaking the law somehow. And they’re connected. Maybe even funded by rich-as-fuck big wigs. I’m still working through it. ”
“The fund went under?” I ask, trying to follow what’s happened.
“Failed.”
“And they’re hiring?”
“Suspicious, right?”
“Why do you have to do it? Why not… I’ll call someone at the SEC. The FBI.”
“No. I’ve looked into this guy. He’s connected up the wazoo. The DOJ or the DA or whoever needs to authorize will never sign off. I’m gonna bring the receipts so they have no choice but to open an investigation.”
“Daisy…”
“Rhodes.” She peers up at me through stubborn, glassy eyes.
“I need to do this. Reed could’ve come to me for money.
He didn’t. And he probably didn’t because his stupid pride wouldn’t let him.
I couldn’t set everything straight, and he…
” She inhales. “I can’t change what happened, but I’m going to make those bloodsuckers pay. Going after retirees. Vets?”
“But…” I pause, hoping she doesn’t take too much offense at the truth. “You’re not an investigator.”
“No. But I’m going to be using our system to find out everything I can on this fuckwad swindler.
It’s not the whole company. Sterling Financial has too many employees.
Once I get inside, I’ll find out each person who’s involved and whistleblow like a smoke detector with a dying battery. No one shall ignore me.”
I hold up my hands, showing I’m not fighting her on this.
It’s not really how we planned on using ARGUS, as a matter of fact I’m pretty sure we agreed in our initial ethical discussion meetings to never use it for personal purposes, but even if I told her no, she’d do it anyway.
And I suppose her goal is for the greater good.
“And you’re in D.C. because the company is in D.C.?” Daisy and I were scheduled to have a secure video call this morning. She texted earlier, said she was in D.C. and suggested we meet in person, and at four a.m. when I couldn’t sleep, I planned my long run and suggested we meet on the trail.
She pulls her knees up to her chest and lifts her sunglasses to her forehead. “It’s nearby. In Virginia. And I wanted to speak to you in person.”
I stop pacing and take her in.
The cicadas are already starting their summer drone, a backdrop to our conversation that feels both soothing and grating. A helicopter—likely Marine One based on the direction—flies overhead toward the White House. In this city, even the air space is a reminder of power dynamics.
“You’re not fucking quitting.”
“Fine. But if I get that job, I’m taking it.”
“If that happens, we’ll call it personal leave. A paid personal leave because you’re not really leaving.”
She should’ve joined as a partner but changing the company structure now would be almost impossible so I refrain from saying anything along those lines.
“Whatever.” There’s an eyeroll, a shift in demeanor, and just like that, she’s on to the next subject. I make a mental note to look into this company she wants to infiltrate. “That’s not why I wanted to speak in person. I’ve been digging into your love interest.”
And she wants to tell me in person. This isn’t good.
My stomach plunges, a physical reaction more honest than anything I’ve allowed myself to feel since leaving the hotel room this morning.
Hours of running, and I’m right back where I started—trapped between attraction and suspicion.
You can’t have a relationship without trust, which is why we’re not in a relationship. My psyche needs to clue in.
“Sydney?”