We were young, ambitious, and absolutely convinced we were going to change the world. At thirty-seven, I was the older of the two by a couple of years, but Kelvin had this wisdom about him that made people listen. Where I was all fire and ambition, he was the steady hand that kept us grounded. The perfect partnership, everyone said.
"Can you believe we actually did it?" Kelvin asked, loosening his tie as he settled into one of the leather chairs we'd just had delivered. "From that cramped garage in Brooklyn to this."
I laughed, remembering those early days when we'd coded until three in the morning, surviving on pizza and the unshakeable belief that our software would revolutionize data management for small businesses. "Your wife thought we were crazy."
"Elena still thinks we're crazy," he chuckled, pulling out his phone to show me a text. "She says congratulations, but she's not unpacking the good china until she's sure we can make payroll for six months straight."
"Smart woman. That's why I told you to marry her."
"You told me to marry her because she was the only one who could tolerate both of us in the same room for more than an hour."
We both laughed at that. Elena had been the one to suggest we formalize our partnership, to stop working out of garages and spare bedrooms and actually build something real. She'd even helped us write our first business plan, her background in finance proving invaluable when we were just two programmers with big dreams and no idea how to make them profitable.
"So what's next?" I asked, settling behind my new desk-mahogany, imported, expensive enough to make my mother faint. "We've got the Johnson account locked in, the Peterson deal should close next week, and I've got three more meetings lined up for potential clients."
Kelvin's expression grew serious, the way it always did when he was thinking through a problem. "We need to talk about expansion, Maurice. If we're going to take on these bigger clients, we need more developers, more support staff. And that means more overhead."
"Which means more revenue," I countered. "Growth requires investment. We can't play it safe forever."
"I'm not talking about playing it safe. I'm talking about sustainable growth." He leaned forward, his hands clasped. "The Peterson deal-they're asking for features that would require us to access sensitive personal data. Financial records, medical information, social security numbers. Are we sure we want to go down that path?"
I frowned. "It's what they're willing to pay for, Kelvin. Big money."
"But is it what we want to be known for? There's a difference between providing data management solutions and becoming a surveillance company."
"You're being dramatic. It's just business intelligence."
"Business intelligence built on invasion of privacy." His voice carried a edge I'd never heard before. "I've been reading the contract details. They want backdoor access to personal information that has nothing to do with their business operations."
I set down my champagne, feeling the first flutter of irritation. "Since when did you become such a boy scout? This is a multi-million dollar contract, Kelvin. The kind of contract that takes us from startup to major player overnight."
"And what if it takes us from major player to criminal enterprise just as quickly?" He stood up, pacing to the window. "I've got a bad feeling about this, Maurice. The kind of bad feeling that keeps me up at night."
"Your feelings don't pay our employees or keep the lights on."
The silence that followed was different from our usual comfortable pauses. This one felt charged, dangerous. When Kelvin turned back to face me, his expression was guarded in a way I'd never seen before.
"What are you saying, Maurice?"
"I'm saying that sometimes in business, you have to make tough choices. Not everything is black and white."
"Some things are." His voice was quiet but firm. "Some things are absolutely black and white, and this is one of them. We're talking about violating people's privacy, potentially breaking federal laws, all for a paycheck."
"We're talking about building an empire," I shot back, standing up to meet his gaze. "We're talking about never having to worry about money again, about setting up our families for generations. When did you become so naive?"
"When did you become so ruthless?"
The question hung between us like a blade. I stared at my best friend, my business partner, the man who'd been like a brother to me for the past five years, and I barely recognized him. Or maybe I barely recognized myself.
"I'm being realistic," I said finally. "This is business, Kelvin. Big business. If we don't take this contract, someone else will. At least with us, we can ensure it's handled responsibly."
"You mean we can ensure it's handled profitably." He shook his head. "I can't be part of this, Maurice. I won't be."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I'm voting no on the Peterson deal. As an equal partner in this company, I'm exercising my right to veto any contract that compromises our ethical standards."
I felt heat rise in my chest, anger mixing with disbelief. "You're going to throw away millions of dollars because of some philosophical objection?"
"I'm going to sleep at night because I didn't sell my soul for a paycheck."
"Your soul?" I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "This is about money, Kelvin. This is about success. This is about everything we've worked for."
"No, Maurice. This is about who we are. This is about what kind of company we want to build, what kind of legacy we want to leave." He walked to the door, then turned back. "Think about it. Really think about it. Is this the kind of business you want to explain to your future children?"
The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving me alone in our brand new office with the taste of champagne gone flat in my mouth and the first crack in what I'd thought was an unbreakable partnership.
I walked to the window, looking out at the city that sprawled below us like a circuit board, all lights and connections and infinite possibilities. Somewhere out there, the Peterson deal was waiting. Millions of dollars, the key to everything we'd dreamed of.
But for the first time since we'd started this company, I found myself wondering if Kelvin might be right. And that thought scared me more than any business decision ever had.
Because if he was right, what did that make me?
The phone on my desk buzzed, and I saw Peterson's name on the caller ID. Decision time. I reached for the phone, my hand trembling slightly.
Everything that came after would trace back to this moment, to this choice. But I didn't know that then. I thought I was just answering a phone call.
How wrong I was.
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