“He’s filing a lawsuit to claim ownership of all six.”
He slid another document toward me—a red‑lined contract, signatures smudged beyond recognition.
My eyes caught a line at the bottom: “Bank account # 742‑X, reserve funds for shareholder payouts.”
“That account is in his name?” I pressed.
Ortega nodded, “It’s a shell corporation, but the IRS trace ties it back to him. He’s been siphoning dividends for years.”
I felt the air compress around my throat.
“Do we have a copy of the account statements?”
He handed me a USB drive, the plastic cool against my palm.
“All the transactions, from the day you left the board until now.”
I slipped the drive into my pocket, the weight a promise of leverage.
“We’ll file a motion to freeze his assets before his claim hits the courtroom,” Ortega assured.
“And the patents?” I asked.
He smiled, a thin, practiced line. “We’ll argue that the original invention was yours, and his 15 percent is a fraudulent claim.”
My mind raced—each breath a reminder that the battle was just beginning.
Section 4 – The Café Confrontation
I met Maya at the corner table of Café Lumen, the hum of espresso machines a low backdrop.
She placed a folded envelope in front of me, her hands trembling.
“I found the original incorporation papers in the old server backup,” she whispered.
I opened the envelope; photocopies of signatures, dates, a watermark I’d never seen before.
“He forged the board minutes,” Maya said, voice shaking.
“These show he added himself as a director after the fact.”
My pulse hammered against my ribs. “And the stock certificates?”
She slid another paper across, the ink slightly smudged, the name “J. Hart” crossed out and replaced with “J. Donovan.”
“He altered the share ledger to hide his 15 percent,” she explained.
“We need to get this to the police,” I said, heart thudding.
She nodded, pulling a small flash drive from her bag, the evidence compiled into one file.
“I’ve already talked to Detective Reyes. He’ll meet us at the precinct tomorrow.”
“Good,” I replied, trying to steady my voice.
We heard the door swing open—two men in dark suits, badges glinting.
One of them stepped forward, his voice flat, “Detective Reyes, we have an urgent matter at the exchange.”
Maya’s eyes widened. “What—?” she stammered.
Before I could react, the second officer slammed his hand on the table, scattering coffee cups.
“Maya Reyes,” the officer barked, “you’re under arrest for insider trading.”
She tried to reach for the flash drive, but a firm grip on her wrist yanked her to her feet.
“No—wait!” I shouted, the evidence slipping from her palm onto the floor.
Two uniforms lunged, cuffing her wrists, the flash drive clattering against the tile.
“You’ll have to explain that to a judge,” the lead officer sneered.
As they escorted her out, the café fell silent except for the hiss of the espresso machine.
I stared at the discarded flash drive, the incriminating files still blinking on the screen.
Alone, I realized the stakes had just exploded, and the evidence I held could shatter everything.
Finding the Safe
I dropped the suitcase onto the worn rug and let the door swing shut, the silence of the apartment swallowing the city’s roar.
