The Sanford Dynamics boardroom occupied the entire forty-second floor, its windows offering a panoramic view of Manhattan that was meant to inspire and intimidate in equal measure. Christa had always found it vulgar-the ostentatious display of wealth, the implicit message that the people in this room controlled not just a company but a significant portion of the visible world.
Today she appreciated the view. It reminded her what she was fighting for.
She arrived precisely at nine, her laptop bag containing the presentation that had consumed her night. Denny was already at the head of the table, reviewing documents with his CFO. He looked up when she entered, his expression carefully neutral.
"Dr. Byrd."
"Mr. Sanford."
They had not spoken privately since the gala. Three days of strategic avoidance, of passing in hallways and exchanging nothing but professional necessity. Christa had spent the time preparing. Denny, she suspected, had spent it managing Brittany's latest crisis.
The meeting proceeded through its standard agenda. Quarterly projections, personnel changes, a minor acquisition in the defense sector. Christa contributed where expected, her comments precise and uncontroversial.
Then the CFO reached the final item.
"Stardust Project budget extension," he read from his notes. "Two million dollars in additional R&D funding, requested by project lead Brittany Baldwin. This initiative, honoring the legacy of Curtis Sanford..."
Denny interrupted smoothly. "I recommend immediate approval. The project represents our commitment to accessible technology education, and it was dear to my brother's heart. The board knows my feelings on this."
Heads nodded around the table. No one wanted to be seen opposing the CEO's tribute to his dead brother. The motion would pass unanimously, as it always did, and another two million dollars would flow into Brittany Baldwin's control.
Christa stood.
"I oppose."
The word fell into the silence like a stone into still water. Every face turned toward her. Denny's jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek.
"Christa." His voice was low, warning. "This isn't the forum for-"
"I oppose," she repeated, louder now, addressing the table rather than her husband. "And I oppose on grounds of data integrity and regulatory compliance, not sentiment."
She inserted her drive into the conference room system. The main screen flickered, then displayed her first slide-a simple title page in Sanford Dynamics corporate blue.
"According to the Stardust Project's initial feasibility study, the proposed educational platform relies on a proprietary data model for student performance prediction." She clicked to the next slide, a dense matrix of technical specifications. "That model, described here as 'revolutionary' and 'proprietary,' does not exist in any of our development environments."
She advanced again. Now the screen showed two code samples, side by side. "What does exist is this-a direct copy of algorithms developed for Project Prometheus in 2019 and subsequently abandoned due to accuracy failures. The Stardust team has taken failed code, renamed it, and presented it as innovation."
Murmurs around the table. The CTO of the defense division leaned forward, his expression sharpening. The general counsel removed her glasses and began taking notes.
"More concerning," Christa continued, "is the financial documentation. The initial grant proposal claims partnerships with three major universities. I contacted their research offices this morning. None have any record of engagement with the Stardust Project. The letters of intent included in our files are forged."
She let that land. Forged documents. In a publicly traded company. The implications rippled through the room like electricity.
Denny was on his feet. "Christa, these are serious accusations. You can't possibly have had time to properly verify-"
"I have verified." She clicked to her final slide, a summary of her findings with supporting documentation flagged for follow-up. "Server logs, email records, signed affidavits from the university registrars. Everything is available for independent review."
She faced the table, her voice steady and clear. "I move that we table the budget extension pending a full compliance audit. I further recommend that the board establish an independent review committee with authority to examine all Stardust Project documentation and personnel."
The general counsel spoke first. "I second the motion. These allegations, if true, expose the company to significant SEC liability."
One by one, the other board members signaled their agreement. Not unanimous-two of Denny's longtime allies abstained-but sufficient. The motion carried.
Denny remained standing, his hands flat on the table, his face a mask of controlled fury. He had been outmaneuvered in his own boardroom, on his own agenda item, by his own wife.
"Very well," he said, each word precise as a cut diamond. "The motion carries. Dr. Byrd, you'll coordinate with legal on the audit parameters."
"Of course, Mr. Sanford."
She gathered her materials without hurry, ignoring the speculative glances of her colleagues. The meeting adjourned in awkward silence, executives filing out with the speed of people escaping a crime scene.
Christa was nearly at the door when Denny's voice stopped her.
"My office. Now."
She didn't turn. "I have a conference call with the MIT liaison in ten minutes."
"It can wait."
She considered refusing. Considered walking out, letting him chase her, letting this become the public scene he clearly feared.
Instead she turned and followed him to the elevator that served only the executive floor.
