“He knows the investors want a confirmatory assignment.”
That explained the black folder before it ever arrived.
Silas looked at me.
“He’s going to ask you to paper over this.”
I stared at the report.
“What happens if I sign?”
“We need counsel, but at minimum you create a nightmare about who owned what and when. At worst, Harrison claims later that Aegis consented to his use of technology derived from our own stack.”
I called Montgomery.
For the next three weeks, we built the record.
The original Aegis repository.
Creation dates.
Internal design documents.
Evaluation license Harrison had signed.
Email stating the demo was noncommercial.
Ironclad pitch materials obtained through the investor’s authorized diligence process.
No secret surveillance.
No break-ins.
No illegal access.
Paper.
Repositories.
Contracts.
The things people forget exist when they become convinced confidence is ownership.
Montgomery recommended immediate formal notice.
I asked him to wait until we confirmed how much code was involved.
Independent technical reviewers compared the systems.
The result was bad for Harrison.
Ironclad had added a polished interface and several new features, but substantial portions of the underlying architecture came directly from the restricted evaluation module.
Felix had altered names.
Changed file structures.
Rewritten portions.
Not enough.
I felt betrayed by him too.
Montgomery asked whether I wanted to confront Harrison privately.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if I tell him now, he’ll ask for the assignment.”
“And?”
“I want to see what he puts in front of me.”
Montgomery studied me.
“That is colder than I expected.”
“So am I.”
We also reviewed my personal financial connections to the family.
That part made me ill.
I had spent millions over eight years.
Not all cash gifts.
Mortgage payments.
Taxes.
Repairs.
Vehicles.
Travel.
Household payroll.
Club costs.
Credit-card charges.
Bianca’s wedding.
Home improvements.
I had kept the Garden District house alive long after my father’s business died.
Then Montgomery found something I had not known.
Dad had borrowed against it again.
A home-equity loan.
Then another private note secured by the property.
Public recording records showed the liens.
Nothing secret or illegally obtained.
Just filings I had never bothered to check because I trusted him.
“Does your mother know?”
“I don’t know.”
“How much total debt?”
“About one-point-three million, plus the remaining first mortgage.”
I stared.
“That’s impossible.”
Montgomery turned the screen.
“It’s recorded.”
“What did he use it for?”
“We don’t know.”
I thought about renovations.
Country club.
Trips.
Harrison’s wedding.
Dad’s imaginary investment career.
My stomach turned.
I had spent years paying the visible bills while he borrowed against the structure underneath me.
“That changes things,” Montgomery said.
“Yes.”
“Not legally. Emotionally.”
“Yes.”
He leaned back.
“What do you want?”
“I want every voluntary payment stopped.”
“After the IP issue is secured?”
“Yes.”
“Why connect them?”
I thought about that.
Then corrected myself.
“We don’t.”
Montgomery nodded.
“Good.”
“The IP case belongs to Aegis.”
“Yes.”
“My family support belongs to me.”
“Yes.”
“Handle them separately.”
“That is exactly what we will do.”
So by the Friday-night dinner, I already knew.
When Bianca mocked my gray hoodie, I knew.
When Dad waved away my work and asked Harrison about “the big leagues,” I knew.
When Harrison bragged about the ninety-million-dollar financing round, I knew the investor had already paused it.
I sat there listening.
Then Harrison pulled out the black leather folder.
“Just technical paperwork.”
I opened it.
Confirmatory Assignment of Intellectual Property.
The language was broad.
Far broader than necessary.
It claimed I had provided development work to Ironclad and assigned all rights connected to the Sentinel-derived protocol, including enhancements and future derivative claims, for nominal consideration.
I looked up.
“This transfers ownership.”
Harrison shrugged.
“It cleans up ownership.”
“By giving it to you.”
“It’s already part of my platform.”
“Under a restricted evaluation license.”
Bianca groaned.
“Oh my God, Julian.”
I ignored her.
“Harrison, tell the investors the truth.”
His face changed.
“What truth?”
“That you used Aegis code beyond the license.”
Dad frowned.
“Aegis?”
Harrison answered quickly.
“Some big security company. Julian is obsessed with them.”
I almost laughed.
“This document says I personally authored work for Ironclad.”
“You did.”
“No.”
“You wrote the module.”
“For Aegis.”
Harrison’s eyes hardened.
“You wrote it in your little room.”
“I wrote the original architecture years ago. It was assigned to my company.”
“Your company?”
He smirked.
“What company?”
I closed the folder.
“I’m not signing.”
Bianca dropped her spoon.
“Why does everything have to become difficult with you?”
“Because it’s not yours.”
She looked toward my mother.
“See?”
Mom sighed.
“Julian.”
“What?”
“Support your brother.”
“I did.”