Chapter 5

By 6:00 PM on Saturday, the driveway of the Century Hotel was jammed with luxury cars.

I was wearing my only clean knit cardigan over my hospital gown, which I hadn't had time to change out of. My wig was slightly crooked, and I had to pin it three times just to keep it secure.

Leo held my hand, his steps dragging, his eyes unfocused. The plastic hospital band was still secured around his tiny wrist.

No one stopped us. The invitation had a VIP table number.

There were about two hundred people in the grand ballroom—investors, tech journalists, medical executives, and about twenty actual families of autistic children.

In the center of the main stage, a massive LED screen was looping Apex Bio-Tech’s promotional video. A photo of Leo when he was three flashed on the screen, right next to the corporate logo.

I took a seat in the very back row, in the darkest corner. Leo sat beside me, humming softly under his breath, his little fingers nervously twisting the hem of his shirt.

The house lights dimmed.

Logan stepped up to the podium.

He looked impeccable in a charcoal grey custom suit, his diamond cufflinks catching the light, his hair perfectly styled. He stood before the giant screen, right in front of the massive projection of his son’s face.

"Five years ago, when the doctor told me my son was autistic..." His voice trembled slightly. He stopped, looking down at the podium as if trying to compose himself.

"I felt like my world had collapsed. But I told myself, as a father, I had to be strong. I had to build a shield for him."

Several people in the front rows began to nod. Amber sat right in the center of the VIP section, her hand resting gently on her stomach, wiping her tears with a silk tissue. The emerald-green jade bracelet on her wrist gleamed under the spotlights.

"And now, though my marriage has sadly come to an end due to irreconcilable differences, my duty as a father has never wavered. Tonight, I am proud to announce that Apex Bio-Tech is donating five million dollars—"

The sharp screech of a chair dragging against the marble floor cut him off.

I stood up.

Over two hundred heads whipped around to look at me.

I took Leo’s hand and began walking down the center aisle. He dragged his feet, his body swaying slightly, his fingers still clutching his shirt. His white plastic hospital wristband stood out glaringly under the chandelier lights.

Logan saw me. His hands froze on the edge of the podium.

"Chloe? What are you—"

The security guards hesitated, unsure if they should intervene. Amber bolted upright, stepping into the aisle to block me. "Security—"

I walked right past her.

I marched straight to the AV control booth near the stage and slammed a USB drive onto the console.

The tech guy stared at me, his hand hovering over the mouse, terrified to cut me off in front of all these cameras.

I reached over and hit the spacebar.

Logan’s beautifully designed PowerPoint slide vanished.

In its place, two massive documents filled the giant LED screen.

On the left: The original corporate registry of Apex Bio-Tech, dated March 10, 2019. Under the shareholder section, in bold black and white: *Logan Carter – 60%, Chloe Vance – 40%.*

On the right: The share transfer document filed six months later. My name was crossed out, and the signature at the bottom was a messy, forged scrawl—completely different from my actual signature on the left.

The two documents were blown up side-by-side on the fifteen-foot screen.

The entire ballroom went dead silent.

Then, the camera shutters started clicking like rapid gunfire.

Logan’s face turned an ashen white under the spotlights.

"This is a fake! She's mentally unstable! Don't listen to her—"

I pulled a digital voice recorder from my pocket and held it up to the microphone.

"This is what the woman he sent to my hospital room told me. And this is what Amber Stone said to me."

I pressed play.

Amber’s voice blasted through the state-of-the-art sound system, echoing off the high ceilings:

*"You're going to sign those papers whether you like it or not. You really think a dying cancer patient can fight him? He doesn't even care if you live or die, let alone that brain-dead son of yours."*

The recording kept playing, and every single person in the room hung onto every word.

And then, Leo, who had been dragging his feet and swaying beside me, suddenly went completely still.

He let go of my hand.

He lifted his head.

Two hundred pairs of eyes locked onto the seven-year-old boy.

He looked straight at Logan on the stage.

His eyes were clear, focused, and absolutely sharp.

He opened his mouth.