Hello friend! If you are looking for a new thriller novel to read soon or add to your TBR, I have one for you. 🙂 Today I am chatting with Mike Trigg, author of Bit Flip. This domestic technological thriller is out today and explores the costs of entrepreneurial success. Over his twenty-five-year career in Silicon Valley, Mike has been a founder, executive, and investor in dozens of venture-funded technology start-ups, as well as a contributor to TechCrunch, Entrepreneur, and Fast Company. Bit Flip is his first novel Lets welcome Mike and learn more about the book. You will also find a book excerpt after the interview. 🙂

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Get to know the author: Mike Trigg

Welcome to Armed with A Book, Mike! Tell me and my readers a bit about yourself!

I grew up in the Midwest and moved to California during the dot-com boom to pursue a career in Silicon Valley, much like the protagonist in my book. My wife is from the Bay Area, and we both went to UC-Berkeley. So that gave us quick roots here, and it has been home ever since. We have two teenage boys. The first is already off to college and in the Midwest, so it’s coming full circle.

What inspired you to write this book?

Most of my professional career has been spent in venture-backed tech start-ups, and I’ve seen just about everything. I would tell my wife funny, crazy, or just eye-rolling stories over dinner, and she would tell me, “you should write a book.” But it wasn’t until I found myself jobless after one of those start-ups shut down that I had both the inspiration and time to turn those anecdotes into a novel.

How long did it take you to write this book, from the first idea to the last edit?

The short and honest answer is about three years. I wrote the first hundred pages at the end of 2018, but then got busy with a job and it sat for several months. I finished the first draft in 2019, but it was way too long. Finally, I found a great developmental editor, but then COVID hit. So I spent the pandemic revising it, pitching it, working with a copyeditor, going through a proofread, and finally in late 2021 considered it “done.”

What makes your story unique?

There is so much written about Silicon Valley, but the vast majority of it is nonfiction. Given the high interest in the tech industry, I saw an opportunity to write a corporate thriller about this area that is told from an insider’s perspective. I wanted a story that was compelling to anyone but credible, if slightly satirical, to people living and working in Silicon Valley.

Who would enjoy reading your book? 

Because the novel is based in the San Francisco Bay Area, it will probably resonate most with people living here and working in the tech industry. But the themes of the story are really universal. Any professional will be able to relate to the workplace drama. More broadly, this is a story about personal ambition and how far we will go in the name of pursuing it.

What’s something you hope readers would take away from it?

There is a very deliberate moral to the story, which I hope is the main take-away. Basically, don’t let your ambitions destroy what’s really important. I think a lot of people in Silicon Valley lose sight of that. They sacrifice too much in the pursuit of professional success.

Do you have a favourite quote or scene in the book that you find yourself going back to?

A scene many of my readers mention is one I call the “avocado scene.“ The protagonist, Sam, is at breakfast with one of his company’s venture investors who is berating the waiter over an avocado. I think it just captures the every-day pretentiousness and power dynamics of start-up culture in a subtle but relatable way. But my favorite scene I call the “mic drop” scene, where Sam rejects the soul-crushing, win-at-all-costs mindset so pervasive in Silicon Valley during an on-stage rant. It’s essentially a speech I wish I had given myself many times. 

What is something you have learned on your debut author journey so far?

That editing is more important, and more difficult, than writing. I’ve learned not to consider my initial draft so precious. I’ve become less self-conscious about sharing my work-in-progress manuscripts, which always results in incredibly valuable feedback. And I’ve learned to allocate the time to properly edit and refine my work. Thoughtful, honest, and collaborative editing is the number one thing you can do to improve your writing.

What’s the best piece of advice you have received?

Hire a developmental editor. This decision was my first big investment in the book, but it was transformative for me as a writer and for my work. I was lucky to find an amazing developmental editor who really pushed me to dramatically improve my story. I don’t think I ever would have published this novel without his help.

If you could give a shout out to someone(s) who has helped in your writer journey, please feel free to mention them below!

My developmental editor, Josh Mohr (http://www.joshuamohr.net/).

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Book Excerpt from
Bit Flip

CONTEXT: Scene from Chapter 7 below (sets up the central conflict of the book). The protagonist, Sam Hughes, has recently lost his job and is meeting with a former boss (and anti-mentor), Peter Green, at his estate.

