Then I laid out a tailored black suit for the morning presentation.
I stood motionless before the full-length mirror, looking at the binder and my own steady reflection.
I studied the person staring back.
There was no fear.
No hesitation.
No remaining guilt about my decision.
I understood the gravity of the following morning.
Once I entered the venue and initiated the sequence, the resulting legal consequences would permanently sever my family ties.
There would be no future reconciliation.
No negotiations.
No apologies accepted.
At that moment, my family was gone.
The conference room inside the downtown Seattle hotel was crowded.
Camera flashes fired continuously toward the podium.
Dozens of technology journalists, investors, and analysts filled the space because of the rumors.
I stood backstage and watched the live feed on a monitor.
Colin and Shirley sat in the center of the front-row VIP section.
They appeared confident.
Whispering to one another with victorious smiles.
The event moderator, clearly influenced by the false narrative, approached the microphone.
He didn’t introduce me first.
Instead, he invited Colin onto the stage, describing him as an essential cofounder of the artificial-intelligence project.
Colin stood, buttoned his jacket, and walked toward the stage with practiced humility.
He accepted the microphone.
Then he looked across the audience and arranged his face into an expression of concern.
He claimed the AI framework had been a joint family effort.
Then he lowered his voice.
He suggested that the pressure of the technology industry had severely affected my mental health.
He said I had become paranoid, exhausted, and erratic.
He claimed my decisions threatened the entire company.
Finally, he declared that he was stepping forward to stabilize the project and protect investors from my deteriorating condition.
A wave of whispers passed through the audience.
Reporters typed quickly.
Colin looked toward Shirley.
She nodded solemnly.
I didn’t wait for him to finish.
I walked from behind the curtain and stepped onto the stage.
The camera flashes intensified.
Colin stopped speaking and tightened his grip around the microphone.
He expected me to shout.
To defend myself emotionally.
To appear exactly as unstable as he had described.
I didn’t speak to him.
I wasn’t carrying a flash drive.
I walked to the center of the stage and stood two feet away from Colin.