Chapter 1
MAX
Secure Sphere never sleeps. Even at eight in the morning, the office hums like a disturbed beehive.
Keyboards are clacking, espresso machines hissing, and low conversations drifting over the glass-walled bullpen.
Screens are aglow everywhere with lines of code scrolling endlessly and maps lighting up with real-time threat alerts from clients across the globe.
I weave through it all, coffee in hand, trying not to get pulled into three different conversations before I even reach my office.
Loretta’s southern drawl cuts through it all like a referee’s whistle. “Bauer, if you’re watching another video of cats dressed like superheroes instead of debugging that firewall, I’ll personally change your Wi-Fi password to password.”
“That’s a security crime,” Bauer protests.
“So is being thirty years old and still thinking Lunchables are a suitable option for a meal.”
I snicker and take another sip of my coffee. Forty-seven employees, three continents, and enough brainpower in this room to probably hack the Pentagon before lunch. Not that we would.
Okay, not today anyway.
My office manager, Loretta Simmons, spots me immediately.
It’s like she has some kind of maternal radar for when I’m about to ignore my responsibilities.
“Maximillian,” she snaps, hands on her hips.
“Do you plan on acknowledging the existence of your own company today, or are you merely here to steal coffee and disappear again?”
“Ah, Loretta. Haven’t quite decided yet,” I quip. But there’s no use kidding ourselves. We both know it’s the latter.
Loretta looks exactly like she always does. Her big red hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, sensible flat shoes holding up her soft, grandmotherly frame, her reading glasses hanging on a chain around her neck. She could be a housemother on a sitcom about wayward geniuses.
And honestly? That’s basically what she is.
She’s wearing a floral cardigan today, dusted faintly with flour. There’s a box of baked goods tucked under her arm. This woman. I can always count on her to load me full of carbs.
Loretta moved to Northern Virginia from Hanover after becoming an empty nester, supposedly to be closer to her grandkids. But I’m convinced she just wanted a new flock to manage.
“Don’t you Loretta me,” she says, narrowing her eyes at me. “You’re ten minutes late, you probably skipped breakfast, and if that’s your third cup of coffee, I swear I’m cutting you off.”
I lift the mug in a mock toast. “Good morning to you too.”
She huffs but falls into step beside me anyway, herding me toward my office like an unruly sheep.
“We’ve got a new account,” she says. “Mid-sized logistics firm out of Baltimore. Ransomware attack overnight. They’re panicking.
Apparently, someone told them you’re the only one who can clean this kind of mess without creating any additional destruction. ”
I grimace. “That’s a flattering exaggeration.”
She lowers her voice. “They lost personal data, Max. A lot of it.”
My jaw tightens. That kind of case always jumps to the top of my list. I can’t help wanting to protect the underdogs. Victims. Anyone getting screwed over by something they never saw coming. It’s the one place I can channel all the anger I don’t know what to do with.
“They’re on hold,” she adds pointedly. “And before you ask, yes, I told them you’d handle their request personally.”
I stop outside my office door, letting out a groan, “Lorettaaa.”
She smiles sweetly. “Max.”
I sigh. “Fine. Put them through in five.”
Her smile widens. Loretta presses the box of baked goods into my hands before I can protest. “Blueberry muffins. Eat one. You look like you’re running on spite and caffeine again.
” Without Loretta, this place would descend into chaos in under a week.
“And before you vanish into your Batcave, Yamila wants to see you.”
Of course she does.
I glance toward Yamila’s office. Glass walls, minimalist desk, posture so perfect it’s almost intimidating. She’s already watching me, one eyebrow raised like she’s mentally calculating how long it’ll take to replace me with AI so she can take over.
Yamila Haddad is easily the smartest person in this building. Maybe in any building I’ve ever been in. Middle Eastern, refined, and terrifyingly calm. Her idea of small talk is debating quantum encryption.
“Max,” she says as I step inside. “You were supposed to review the new threat models yesterday.”
“I did.” I pause. “In my head.” I had planned to respond to her until I again fell down the rabbit hole of the dark web.
She stares at me.
“I’ll send feedback today,” I add.
“You said that yesterday.”
I shrug. “Technically, it’s still yesterday somewhere.”
No smile. Not even a twitch.
Glancing over her shoulder into the bullpen, I wince as Bauer spins in his chair, nearly colliding with Frank, who’s hauling in a stack of packages like he’s training for some kind of courier Olympics.
