Chapter 6 - The Forged Empire
The room felt like it had dropped to sub-zero temperatures. Victoria froze, her manicured fingers halting halfway to her champagne flute. She stared down at the document Rebecca had laid bare under the dining room chandelier. It was an official certificate of intellectual property co-ownership, accompanied by a forensic handwriting analysis dated just three weeks ago.
""You're lying,"" Victoria whispered, though her voice lacked its earlier venomous certainty. ""Our legal team did exhaustive due diligence before my father merged Brookfield into our portfolio. We audited every patent!""
""Your legal team audited the forged corporate resolution Nathaniel filed three days before your wedding,"" Rebecca replied, her gaze piercing right through me. ""He was so desperate to look like a self-made tech prodigy for your father that he couldn't afford to let anyone know the brilliant core code was written by his abandoned wife. He paid an off-grid notary two thousand dollars to stamp my signature on a complete surrender of rights.""
I sank into a dining chair, burying my face in my trembling hands. The memory burned into my skull like hot iron. I had sat in that empty Boston apartment with a bottle of cheap gin, tracing Rebecca's signature over and over on tracing paper until I could replicate the slant of her 'R' and the curve of her 'B'. I told myself she would never find out. I told myself she was just a small-town girl who would move on, marry a local teacher, and live an ordinary life.
""Why now, Rebecca?"" I choked out, looking up at her with tears of burning shame leaking down my cheeks. ""You had this for thirteen years. If you wanted to destroy me, why wait until tonight?""
""Because for thirteen years, I didn't want your cursed money,"" Rebecca said, her eyes flashing with a mother’s fierce, unyielding fire. ""I worked two jobs. I taught mathematics at community colleges. I raised our daughters with honest sweat and real values. I watched them inherit my love for science and code. But three months ago, Clara discovered an optimization flaw in a major commercial software suite and asked me why the error looked so familiar. It was Brookfield OS. She and Evelyn spent weeks tracing the source code, and Clara came to me with tears in her eyes, saying: 'Mom, this code uses your exact recursive syntax. Someone stole your life’s work.'""
Rebecca stood up, leaning over the table, towering over Victoria and me with moral authority that rendered all our wealth completely pathetic.
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""My daughters entered this national competition under their own power. They wanted to prove that pure skill could defeat every bought-and-paid-for advantage your world represents. And when your spoiled daughter failed, your immediate instinct was to rob them of their honest triumph. You wanted to use your wealth to strip away the medals they bled for.""
Rebecca slapped her palm down on the blue folder. ""That was your fatal mistake, Victoria. You tried to steal from my daughters twice. Once thirteen years ago through their father, and tonight through your own arrogance. And that is why I am going to take everything back.""
