Kingpin

Эпилог

In the Orange County men’s jail, Chris Aragon is lonely, feeling abandoned by his friends and torn with grief that his children are growing up without him. In October 2009, Clara filed for divorce, seeking custody of their two children. His girlfriend filed for child support.

Chris is studying the Bhagavad Gita and has a full-time job as an inmate representative, helping several hundred prisoners with legal matters, medical complaints, and issues with the jail staff. His lawyer is playing a waiting game, winning endless continuances for the criminal trial that, if he loses, still carries a twenty-five-to-life term. After Chris’s story was featured in a Wired magazine article on Max, Chris was contacted by a Hollywood screenwriter and a producer, but he didn’t respond. His mother suggested he get an agent.

Max was assigned to FCI Lompoc, a low-security prison an hour north of Santa Barbara, California. He hopes to use his time to get a degree in physics or math—finally completing the college education that was interrupted a decade earlier in Boise.

He’s taken a mental inventory and is dismayed to find that, despite everything, he still has the same impulses that guided him into a life of hacking. “I’m not sure how to really mitigate that, except ignore it,” he said in an interview from jail. “I really believe that I’m reformed. But I don’t know what’s going to happen later.”

It might seem a curious confession—admitting that the elements of his personality that landed him in prison still remain buried deep inside. But Max’s new self-awareness shows hope for real change. If one is born a hacker, no amount of prison can drive it out. No therapy, or court supervision, or prison workshop can offer reform. Max has to reform himself—learn to own his actions and channel the useful parts of his nature into something productive.

To that end, Max has volunteered to help the government during his confinement, defending U.S. networks or perhaps counterattacking foreign adversaries online. He wrote out a menu of the services he could offer in a memo headed “Why the USA Needs Max.” “I could penetrate China’s military networks and military contractors,” he suggested. “I can hack al Qaida.” He’s hopeful he might do enough for the government that he could apply for a lowered sentence from his judge.

It’s a long shot, and so far, the feds haven’t taken him up on his offer. But a month after his sentencing, Max took a baby step in that direction. Keith Mularski arranged for Max to speak at the NCFTA for an eager audience of law enforcement officials, students, financial and corporate security experts, and academics from Carnegie Mellon.

Mularski checked him out of jail for the appearance. And for an hour or two, Max Vision was a white hat again.