Chapter 8 - THE NIGHT I TOOK MY NAME BACK
I did not cry.
That surprised Adrian more than anything.
We met inside Rebecca Sloan’s conference room twenty-four hours later.
My attorney sat beside me.
Adrian brought three lawyers.
Daniel came alone.
Professor Hale joined by video.
The dispute was simple.
Moretti Advanced Systems had acquired certain development rights years earlier.
Project Orion controlled the underlying patents.
Stanford controlled current research infrastructure.
I controlled the one thing Adrian had never expected me to reclaim.
My authorship.
Rebecca placed a folder on the table.
“Dr. Bennett has not authorized Moretti Advanced Systems to represent her work.”
Adrian looked at me.
“Claire.”
Rebecca continued.
“Any claim filed yesterday will be challenged.”
One of Adrian’s lawyers whispered to him.
He ignored the man.
“Can everyone leave?”
“No,” I said.
His eyes met mine.
“I want to speak to my wife.”
“I am not discussing this privately.”
The word wife seemed to hurt him.
Good.
Adrian looked around.
Then said:
“I’ll withdraw the claim.”
His attorneys reacted instantly.
“Mr. Moretti—”
“Withdraw it.”
The room went silent.
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because it’s yours.”
“It was mine yesterday.”
“I know.”
“Five years ago too.”
“I know.”
His face had changed in the week since I left.
There was no charm now.
No polished certainty.
He looked like a man discovering that money could not purchase the one outcome he wanted.
“I was wrong.”
I waited.
He continued.
“I thought keeping those rights protected meant I was protecting you.”
“No. It meant you controlled when I could have them.”
“Yes.”
The admission surprised me.
“I’m done defending that.”
Daniel looked at him sharply.
Adrian signed the withdrawal.
Then he pushed another document across the table.
Transfer of all Moretti interests in my research to Project Orion.
Permanent.
Irrevocable.
No compensation.
Rebecca reviewed it.
“It appears clean.”
I looked at Adrian.
“What do you want?”
“Nothing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I know.”
He stood.
Before leaving, he removed his wedding ring.
Not dramatically.
He simply looked at it.
Then put it back on.
“I haven’t given up.”
I felt almost sorry for him.
“Maybe you should.”
The discovery became public three weeks later.
Not confirmed.
Not named.
But enough for scientific circles to become interested.
For the first time in years, journalists called me about astrophysics rather than Moretti charity dinners.
An academic publication referred to me as Dr. Claire Bennett.
I stared at the screen.
Bennett.
My name.
I had never legally changed it completely after marriage.
Professionally, I took it back.
Adrian returned to Chicago.
Sophia stayed in New York.
Elena joined the estate litigation.
Carlo Moretti disappeared.
Then one Thursday night, Daniel called.
“Claire, Carlo didn’t disappear voluntarily.”
“What does that mean?”
“He’s dead.”
I froze.
“How?”
“Car accident.”
The room became cold.
“Accident?”
“The police think so.”
“You don’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Carlo called me twenty minutes before he died.”
My grip tightened.
“What did he say?”
“He said Victor’s death wasn’t natural.”
I sat down.
“What?”
Daniel continued.
“Carlo claimed somebody had been slowly poisoning Victor during the last six months of his life.”
My heart hammered.
“Who?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
“Why call you?”
“He wanted immunity.”
“From whom?”
A pause.
May you like
Then Daniel said:
“Adrian.”
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