“Co-founder,” I said. “CTO too.”
Phones came out. Guests started searching. Within seconds, the room found me.
The Forbes feature. The TechCrunch article. The NextGen board announcement. The Stanford alumni profile.
A dozen interviews my father had never seen because he had never searched my name unless he needed something from me.
Bradley stared at his phone. “But you said you worked in IT support.”
“No,” I said. “Dad said that. You all repeated it.”
James Morrison looked at Marcus with the kind of calm that only powerful people can afford.
“Ms. Young is the reason Meridian wanted this project structured this way. NextGen’s platform is the technical foundation of the build.”
Meridian’s lawyer, Patricia Coleman, opened a folder. “This exclusive agreement was signed two years ago. Any Meridian construction project using NextGen’s integration requires approval by NextGen’s CTO. That is Ms. Young.”
Marcus stared at the documents. Then at me. Then back at the documents.
The $50 million contract sat in front of him, unsigned. His biggest deal. His rescue plan. His new empire. All of it waiting for the daughter he had grounded like a child two nights earlier.
“Stephanie,” he said. “Please sign.”
Not sweetheart. Not my brilliant girl. Not even daughter. Just my name, stripped down to panic.
“Why would I?”
His mouth opened. Closed.
I continued. “According to you, I’m grounded until I apologize for keeping what I earned. According to you, I’m no longer your daughter unless I hand over my shares to Bradley.”
Veronica stepped forward. “Stop being vindictive.”
I turned to her. “Vindictive like telling me to delete the Harrison Development email because the client praised my work and you wanted Bradley to take credit?”
Someone gasped.