As a newly hired product manager, Sam was a relatively junior employee at FusionCommerce, but he had the opportunity to work closely with Peter as the company prepared to go public in late 1999. This experience gave Sam a front-row seat to how Peter’s mind worked—at once incredibly visionary, and, at the same time, able and willing to exaggerate reality to the hairy edge of outright fraud. Sam found himself continually rephrasing Peter’s rhetoric in the business section of their S-1 to accommodate their lawyers’ discomfort with untruths. Peter usually won these debates with the attorneys, pushing the envelope. But he grew an appreciation for Sam, who had a way of threading the needle with his phrasing—capturing the inspirational vision in just such a way that assuaged the legal concerns. 

Sam had occasionally reconnected with Peter in the nearly twenty years since their FusionCommerce days. Peter’s myriad investments and connections represented countless opportunities to become part of his ecosystem. So, Sam had reached out as part of his networking efforts to find a new job. After three unacknowledged emails, a curt response came finally from Peter’s assistant that simply said, “Tuesday, 9:00 AM at Valhalla.”

Sam made his way through the rural tree-lined streets and palatial estates of Woodside for his meeting with Peter at Valhalla, which he discovered after receiving the meeting invite was the name Peter had given his sprawling compound. Pulling up to the gate, Sam clicked the buzzer as security cameras loomed over his vehicle. “How can I help you?” a man’s voice asked bluntly over the intercom.

“Sam Hughes for Peter Green.” After a prolonged pause, he added, “He’s expecting me.”

“ID, please,” the voice said.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your ID. Please hold it up in front of the camera.”

“Oh . . . uh . . . OK.” Sam fumbled for his wallet and finally produced his driver’s license and held it in front of the camera on the intercom.

Without further courtesies, the gate opened, revealing a long arching driveway through mature oak trees. As Sam approached the house, he noticed two security guards with earpieces on the lawn. The mansion was palatial, with a roundabout that led to a five-car garage, a canopied entryway, and a cobblestone road that wrapped around underneath the main house and appeared to be some sort of service entrance for staff. Sam was unsure where to park, so he pulled to the side of the driveway about thirty feet from the main entrance. He took a deep breath and walked up to the door as the security guards exchanged commentary over their radios.

Dogs began barking after Sam pressed the doorbell, and a middle-aged woman in a fitted gray skirt suit with dark hair pulled back in a bun answered the door, which towered nearly twenty feet above them. “Welcome to Valhalla, Mr. Hughes,” she said expressionlessly as Sam entered. “Please remove your shoes.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your shoes,” she said, pointing to his feet. “You can leave them under this settee,” she said, gesturing to an upholstered seating area with cubbies underneath, designed specifically for this purpose, located in the grand entryway that led to a spiral staircase to the second floor.

“Oh . . . of course.” Sam crouched to remove his shoes. The guy owns a $50 million home he names after the Nordic god’s hall of heaven with a staff of twenty and he makes me take off my fucking shoes? Sam tucked his shoes under the bench.

“Right this way,” the woman said, guiding Sam through an ornate living room that looked like Versailles. Giant tapestries and gilded mirrors adorned the walls. Sam tried to look dignified but felt like a child ice-skating in his socks on the cool marble floor. They stepped down a few stairs at the end of the living room, passing an expansive dining room with seating for twenty on one side and a bar area on the other, with full-length sliding doors that opened to an outdoor loggia that itself led down more steps to a sprawling swimming pool with fountains. Across the pristine lawn was a separate huge pool house that appeared large enough to accommodate a family of twelve. Beyond that was a greenhouse in which Sam could see a man in chef’s whites harvesting herbs, and what appeared to be a full-size exercise studio.

Finally, they walked down a hall, passing an intimate office ordained with Persian rugs and a cozy fireplace, and entered a library with thousands of books accessible by sliding ladders along the walls. “Please, have a seat,” the woman instructed, gesturing to a burgundy leather sofa upholstered with brass nailheads. “Mr. Green will be with you in just a moment. Would you like anything to drink?”

“No thanks,” Sam replied, taking in the room that felt as if it could have been transported straight from Oxford, with mahogany tables under green reading lamps, a wraparound balcony halfway up the two-story interior, and ornate windows of interlocking clover shapes overlooking the sprawling lawn and oak trees outside. By the time he turned, she was already gone. Sam sat and began flipping through a copy of National Geographic that was arranged neatly among the large-format Taschen books on the coffee table in front of him.

Several minutes passed. Sam’s mind wandered as he contemplated the room. Are all these books real? There were thousands. How many of these has he actually read? At Sam’s pace of about four books per year, his lifetime library of read work would barely fill a bookshelf. Not wanting to leave the couch, he squinted to discern some titles from the pristine volumes adorning the walls. What kind of stuff is he into? His curiosity stoked, he was just about to walk to one of the shelves when a voice startled him from behind.

