Arrow Security conducts most of our work off-site, and, as such, most of our office cubicles remain empty. We offer both physical and IT security services, surveillance, protection detail, and we work with government entities on international projects. Unbeknownst to the public, the National Security Agency, or NSA, the Central Intelligence Agency, or CIA, and the Federal Bureau of Investigation, or FBI, are all clients.

Typically, Arrow handles projects when the government wants to be able to deny culpability should something go wrong. And we handle private citizens’ requests when standard law enforcement doesn’t offer a solution.

On my way to the elevator bank, I nod at a few individuals in the cubicles along the way. They wear headsets for the job or to listen to music. The employees in the open cubicles typically work on surveillance, watching videos or monitoring reams of electronic communications. Sometimes we have coders in-house, but it’s rare. We have two partners who manage tech security, and they both reside farther north in Napa.

The elevator dings, and the doors open.

Jack Sullivan flaunts his wealth, from the well-fitted three-piece custom suit to his shiny dress shoes to the gleaming gold Rolex on his wrist. The dark-haired stunner at his side is a natural beauty, but her inexpensive interview suit doesn’t match his aesthetic.

Since opening Arrow, I’ve interviewed hundreds of candidates, most of whom don’t wear suits daily and own one suit for interviews and funerals. The sleeves on her ill-fitting jacket hang loosely. Her pants ride too high above her ankle. Scuff marks mar the tips of her sensible, low, black heels. The thin gold choker around her neck contrasts with a larger chunky sea-glass necklace. Brown eyeshadow and dark eyeliner accentuate large, dark eyes that dart past me, taking in the room, possibly scanning for entrances and exits. In person, her hair is closer to dark chocolate than black, with long bangs that frame smooth skin and an angular jaw. Her pale pink lips are bare, her nails short and trimmed.

The last time I saw Jack, he’d told me he’d found the one. That was over fifteen years ago. The woman at his side might be in her late twenties, but she could also be in her early twenties. There’s no way she’s his wife. Would Jack hire a young lawyer?

As I approach, Jack faces me head on, shoulders back, with no trace of a smile. The woman at his side angles her body toward Jack and clasps her hands nervously in front of her. I extend my hand to my old friend.

“Jack Sullivan. It’s been a long time.”

“Ryan Wolfgang.” He grips my hand in a firm handshake. “Do you still go by Wolf?”

I force a cordial, professional smile. Wolf is the name I went by at the Naval Academy, and it stuck throughout my military career. With a foo-foo last name like Wolfgang, I gladly embraced the shortened moniker my friends gave me. But, in the business world, I prefer Ryan. Within Arrow, my closest friends still call me Wolf.