The Florentine Deception Read Online Free Page A

options,” said Gennady, handing me a red party cup. I took a sniff. Just Coke, no wodka . “Now on the other hand, we could have used the options.”
    I nearly choked on my drink. “You missed your calling, Gennady. You should have gone into standup.”
    Gennady and Tom had been employees number two and three at my college cyber-security startup. I’d invented an entirely new approach to detect computer viruses, but didn’t have the mathematical background to make it work, or the business acumen to make it a success. Gennady, a brilliant applied mathematics major, and Tom, a physics major and business savant, were the perfect partners. I, of course, did all the programming.
    After about twenty-four months of stealth R&D in Tom’s parents’ guesthouse, we shipped a new crowd-sourced antivirus technology that put existing security products to shame. Word spread, and the product was free, so within nine months on the market, we’d reached one hundred and sixty million users, surpassing ViruTrax as the world’s most popular antivirus vendor. In a bout of desperation, ViruTrax offered us seventy-five million for our company; we settled for two hundred and ninety. Gennady and Tom had wisely cashed out and declined employment, but I promised to stay on a year as a condition to close the deal.
    â€œSo how’s the new startup going?” I asked.
    Tom looked at Gennady and smirked.
    â€œKaput,” said Gennady. “Our VC funding ran out, and neither of us is willing to put any more of our own cash in.”
    â€œNot to mention that the product sucks,” said Tom, just a little slur in his voice.
    Gennady glared at Tom a moment, then nodded grudgingly. “It’s true. So basically we’re trying to figure out our next project. So what have you been up to, Alex?” he asked. “Traveling the world in a private mega-yacht? Ascending Mount Everest?”
    I thought a moment. “Climbing, eating, sleeping.” I took a drink. “And I think I’m having a midlife crisis too.”
    â€œWow—you’ve been busy,” said Gennady in his odd Russian-Texan accent. “Midlife crisis? At what, twenty-six?”
    â€œTwenty-five.”
    â€œSame difference.” He picked up a tumbler of some opaque alcoholic concoction from the coffee table and sipped. “Try buying a dacha in St. Petersburg and getting a new nineteen-year-old girlfriend. That worked for my dad.”
    I pulled out my smartphone and pretended to scrawl with my finger on the screen. “Nineteen-year-old girlfriend. Check. Vacation home in former Soviet Union. Check.” I nodded. “Got it. Thanks man.”
    Sue began giggling.
    â€œLet’s create another startup,” said Tom. “Nothing like ninety-hour workweeks to give your life meaning.”
    It wasn’t a half-bad idea if I could just find a project I was passionate about; I needed something challenging to do soon or I’d die of sheer boredom.
    â€œI’ll give that some thought as well,” I said, gazing around the room at Tom and Gennady’s slovenly home-slash-headquarters. Why the two of them still lived together like college students when both could buy mega-mansions—for cash—was an enigma. Then again, who was I to judge; I lived in a tract home on low-fat microwave burritos and slept on a purple IKEA futon.
    â€œHow’s Julie,” asked Sue, changing the subject.
    â€œUmmm … She dumped me two months ago.”
    â€œSorry, Alex.” Sue squeezed my hand, then said, “I didn’t like her anyway. No big loss.”
    â€œBrutal,” said Gennady, shaking his head. “I think we need to go on a bender to fix Alex up.”
    â€œBen-der!” yelled one of the Russians from behind.
    â€œNah, I’m good. I’m just in a lull.”
    The doorbell rang.
    â€œBe right back.” Gennady made his way to the door. “Pizza’s