Anna Vance’s office was a tomb.
It was the sixtieth floor of the Vance-Aegis Tower in Seattle, a fortress of glass and brushed steel that pierced the perpetual gray sky. At 68, Anna was the fortress’s keeper. Her gray hair was pulled into a chignon so tight it seemed to defy gravity, much like the company’s stock. Her desk was a slab of polished mahogany, empty save for a glowing monitor and a single, silver-framed photograph.
The photograph was of Thomas. Her son.
He was forever 28, smiling with a brilliant, troubled light in his eyes, captured at an MIT graduation he had found tedious. Thomas was the genius, the architect. And the company’s entire, multi-billion-dollar infrastructure—the “Aegis” code—was his legacy.
