Moonlighter (The Company, #1)(79)

Max grins. “A forest creature?”

“You’re the one here with the crazy tales,” I grumble. This conversation is terrifying. If someone—or some nation state—is trying to hack my products, there will be no end to this war. There’d be far more disruption than a simple factory fire.

Max reaches in his pocket and pulls up a small box—the size that might hold an engagement ring. But when he opens it, there’s no ring sitting in the velvet crevice. Instead, there’s a silicon object the same size as a pencil eraser.

“What is that?” I ask. As if I even want to know.

“This was removed from one of the hacked servers.”

“And you have it because…?”

Max grins. “I bought it for my collection. And my guys verified that it’s all you’d need to perform a rudimentary takeover of the privacy functions of a server. Or, say, a modem.”

“You’re kidding me.” I’m a computer programmer, not an electrical engineer, so this isn’t my area of expertise. But that thing is tiny.

“No, it’s true. The only good news is that you can’t just plop it in there anywhere. It needs to be integrated in just the right spot to do its job.”

I sink a little further into my sofa as my anxiety meter approaches the red zone. “Shit, Max. I believe you. But why are you so sure I’m the next target? It’s a big leap from factory fire to zombie hardware.”

“It is,” he says. “But you’re making a device which promises to have robust privacy features. And rich dudes in New York are going to scoop them up. If I were a hardware hacker, I’d choose you. And furthermore, the hacked servers carrying these—” He picks up the chip from its special box and balances it on his fingertip. “—Were manufactured in a factory controlled by Xian Smith.”

“Oh, shit.” Oh, shit. Oh shit.

He nods. “If it helps, you’re probably not his only target. You’re merely his favorite.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t say. You’re eventually going to have to explain this scenario to your board of directors. And I have to protect my source.”

Board of directors. My poor, overwhelmed brain hadn’t even reached that grizzly conclusion yet. But I’m already sorry I got up this morning.

That’s when Eric walks back into the room with a coffee mug and a plate, setting both down on the coffee table. The plate bears both halves of a toasted bagel that’s been smeared with cream cheese and decorated with smoked salmon, onions, capers, and cherry tomato halves.

“Please tell me that half of that is for me,” I squeak.

“It’s all for you,” Eric says, laying a hand on my head. “Do you want coffee? Or are we saving the daily caffeine boost for later.”

“No thank you. If I have coffee right now, I’ll probably start firing people again.”

“I’d take coffee,” Max says.

Wordlessly, Eric points toward the kitchen.

With a disgruntled look at his brother, Max gets up and heads that direction. “Mugs are over the pot!” Eric calls, sipping his cup.

I pick up the plate and take a big bite of bagel. “You are a prince among men and please let me know how I can return the favor.”

“Oh, you’re already in my good graces,” he says in a sultry voice. He skims a hand down my hair and gives me a sexy wink.

I just want to climb into his lap and be somebody else for a day. I really do.

But Max is already back with a cup of coffee and a determined expression. “Let’s talk about your options,” he says.

“Who is Xian Smith, anyway?” Eric asks.

“I wish I knew,” Max says. “It’s probably an alias. I can’t find anyone with that legal name anywhere in the world. He seems to have popped up in 2013, selling cheap cameras to drone manufacturers.”

“What passport does he hold?” I ask through a mouth full of cream cheese.

Max shakes his head. “I can’t find anyone who knows.”

“Let’s invite him to a meeting and frisk him,” I say, shoving a tomato in my mouth. God, espionage makes me hungry.

“I like a good caper as much as the next guy. But he’s so slick you wouldn’t find anything,” Max says. “So let’s talk about your options. I can think of three, in order of easiest to hardest.”

“Let’s hear ‘em.”

“First one is obvious—pretend we never had this conversation.”

“God, it’s tempting.”

“I’m sure it is. But you and I are the good guys. We don’t just let the bastards win.” Max sips his coffee and gives me a rare smile. He looks more like Eric when he smiles.

“And the second option?”

“You drop a lot of extra money into manufacturing. Send a team of your most trusted engineers to stand around in the factory while the motherboards are made. Compare the results to your blueprint every few hours. And send more trusted people to watch the shipping container all the way home. You’ll blow your budget, but at least you’ll know you have clean hardware.”

Even as he’s speaking, the difficulties are multiplying like mushrooms. I’d have to convince my board to spend a lot of money on a problem that I can’t prove we actually have.