Chapter 10 - THE ORIGINAL LIE

Alex drove home alone.

He didn't tell Maya what he planned to ask.

Didn't tell Noah.

He needed one answer without witnesses.

His mother was sitting at the kitchen table.

She took one look at his face.

Then closed her eyes.

“You found it.”

Alex stopped.

Not:

Found what?

Not:

What's wrong?

You found it.

“How long?”

She looked toward the floor.

“How long have you known Voss?”

“Twenty-nine years.”

Alex laughed.

It sounded ugly.

“I'm twenty-seven.”

“I know.”

“What was he to you?”

“An employer.”

“Doing what?”

“Accounting.”

“For Meridian?”

“No.”

“Then who?”

She looked up.

“His first investment company.”

Alex sat across from her.

“Why were you at my pitch meeting?”

“I wasn't.”

“I saw you.”

“I came afterward.”

“Why?”

“Because Daniel called me.”

Alex's hands tightened.

“He knew you were my son.”

“And?”

“He wanted to know if you'd recognize me.”

Alex stared.

“Why wouldn't I?”

“Because I was sitting outside the camera angle.”

Alex shook his head.

“You helped him recruit me.”

“No.”

“You knew what he was doing.”

“Not at first.”

“When did you know?”

“Two years later.”

“And you said nothing?”

Tears formed in her eyes.

“I tried.”

“When?”

“Your father got sick the first time.”

Alex remembered.

A minor cardiac event when Alex was twenty-three.

Voss had paid for specialists.

Doctors Alex's parents could never have afforded.

His mother whispered:

“Daniel reminded me who was paying.”

Alex's anger faltered.

Only slightly.

“He threatened Dad?”

“He didn't need to.”

Alex stood.

“You let me build his weapon.”

“I thought Lattice was fraud software.”

“It was.”

“At first.”

“What changed?”

She opened a drawer.

Removed an envelope.

“I kept one thing.”

Alex stared.

“What?”

“A contract.”

Between Voss and a company Alex had never heard of.

The contract predated Lattice by eight months.

Its description:

Predictive transactional influence architecture.

Alex read further.

The technical requirements were nearly identical to the system Alex later designed.

“They gave me the idea.”

His mother shook her head.

“No.”

“They shaped the problem.”

Alex sank into the chair.

Every mentor conversation.

Every question Voss had casually asked.

Every introduction.

Every customer who seemed perfectly suited to their software.

The arrogance of believing he'd simply been smarter than everyone.

Voss hadn't created Alex's talent.

But he had built walls around it.

Guided it.

Pointed it.

His mother pushed another page toward him.

“One more thing.”

Alex read.

A name.

PROJECT ARCHITECT:

THOMAS CARTER.

His father.

Alex looked up.

“Dad?”

His mother began crying.

“Your father didn't have his first heart attack because he was sick.”

Alex stared at her.

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