Before you read another word, I want you to look at your phone.

It’s nearby, isn’t it? Within arm’s reach. Maybe in your pocket. Maybe sitting on your desk.

But the highest likelihood is that you’re literally staring at it right now reading this letter.

That camera facing you? It’s not off. It’s watching. Reading your facial expressions. Analyzing your micro-movements. Tracking how long your eyes linger on certain words. Measuring your pupil dilation. Cataloging your reactions.

And that microphone? It’s listening. Always listening. Not just when you say “Hey Google” or “Hey Siri.” Always.

Every blink. Every scroll. Every hesitation. Every 2am search you thought was private. All of it is being harvested, packaged, and sold to governments and mega-corporations who don’t see you as a citizen or a customer.

They see you as cattle.

A commodity.

Ready for the digital slaughter.

I need to tell you something. Something I’ve never said publicly. Something that could destroy my career, my family, and possibly even end my life if the wrong people trace this back to me.

My name is Ed Warren. That’s not my real name. I can’t use my real name. You’ll understand why in a moment.

For the past 15 years, I’ve worked as a high level executive consultant for multi-billion dollar mega-corporations and half a dozen 3-letter covert government agencies.

And I don’t mean I worked for them. I mean I still work for them. Right now. Today. As you’re reading this.

I’m not some retired whistleblower writing from a beach somewhere. I’m still inside the machine. I still sit in the meetings. I still see the memos. I still watch what happens to your data after you click “I agree” without reading 47 pages of legal jargon designed specifically so you won’t read it.

I’m writing this from the shadows because I have to.

If my employers found out, I’d be terminated immediately, blacklisted, and even jailed because of the NDAs I’ve signed. If certain government contacts found out, I’d be investigated, surveilled, and likely prosecuted under laws you’ve never heard of. And if the wrong people decided I was a big enough problem, well. Let’s just say there are easier ways to silence someone than a courtroom.

I have a wife. I have kids. I have a mortgage and a life that looks completely normal from the outside.

And I’m risking all of it to write you this letter.

Why?

Because I can’t sleep anymore. Because I know too much. Because every single day, I watch ordinary Americans get stripped of their privacy, dignity, and autonomy, and they have no idea it’s even happening.

Let me tell you what I’ve seen.

I’ve sat in rooms where we discussed how to extract more data from people who had no idea they’d agreed to it. I’ve watched executives laugh about how “privacy policies” get longer every year specifically because they know you won’t read them. I’ve seen what happens to your data after it leaves your phone. Where it goes. Who buys it. What they do with it.

I’ve seen files on people. Exposed. People who thought they had nothing to hide until suddenly they did.

And I’ve seen what 3-letter agencies can request with a single signature. No warrant. No judge. No notification. No trace.

Your phone knows where you sleep. Where you worship. Who you’re sleeping with. How long you stay. What you search for at 2am when you can’t sleep. It knows when you’re at the doctor. It knows when you’re at a protest. It knows when you visit a divorce attorney, an AA meeting, or a place you’d never want your spouse to know about.

Every single data point is one subpoena, one hack, or one “policy update” away from being used against you.

And the people who control this system are counting on you never figuring that out.

Let me tell you about a woman named Rachel.

She reached out to me last year, about six months after her divorce. She was terrified. Shaking. She told me her ex-husband was stalking her, but she couldn’t figure out how.

No one was following her car. No one was hiding in the bushes outside her apartment. But somehow, he knew everywhere she went. Every grocery store. Every friend’s house. Every single time she visited her attorney. He’d show up “randomly” at the same coffee shop. He’d text her asking about a restaurant she’d visited that morning. He knew things he couldn’t possibly know.

She thought she was going crazy. She thought maybe she was imagining it. She started questioning her own sanity.

It took me less than 10 minutes to find the source.

Her phone.

Not some spy app he’d installed. Not malware. Not anything sophisticated or illegal.

Just the default settings on her Android. Location history turned on. Google Timeline running in the background. A shared family account from when they were married that she forgot existed.

She’d been broadcasting her entire life to him. Every move. Every stop. Every minute of every day.

And she had no idea.

Here’s what keeps me up at night: Rachel isn’t unusual. Rachel isn’t some special case.

Rachel is everyone.

Rachel is you.

Right now, your phone is doing the exact same thing. Quietly logging everywhere you go, everyone you meet, everything you do. That data sits on corporate servers in Virginia and Silicon Valley. Servers that can be subpoenaed. Hacked. Sold to data brokers. Handed over to law enforcement without your knowledge.

You are being tracked 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year.

And you’re paying for the privilege. You bought the tracking device yourself. You charge it every night. You carry it into your bedroom, your bathroom, your church, your therapist’s office.

The most sophisticated surveillance apparatus in human history, and you carry it voluntarily.

They didn’t even have to force you.

This is what I’ve helped build. This is what I’ve been part of for 15 years. This is what I see every single day when I go to work and pretend everything is fine.

I can’t pretend anymore.

That’s why I built the Ghost Phone.

It started as a project for myself. A way to communicate with sources and contacts without leaving a trail. A phone that doesn’t ping Google servers every 4 minutes. A phone that doesn’t broadcast my location to anyone with the right access. A phone that actually works the way phones should have worked from the beginning.

A phone that works exactly like the phones real undercover operatives use in the field.

I’m not exaggerating. The same operating system running on the Ghost Phone is used by intelligence officers, federal agents working deep cover, investigative journalists in hostile countries, and whistleblowers whose lives depend on staying invisible. These are people who can’t afford to be tracked. People whose survival depends on going dark.

When an operative needs to move through a city without leaving a digital trail, this is what they carry. When a journalist is meeting a source in a country where that conversation could get them both killed, this is the phone in their pocket. When someone inside a corrupt government needs to get information to the outside world without being traced, this is the tool they trust.

Now imagine having that same level of protection in your hands.

Not because you’re a spy. Not because you’re doing anything wrong. But because you understand something most people don’t: the same technology that protects operatives in the field can protect you from a surveillance system that has completely lost its boundaries.

You don’t need a security clearance to own this phone. You don’t need to work for an agency. You just need to decide that your privacy matters enough to take it back.

Then I started making them for friends. Colleagues who understood what I understood. People inside the industry who wanted one device, just one, that wasn’t spying on them.

And then I realized: why should this just be for insiders? Why should ordinary Americans be denied the same protection that people like me take for granted?

So I decided to do something dangerous. Something that could cost me everything.

I decided to offer it to you.

Now let me make something very clear. Two things, actually.