Chương 7
“I found something,” he said.
My expression changed.
“What?”
His voice dropped.
“And I think you knew more about this company than I did.”
I looked at Aaron and saw something I had not seen in a long time.
Fear.
Not the kind people showed when they were afraid of losing money.
Not the kind investors showed when numbers stopped making sense.
This was different.
This was the fear of someone discovering that the story they had spent years telling themselves was incomplete.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Aaron glanced toward the lobby.
People were pretending not to watch us.
They were failing.
“I found the server Daniel mentioned.”
My expression did not change.
“Okay.”
His eyebrows tightened.
“Okay?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know.”
That answer surprised both of us.
Because Aaron Prescott always knew what he wanted people to say.
He wanted reassurance.
Confidence.
Agreement.
He wanted the world to return to whatever version of reality made him comfortable.
But this time, there was no easy answer waiting.
“I opened some files,” he continued.
“And?”
He looked away.
“There are documents about the original funding.”
I stayed quiet.
“Alyssa.”
“What?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
The question was not angry.
That almost made it harder.
I looked at him carefully.
“Tell you what?”
“That you had more control over the company than I did.”
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because the idea was so far from how I had lived my life.
“I did not have more control.”
“Then what did you have?”
I looked around the lobby.
At the employees passing by.
At the company logo behind the reception desk.
The same logo that had appeared on magazines, conference stages, and investor presentations.
“I had responsibility.”
Aaron stared at me.
“You’re saying there’s a difference?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head slowly.
“I don’t understand.”
That sentence was probably the most honest thing he had said to me in years.
And somehow, it made me sad.
Because I believed him.
Aaron was not pretending to be confused.
He genuinely did not understand.
“I never wanted to own your success,” I said.
“Then why put agreements in place?”
“Because someone had to protect the company.”
“From what?”
I hesitated.
That hesitation bothered him.
“From what, Alyssa?”
I looked at him.
“From everyone believing the company was only one person.”
The elevator doors opened.
A group of employees stepped out.
They saw us standing there and immediately became uncomfortable.
Aaron noticed.
I knew he noticed because he straightened his posture.
The CEO returned.
The husband disappeared.
“Come upstairs,” he said.
I followed him.
Not because he ordered me.
Because I needed answers.
The executive floor looked exactly the same.
The expensive furniture.
The glass walls.
The view of the city.
The environment had not changed.
Only the people inside it had.
Daniel was waiting near the conference room.
Beside him stood the head of IT, Marcus Lee.
He was holding a laptop.
“Alyssa,” Daniel said.
I nodded.
“What did you find?”
Marcus looked at Aaron first.
Then at me.
That small movement told me something.
He was no longer sure who had authority in the room.
“We found a hidden partition on the old server.”
“And?”
“There are encrypted files.”
Aaron crossed his arms.
“Can you open them?”
Marcus hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Then do it.”
The old Aaron was back.
Direct.
Efficient.
Certain.
Marcus looked uncomfortable.
“Aaron, there’s something you should know.”
“What?”
“The encryption key is not connected to the company system.”
“Then what is it connected to?”
Marcus looked at me.
“The original investor account.”
Nobody spoke.
Aaron slowly turned toward me.
“What account?”
I felt the weight of every decision I had made six years earlier.
“I created a private oversight account.”
“For the company?”
“For the investment.”
His expression changed.
“You created it?”
“Yes.”
“Without telling me?”
I looked at him.
“I told you.”
“No.”
His voice sharpened.
“You told me there were protections.”
“There were.”
“You never said you controlled access.”
“I did not control access.”
“Then why does the key require you?”
The question hung there.
Because I did not know.
That was the truth.
I had created safeguards.
I had signed documents.
I had reviewed agreements.
But I had not personally examined every technical layer.
I trusted people.
That had always been my weakness.
I trusted too much.
Marcus opened the laptop.
“There is another issue.”
“What now?” Aaron asked.
Marcus looked uncomfortable.
“The files were accessed recently.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
The room became silent.
“By who?” Daniel asked.
Marcus shook his head.
“We don’t know yet.”
Aaron stepped closer.
“Find out.”
Marcus nodded.
Then stopped.
“Aaron.”
“What?”
“The access came from inside the company.”
Nobody moved.
I looked at Daniel.
He looked at me.
Then we both looked at Aaron.
Because the question was no longer only about what happened six years ago.
It was about what someone had done yesterday.
Someone who had access.
Someone who knew the files existed.
Someone who had a reason to look.
Aaron rubbed his forehead.
“This is impossible.”
“No,” I said.
Everyone looked at me.
“It’s possible.”
Aaron stared.
“You think someone inside the company did this?”
“I think someone knew something was there.”
“And you didn’t?”
The accusation was quiet.
But it was there.
I felt it.
For a moment, I wanted to defend myself.
I wanted to remind him of everything I had done.
The money.
The patents.
The years.
Then I stopped.
Because that was the old pattern.
He questioned.
I explained.
He doubted.
I proved.
I was tired of living inside that cycle.
“I don’t know everything, Aaron.”
The answer seemed to surprise him.
“You don’t?”
“No.”
A strange silence followed.
Maybe he expected me to be all-powerful.
Maybe that was easier.
It was easier to believe I had secretly controlled everything than accept that we were both standing in the middle of something neither of us understood.
May you like
Daniel pulled out a chair.
“Maybe we should start with what we do know.”
