"Every herb that came through the Henson pharmacy, from purchase to storage to dispatch, passed through my hands alone for three years. Not one mistake."
Antony Henson's fingers went quiet against the chair.
"At seventeen, I ran sourcing on my own. I covered every herb-growing region across the Rockies. Took us from three suppliers to fifteen and brought procurement costs down thirty-four percent."
"At twenty, I led the development of Henson's first proprietary patented drug. The CardioFlow capsule."
"Formula screening, pharmacodynamics, toxicology. I did all of it. Alone."
"That drug now accounts for sixty percent of Henson's cardiovascular sales."
"At twenty-three, Marina Pharmaceuticals came to the table. They wanted a controlling stake in the CardioFlow project."
"I went seven nights without sleep rebuilding the valuation model. In the end we didn't sell. We chose joint development instead. Ninety million in profit a year, that drug."
Hope Henson's arms loosened a fraction across her chest.
"To date, the R&D department has filed forty-one projects. Thirteen of them reached the market."
"I wrote every project proposal. I reviewed every registration filing, word by word."
"You say I lived on the Hensons, took from the Hensons. I'll own that."
"But that house was the company's reward the year Henson went public."
"And that car I bought with my first year's dividends."
I looked at Hope then, and let each word land.
"Hope. After all these years, all of it between us. Is this really how you want to split things?"
She said nothing.
Her lips parted, then pressed shut again.
I watched her stay silent, and I waited. Five seconds.
Ten.
Still nothing.
I smiled.
Slowly, I unclasped the seashell bracelet she'd given me on her sixteenth birthday.
Last time, I wore it for more than forty years.
I never took it off, not even when they beat me to death.
"Fine."
"If that's how it is, you can have it all back."
"From today, Vincent Dickerson doesn't owe the Hensons a single thing."