“Hello, Sam,” Peter greeted him. Where the hell had he come from? Sam had not turned his back from the entrance, so Peter was either already in the room when Sam came in or had entered through some secret passage, as there appeared to be no other discernible doorways.

“Oh, geez. You startled me,” Sam said.

“It’s good to see you. Thanks for stopping by.”

“Thanks for inviting me over,” Sam said. Then, unsure what one says to a multibillionaire about his ostentatious house, he added, “Your place is incredible.”

“Please, sit,” Peter said, again indicating the couch from which Sam had instinctively stood up at the discovery of Peter. Without breaking eye contact, Peter sat in a huge tan leather chair with a high back and a matching ottoman onto which he placed his socked feet. “Hopefully you didn’t have a hard time getting in.”

“Yeah, that’s quite a security detail,” Sam said.

“I know. I hate it, but I’m afraid it’s necessary. Ever since those Occupy Wall Street motherfuckers burned an effigy outside Strom Thornton’s house down the block, I’ve buttoned things up around here.” Strom Thornton was the CEO of a bank that had settled charges of predatory lending practices, then he exited the company with a $100 million golden parachute. “I’m worth 100X what that guy is. It’s only a matter of time before they come after me with pitchforks.” Sam imagined the Occupy protesters with homemade signs getting mowed down by automatic weapons’ fire from Peter’s security detail. “I had to get an armored Escalade and two matching decoy vehicles just so I can go anywhere,” he said with a sigh, exasperated at the inconvenience of it all.

Despite working with him at FusionCommerce for almost three years, Sam didn’t know much about Peter’s personal life. Nobody did, really. He had read in one of the tech gossip blogs that Peter was again divorced, and he recalled from a passing comment years ago that Peter was estranged from his three children—two with the first wife and one with the second. Sam knew this fact from Peter’s request to his assistant at FusionCommerce to buy the kids some Christmas presents. When she asked what they might like, Peter replied brusquely, “How the fuck would I know? I haven’t spoken to them in years!”

“So . . .” Peter asked with a shrug of his eyebrows, cutting to the chase, “what did you want to discuss?”

“Oh, well . . .” Sam paused, realizing he wasn’t even sure himself what his big ask was. “I left Ainetu recently, so I guess I’m looking for my next gig.”

“Good,” Peter said. “That company was a piece of shit.”

Sam politely objected, “Well, we actually were doing pretty well. We were even hoping to go public in the next year or two.”

“That’s never going to happen with that shit-stick founder,” Peter said dismissively. “Anyway, the market isn’t big enough. It was never going to be a ten-figure valuation. You dodged a bullet by getting out of there while you could.” 

With his signature crass tone and impulsive decision-making style, Peter had an uncanny knack for success—always in the right place at the right time. His decisions were never forged by extensive analysis or thoughtful strategy, but by instinct. He could incisively zero in on exactly why a company or a person or a market or an investment opportunity was fantastic or destined for failure. It was black or white for him—there was no persuasion or second-guessing or rationalization. He would just instantly form a gut instinct and go all in behind it with complete faith in himself. And why not? Whether they were instincts, biases, or prejudices, it was a philosophy that had served him well. 

Even though he hadn’t spoken to Peter in years, Sam decided to be forthright in the circumstances of his departure from Ainetu. What did he have to lose? Besides, if he wanted Peter’s help, it didn’t make sense for the situation to seem self-inflicted. “Yeah, although it wasn’t exactly my choice,” Sam said. “Rohan fired me.”

“Really?” Peter asked. “That seems like an interesting decision on his part. Weren’t you basically running the company?”

“I was technically the number two—the COO. But, yes, it did feel that way sometimes.”

“That’s the reason,” Peter said. “He was threatened by you. Shortsighted on his part—a smart entrepreneur needs all the help he can get. I remember when I was running Fusion, I would have done anything to make that company successful.”

Sam recalled the reality distortion field he’d entered with Peter during their preparations to go public, and later to get the company sold. Within six months of the FusionCommerce acquisition, Peter was gone and the rest of the employees were left holding the bag—trying to justify to their new overlords the multibillion-dollar price tag built on Peter’s exaggerations. As Peter cashed out, Sam and other employees realized what a tiny fraction of the company they owned. Although Sam’s shares had a high initial value on paper, it was hard to capture that monetary value. Between his exercise price, lockouts, vesting, and taxes, his actual realizable profit was much smaller. These were all high-class problems—until the dot-com crash. Sam watched the value of his paper portfolio diminish to practically nothing within a year—like grains of sand slipping through his fingers.

