Chapter 8 - THE BILLIONAIRE WHO DIDN'T OWN HIS EMPIRE
Julian Cross had spent fifteen years believing he built his company from nothing.
He wrote code in a borrowed apartment.
Worked nights.
Raised investment capital.
Negotiated acquisitions.
And turned Cross Technologies into a global emergency communications company.
Now he sat beside me staring at records suggesting the earliest intellectual property belonged partly to my mother.
I expected anger.
Denial.
A lawyer's threat.
Instead, he whispered, "She deserves credit."
I looked at him.
"What?"
"Your mother."
He studied the notebook.
"If she helped build the original system, then we need to establish exactly what she contributed."
I swallowed.
"And if the company used her work without permission?"
Julian met my eyes.
"Then we correct it."
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
I'd spent twelve years expecting powerful people to protect themselves at my expense.
Julian was the first one who didn't immediately try.
But the investigation was complicated.
The original agreements were incomplete.
Some signatures appeared questionable.
Several companies had merged.
Others no longer existed.
Independent patent attorneys and forensic accountants began reviewing the records.
Nothing could be settled overnight.
And I didn't want it to be.
I wanted the truth.
The digital storage device contained archived correspondence between Charles Cross and Isabel Navarro.
My mother was brilliant.
Funny.
Stubborn.
And furious about the way her work had been used.
I read one email three times.
Charles, I don't want my daughters growing up believing powerful men can take credit for the work of women they underestimate.
My eyes filled.
Julian read it beside me.
Then looked away.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Finally, he said, "She was right."
That mattered more than he realized.
The next breakthrough came from an old engineering log.
It listed a private test of the emergency response system.
The test was scheduled for the night of the highway crash.
Julian stared.
"That can't be a coincidence."
Rebecca agreed.
Further records showed Daniel Lawrence had arranged the vehicle used for the test.
And Dr. Whitaker had been present as a consultant.
My heart pounded.
"Was the crash deliberate?"
Rebecca answered carefully.
"The evidence warrants investigation, but we can't conclude that yet."
Then the forensic specialist recovered a deleted video file.
It showed the inside of Julian's car.
Minutes before the collision.
A younger Julian sat behind the wheel.
He was arguing with someone on the phone.
The voice belonged to Daniel Lawrence.
"You should have signed the transfer," Daniel said.
Julian replied, "I'm not giving away my father's work."
Then Daniel said something that made the room go cold.
"Then you'll leave me no choice."
The video ended.
I looked toward Julian.
His face had gone white.
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Because the crash wasn't simply the night I saved his life.
It might have been the night someone tried to kill him.