Frank Williams is my best friend and the physical embodiment of New Jersey. Muscles, tan, and hair that probably takes longer to style than the girls at my favorite club.
We’d met in high school, and it was clear we were on two different trajectories.
College was never in the cards for Frank.
He’d planned to take over his dad’s construction business until prostate cancer caused his father to sell so he could enjoy the remainder of his life traveling the world with his wife.
Now, Frank owns a courier business. One I financed. Other than some random clients, I’m his biggest account. Mostly because I’d rather pay him than a stranger.
And because I trust him with my life.
Now, Bauer is… something else. When I hired him, I fully expected to fire him within a month.
Thought he’d spend all day gaming and forget his deadlines.
Instead, he turned out to be a cybersecurity savant who can dismantle a system in minutes.
But that’s where it stops. There’s no use having him attempt to interface with clients.
Jeez, even with Loretta, he often forgets how to make eye contact.
“I fixed the vulnerability,” Bauer announces proudly.
“Great,” Loretta says. “Did you also fix your resume, so it doesn’t say keyboard wizard under special skills?”
Bauer looks genuinely confused.
I retreat into my office before Loretta focuses her attention back on me. Closing the door, I let the muted buzz of the bullpen fade and await the call I’ve been advised I need to handle personally.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the rest of the space, all glass and steel and carefully curated simplicity. My desk is pristine. There’s no clutter, no personal photos. Only high-tech computer screens.
I set the muffins aside and wake up my monitors. Threat maps flare to life. Neon blue data streams against a dark screen pour in. And, inevitably, my mind drifts where it always does. Places it shouldn’t. To thoughts I’ve promised myself not to entertain during business hours.
I shove the distraction down and focus on the Baltimore firm, pulling up their network architecture. Amateur mistake. It’s only an outdated firewall. They never stood a chance. I patch them up quickly, rerouting traffic and isolating the breach.
Bzzz. Bzzz.
“Hello.”
“Mr. Wilde, thank you so much for taking our call—”
“Your breach is coming from an outdated firewall on your west server. I’ve already sealed it,” I blurt.
There’s a stunned pause on the other end. “Y-you already—?”
“Yes.” Silence.
“That’s… it?”
“For me, yes. Try not to make it this easy for the next guy.” I lean back in my chair.
More stunned silence.
“You’re welcome,” I add before hanging up.
Letting out a yawn, I close my eyes and shake my head.
The worst part isn’t how easy it is. It’s how little I feel when I’m done.
There’s none of the adrenaline I experienced when I first started.
And little satisfaction once a job is complete.
Just another problem solved before moving to the next.
Like a drone. Leaning back, I rub a hand over my face.
It’s almost too easy.
This wasn’t how I thought my life would go. I went to Princeton with every intention of building software. Legitimate, innovative software. My father had created a respectable career doing the same. Clean code and corporate contracts. Things just… well, they took a left turn along the way.
Turns out cyberwarfare runs in my veins.
It made me a billionaire before the age of thirty.
Not that the money means all that much to me.
Sure, I’m grateful for my success. And I’m keenly aware there are many people who’d love to live the life I have.
Yet, I understand “You can’t take it with you” better than most of the upper one percent I’ve come to know.
I’d give everything I own for—
I stop that thought cold. We’re not going there today, Max.
My door bursts open. “Yo, moneybags!”
Frank strolls in like he owns the place, wearing steel-toed boots and a hoodie that reads TRUST ME brO DELIVERY across the chest.
I stare at it. Then at him. “You cannot be serious.”
“Brand recognition,” he says.
Guess it’s better than the other two that made it to the shortlist. DEFINITELY NOT STOLEN INC and FUHGEDDABOUDIT EXPRESS. “You look like you’re about to sell fake Rolexes out of a trunk.”
“First of all, rude. Second of all, nobody forgets a guy who shows up wearing TRUST ME brO.”
Loretta walks past, takes one look, and pinches the bridge of her nose. “I don’t want to know,” she says.
Frank grins. “What? It’s the company uniform.” He drops a stack of envelopes on my desk and grins, dark hair slicked back, Jersey accent thick as ever. Frank slaps my shoulder hard enough to rattle my teeth. “Bro, you will not believe what I just had to deliver.”
I don’t look up from my screen. “Something illegal?”
“Only morally.”
That gets my attention. I swivel my chair. “Define morally.”