“So, what are you going to do next?” asked Peter.

“I’m not totally sure yet,” Sam conceded. “I’m reconnecting with colleagues like you to learn about new opportunities that may be on your radar. I’ve looked at a few things—mostly C-level roles at venture-funded start-ups. Nothing very interesting so far.”

“It’s amazing how many crappy companies get funded,” Peter interjected.

“Yeah, and then the ones that show any momentum quickly get overcapitalized raising crazy-huge rounds,” Sam said. “It can become really difficult to live up to the expectations inherent in those huge valuations.”

Peter nodded. “That’s why I’m not doing a lot of venture stuff at the moment. I’m into other asset classes. The cryptocurrency space is exploding, so that’s been an incredible place to apply capital,” Peter said, as if he was just putting money into a 401(k) plan. Sam contemplated that, given the volatility of the various cryptocurrencies, Peter had to be seeing daily fluctuations of his net worth in tens of millions of dollars. “I can hook you up with some companies in that space,” Peter offered.

“Yeah, honestly, the whole Bitcoin thing is a mystery to me. I’d be useless!” Sam said self-deprecatingly. “Actually, this whole situation has prompted me to reassess where I’m going with my career. I’m even thinking of pursuing something outside of technology.” 

Peter regarded Sam for a moment with a slightly quizzical squint in his eye, then asked, “What do you mean?”

“Just that I’m looking at a lot of technology companies and not feeling the same passion and excitement that I used to feel. So, I’m wondering out loud if there’s another industry that I might find more interesting.”

Peter again paused, as if he was contemplating how to deliver bad news. “But, Sam . . . there is no other industry.”

“Oh, I know—so many of the job opportunities here in the Bay Area are in tech,” Sam acknowledged.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Peter interrupted. “I mean, technology is the economy. There are no other industries. I don’t even really know what you’re talking about. Nothing else matters. Technology is gobbling it all up.” It was Sam’s turn to look confused. Seeing Sam wasn’t tracking, Peter continued, “Everything has become digital. And all things digital are governed by technology. Therefore, all things are technology. The microprocessor, the personal computer, the mouse, the modem, the internet, the search engine, the social network—all these things and many more were invented right here. Modern life as we know it wouldn’t exist without Silicon Valley. Technology isn’t just a sector or an industry, it is the entire economy. Sure, people may think they work in financial services or healthcare or manufacturing or retail, but tech is absorbing all those legacy industries. The financial services industry doesn’t matter anymore. No one trades stocks in pits on Wall Street—it’s all done algorithmically on computers in nanoseconds. The retail industry doesn’t matter anymore. Physical big-box stores are closing because we buy everything now on apps and e-commerce sites. The entertainment industry doesn’t matter anymore. No one shoots movies or records albums in studios—it’s all done on laptops. The hospitality industry doesn’t matter anymore—it’s being replaced with Airbnb. And on down the line. There is no industry that hasn’t been completely obsoleted by technology. We’re in the third phase of the technology revolution. The first was transformation—making legacy industries more efficient at delivering the same goods and services. The second was disruption—where legacy industries were forced to revisit their fundamental business models in light of new technologies. Now we’re in the final phase: replacement. At the end of the day, it’s hard to cannibalize yourself. The legacy incumbents just cannot change fast enough to accommodate these technological sea changes, and they’re being driven out of business by digital-native companies that are replacing them.”

Peter grinned conspiratorially, as if he was letting Sam in on a secret world domination plan of the global elites. “Even warfare is online now,” Peter continued. “And I don’t just mean that every plane, tank, and missile is wholly dependent on technology to function, which they are. I mean the actual battleground is digital. Those legacy physical assets are being rendered irrelevant. The new warfare is hacking communications networks, dismantling electrical grids, exploiting and extorting world leaders, spreading disinformation—control of these technical levers means controlling the world.”

Sam felt himself recoiling slightly from Peter’s increasingly diabolical peroration. Of course, he’d heard all this self-important rhetoric before, about how Silicon Valley was “eating the world.” But Peter spoke with a conviction that Sam found unsettling—as if delivering a treatise or prophecy. Sam wasn’t sure how to respond, so he didn’t say anything.

