Chapter 7 - The Architect of Ghosts
Alistair pressed another command on his console, and the diner footage was replaced by a cascading waterfall of forensic accounting ledgers, patent registration filings, and encrypted server logs.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the financial sector,” Alistair’s deep voice boomed through the ballroom sound system.
“For five years, Jaxson Vance has claimed to be the sole inventor of the Hyperion Orbital Propulsion Matrix.”
“He used this patent portfolio to secure twelve billion dollars in federal defense subsidies and forty billion dollars in institutional market capitalization.”
The screens shifted, displaying the original handwritten blueprints and mathematical algorithms dated seven years prior.
Every single schematic was stamped with the personal biometric seal of Julian Sinclair and signed by his chief software engineer: Maya Sinclair.
“Jaxson Vance did not write a single equation,” I announced to the room, looking directly into the flashing lenses of forty live broadcast cameras.
“Five years ago, after my father was killed in an engineered plane crash over the Adirondacks, Jaxson hacked our family’s private cloud servers, scrubbed my name from the patent registries, and claimed my life’s work as his own.”
“He thought that by forcing me into poverty and sending his thugs to terrorize my small-town sanctuary, I would never have the resources to challenge his theft.”
Jaxson’s face turned from pale white to a sickly shade of ash gray.
He lunged toward the audio visual controls on the podium, frantically trying to tear the HDMI cables from the wall with his bare hands.
“Shut it down! Turn off the screens!” Jaxson roared like a cornered animal, saliva flying from his lips.
“This is corporate espionage! Security, arrest this woman! Shoot her!”
Not a single security guard moved.
The fifty Vance private guards in the room stood with their heads down, their weapons confiscated by the Sinclair tactical operatives who held every exit in an iron grip.
The CEO of BlackRock, who held fifteen percent of Vance Global’s pre-IPO shares, stood up and tore his corporate term sheet in half before tossing the scraps onto the floor.
“The Sinclair patents are non-transferable under federal sovereignty laws,” the banker announced in cold outrage.
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“Jaxson Vance is holding twelve billion dollars of counterfeit intellectual property.”
“This company is an absolute fraud.”
