Most runners never got out of the biz. Sly knew. Not alive, that is. And those that did either didn’t have much credit saved up or else they took what they’d scammed and faded from sight to avoid unwanted attention from the corps they used to run against. Agarwal was the exception, living happily—and apparently safely—within a few klicks of the corps he’d taken for millions. She wondered how he did it. The buzz in the shadows claimed he’d built himself some unassailable "life insurance" over the years. That he’d gathered devastating information on all the corps who’d like to see him flatlined, all of it set up with a "dead man’s switch." If Agarwal ever got geeked or if he neglected to communicate daily with his sophisticated computer "watchdogs," all those terabytes of damaging data would be dumped to public sections of the Matrix for everyone to see. No corp, it seemed, wanted to risk that kind of exposure just to settle an old score with Agarwal. So far, the aging decker had been able to live in relative security.