“And you know who is going to take control of those levers?” Peter asked rhetorically. “It’s going to be the Chinese, or the Russians, or the Indians. Those countries were the ones who forced their youth to study math and write code. Unlike previous generations, American kids didn’t answer the call. They were too busy playing Xbox, and drinking Red Bulls, and getting strung out on pain meds. Now all these other countries are kicking our ass. We’ve lost our abilities, and it’s only a matter of time before we lose our independence as a result. And the worst part about it? We’re enabling it! By importing workers from all these countries with H-1Bs and training them on the best tech, and then they return to their home countries and enact propaganda and aggression toward our way of life.” Peter let his words hang in the air a moment. “So that’s why I got this,” he added with palpable self-satisfaction. Peter pushed in Sam’s direction a glossy folder with a picture of wide-open foothills on the cover that had been sitting on the coffee table.

Sam apprehensively opened the folder and regarded what appeared to be information about a luxury condominium, but peculiarly adorned with American flags in the corners and a picture of a man straddling an ATV in combat fatigues while holding an automatic weapon. Sam glanced up from the brochure with a confused look.

“It’s a private bunker in South Dakota,” Peter explained. “Ten thousand square feet in a former nuclear missile silo. It’s fully furnished to my specifications, and completely off the grid—entirely solar powered. It has a two-year supply of food and water, and there isn’t another human being for two hundred miles in any direction.” As Sam struggled to process Peter’s doomsday preparations, he returned his attention to the other leaflets in the packet. One had a diagram of the expansive floor plan, another showed photos of a happy family sharing stories in front of a simulated fireplace, another explained how the microparticle ventilation system and LED-simulated sunlight would “replicate a gorgeous summer day from two hundred feet underground.”

Sam fumbled for words. “Why do you . . . need this?”

“Don’t be naive, Sam,” Peter said. “Shit could get real in an instant. It wouldn’t take much—an earthquake, a wildfire, a pandemic. It could tip at a moment’s notice. Once civilization starts to crack up, who do you think the crazies are going to come for first? Me,” he said, pointing emphatically at his chest. “My stuff, my house, my money. I need to be prepared for that scenario. It’s why I have a bug-out bag packed in every room,” he said, kicking what appeared to be a backpack under the ottoman he’d been resting his feet on. “It has three days of food and water, a multi-tool, flashlight, first-aid kit, radio, sleeping bag, and, of course, a pistol. All ready to go at the drop of a hat. And if I can’t take the Escalade caravan—because there could be gridlock traffic, of course, or mobs of people—I have a fleet of motorcycles ready for me and my security detail. It’s five minutes to the airport where the Gulfstream is always fueled and waiting, and two hours from there to the private airstrip in South Dakota.”

“What if the pilot can’t make it to the airport?” Sam asked.

“I have a bug-out bag and motorcycle for him too, and his family,” Peter replied, having clearly thought through his doomsday scenario to the most intricate detail. “The compound has accommodations for my pilot, my security team, and all their families. We could stay there pretty much indefinitely.”

Holy mother of God. The envy Sam had felt at Peter’s wealth, power, and privilege was suddenly overcome with a feeling of pity. Here was this man who had achieved what Sam considered the ultimate professional success, but what had it led to? Multiple failed marriages, estrangement from his kids, and, now, quite literally confinement in the trappings of his own wealth—relegated to live out his days cloistered in his mansion or burrowed into a missile silo in the Black Hills.

“Sounds like you’ve got it all planned out,” Sam said.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned through all my success, it’s to be prepared. You need to stay one step ahead of everyone else.”

Sam nodded and stood somewhat abruptly to take his leave, before the entire compound went into lockdown and he was trapped there permanently. “Well, I don’t want to take up any more of your time,” Sam said, conscious of the loaded firearm underneath the ottoman.

Peter stood as well and shook hands as an idea flashed across his face. “You know, Sam. There’s a knowledge management start-up we’re investors in, maybe through my family office. I don’t know much about it, but I think they’re looking for someone with your profile. I’ll connect you with the recruiter.”

“Oh, OK—that would be great,” Sam said as the woman who had led Sam to the library suddenly reappeared at the door without being summoned.

Peter turned as if she had been standing there the entire time and asked, “What’s that knowledge management company we’re investors in again?”

“Aegis Knowledge,” she said.

“That’s right. Introduce Sam here to their recruiter.” She acknowledged the request with a curt nod, though Peter wasn’t looking at her. “Oh, and, Sam,” Peter added as they approached the threshold, “find out the real reason you were fired.”

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Interested?

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Thank you for hanging out with us today. Connect with Mike on his website and blog. You can also sign up for his newsletter. He is on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook and LinkedIn. Get updates of future books by following his author profiles on Goodreads and Amazon.

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