Chapter 4

The Porsche was delivered the next day. I ran my hand over the cool, silver metal, the key heavy in my palm. As soon as the delivery driver was gone, I got to work. It took me less than ten minutes to retrieve the small, black drive from its hidden compartment. I held it in my hand. It was my past, and it was my future. It was the truth.

But proof wasn't enough. I needed an ally. Someone with the power and the platform to make the truth matter. There was only one name on my list: Mark Jensen.

Mark was a legend in the Valley, an old-school tech veteran who had built his empire on integrity and genuine innovation. He was a competitor to Ethan, but more than that, he was a man of principle. I remembered years ago, at an industry dinner, he had been the only one to publicly question Ethan about the technical specifics of 'Prometheus' . Ethan had fumbled, giving vague, buzzword-filled answers. Mark had just looked at him with a cool, assessing gaze, and I knew in that moment that he didn't believe a word of it.

That evening, I sat with my father in his study, the city lights twinkling below.

"I' m going to meet with Mark Jensen," I told him.

My father raised an eyebrow. "Jensen? He' s a shark, Scarlett. A brilliant one, but a shark nonetheless. Are you sure you can trust him?"

"I' m not looking for a friend," I said. "I' m looking for a partner. Ethan' s IPO threatens Mark' s market share. EvolveAI is built on a lie, and Mark hates frauds. Our interests are aligned."

I didn' t tell him the whole truth. I didn' t tell him that in the darkest days after my ruin, Mark had been the only one to reach out. It was an anonymous email, traced back to a secure server I knew he used. It simply said, "I know what he did. When you' re ready to fight back, I' ll be here." I wasn' t ready then. I was too broken. But I never forgot it. He was a man of honor, who had seen the injustice and waited for the right moment to help correct it.

My father studied my face, seeing the steel in my eyes. He nodded slowly.

"Alright," he said. "I' ll arrange the meeting. I' ll be there with you."

His support was a solid wall at my back. It gave me the strength to keep moving forward.

The next few days were a blur of preparation. I spent hours in my home office, a sleek, minimalist space that overlooked the bay. I went through the code on the hard drive, meticulously documenting every line, every timestamp, every note that proved my authorship.

One afternoon, my housekeeper, Maria, came in with a cup of tea. She had been with my family for over twenty years and saw me more as a daughter than an employer.

She looked at the dark circles under my eyes. "Ms. Scarlett, you are working too hard," she said, her voice full of concern. "You look so sad. Is it because of the wedding? Because of Mr. Vance?"

I managed a small smile. It was a painful echo; Maria used to care for me like this when I was a teenager with a broken heart.

"I' m not sad, Maria," I said, turning back to my screen. "I' m busy."

She didn' t look convinced, but she left me to my work. I was alone, but not lonely. I was fueled by a purpose so clear and bright that it burned away everything else.

A few days later, I took a break and went to a small cafe downtown to meet with one of my anonymous security clients. As I waited, I overheard two women at the next table.

"Did you hear? Scarlett Hayes and Ethan Vance postponed their wedding."

"I' m not surprised. She could never keep up with him. He' s a genius, a visionary. She' s probably holding him back."

"I heard she' s unstable. Jealous of his success. It' s a shame he ever got mixed up with her."

The words were sharp, stinging. It was the same poison Ethan had been spreading for years. Maria would have been furious, would have marched over and defended my honor. But I just sat there, sipping my coffee, my expression unreadable.

Let them talk. Let them believe the lies. The bigger the myth of Ethan Vance became, the more satisfying it would be to watch it all come crashing down. Their whispers were just background noise. The real storm was coming, and they had no idea I was the one directing it.

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