MY SISTER RIPPED UP MY $108,000 JOB OFFER ON GRADUATION DAY—BUT TEN MINUTES LATER, THE COMPANY'S COO WALKED ONSTAGE AND SAID MY NAME.

The emergency board meeting was convened in the 70th-floor panoramic boardroom twenty minutes after the amphitheater collapsed into utter chaos.

The room was filled with Fieldstone’s primary majority shareholders, the firm’s chief legal counsel, and federal compliance observers who had been dispatched following the automatic fraud ping sent to the SEC’s automated regulatory gateway.

Julian Sterling sat at the head of the table, but he was no longer a king. His tie was loosened, his hair disheveled, and his eyes bloodshot with wild, cornered panic.

"This is a coordinated corporate sabotage!" Julian roared, slamming his fist onto the marble table. "Celia Grant colluded with an unstable entry-level analyst to upload malicious code into our proprietary platform! I built Prometheus! My name is on the patents!"

"Your name is on the fraudulent filings, Julian," Arthur Vance’s voice projected through the conference speakerphone at the center of the table. "I am transmitting the 2010 forensic server mirrors right now to the SEC compliance officers in this room."

Tablets chimed simultaneously around the long table.

Board members gasped as they opened the files. On their screens were authenticated digital timestamps from fourteen years ago—showing Julian logging into Paul Morgan's workstation while Paul was hospitalized, copying the proprietary mathematical models line by line, and altering the cryptographic watermarks.

"Furthermore," Arthur continued, "we have certified bank records showing wire transfers from Julian Sterling’s off-shore entity, Sterling Apex Holdings, directly into Eleanor Morgan's private accounts over a nine-year period. In exchange, Eleanor suppressed Paul Morgan's authentic will and surrendered his private archives."

Julian looked around the room, but not a single board member would meet his gaze. His allies were looking at their shoes, terrified of being indicted as co-conspirators.

"Julian Sterling," the Chairman of the Board, an elderly Swiss financier named Raymond Fischer, spoke in a chillingly calm voice. "Your executive credentials have been revoked. Corporate security will escort you from the premises immediately. Your equity shares are frozen pending the federal criminal investigation."

Julian slowly pushed himself up from his chair. His gaze locked onto mine—a look of murderous, helpless hatred.

"You think you’ve won, Leah?" he snarled, his voice trembling with venom. "You’re an orphan. Your father was a broken, paranoid lunatic who died alone on a wet highway. And you... you’re just a ghost living in his shadow."

"My father died with his honor intact," I said, standing tall across the table from him, my voice steady, resonant, and clear. "You lived fourteen years on stolen brilliance, and today, you leave this building with nothing. Security is waiting outside, Julian. Don't keep them waiting."

Julian opened his mouth to speak, but two armed corporate security officers stepped through the glass doors, gripped him by both arms, and forcibly marched him out of the boardroom.

The heavy double doors closed behind him.

Raymond Fischer turned to Celia, then to me. "Ms. Morgan. According to the original covenants of the Prometheus patent architecture, forty percent of the intellectual property equity reverts automatically to Paul Morgan's legal heir upon the resolution of this fraud dispute."

He paused, resting his hands on the table.