My eyes locked onto the bottom right corner of the monitor. *System Architecture & Design by Seraphine Vale.*
The panicked tech assistant slammed his hand onto the keyboard. The screen blinked.
When the display stabilized, the text was gone.
In its place, bold white letters stretched across the black background: *Damien Frost – Founder. 12 Core Patents.*
"We're good!" the assistant shouted into his walkie-talkie, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Slide deck is clean."
Clean.
I watched the letters of Damien's name glow on the massive LED screen. Fifty-two times. I had counted every single press release, every software patch note, every updated patent filing over the last two years. Fifty-two times they had scrubbed my name and replaced it with Damien's. Sometimes, they used Noelle's. Never mine.
"And now," the emcee's voice boomed over the speakers, shaking the floorboards beneath my feet. "Please welcome the visionary behind it all, the father of our company—Damien Frost!"
The heavy velvet curtain pulled back. The spotlight hit center stage.
Eight hundred employees rose to their feet. The roar of applause deafened the backstage area.
I stood behind the sign-in table, holding Noelle's empty champagne glass. The crystal felt cold and sticky in my palm.
Damien strode across the stage, waving to the crowd. He adjusted the microphone stand, letting the applause wash over him for a full ten seconds before raising a hand to quiet the room.
"Thank you," Damien said, his voice echoing through the massive hall. "Three years ago, this company was just a dream in a garage. Today, we stand as an industry leader."
More cheers erupted from the front rows. The venture capitalists sat there, nodding in approval.
Damien smiled, scanning the sea of faces. Then, he turned his head slightly. His gaze bypassed the VIP tables, bypassed the front-row investors, and landed directly on the backstage shadow where I stood.
His smile widened. It wasn't the polished grin he gave the press. It was the sharp, calculated look he gave me right before a board meeting.
"But before we celebrate our victories," Damien announced, his tone dropping an octave, "we need to address a matter of integrity."
The crowd murmured. The applause died instantly.
"A company is only as strong as its foundation," Damien continued, leaning closer to the microphone. "And unfortunately, we have a crack in ours."
I didn't move. I kept my eyes fixed on him.
"We pride ourselves on transparency," he said. "Which is why I cannot, in good conscience, let tonight proceed without dealing with a piece of ugly family business."
He raised his right arm. He pointed a single, steady finger straight at the sign-in table. Straight at me.
The spotlight operator scrambled. A harsh beam of white light swung away from the center stage and slammed into my corner, blinding me.
Gasps rippled through the audience. Eight hundred pairs of eyes turned toward the front desk.
"Seraphine," Damien said over the speakers.
I lowered the champagne glass to the edge of the table. The base tapped against the wood with a sharp *clink*.
"She has stood by the door tonight, pretending to be part of this team," Damien told the crowd. "But integrity requires honesty."
The camera operators pivoted their heavy lenses toward me. Red recording lights blinked in the dark.
"She misappropriated the surname of our majority shareholder," Damien declared, his voice ringing out across the silent hall. "So, effective immediately, Seraphine Vale will no longer—"
