Chapter 3 - The Corporate Siege
Tuesday brought the lawyers. Not mine—theirs.
My father arrived at my gate, not with an apology, but with a briefcase full of "intellectual property claims." He claimed that the initial seed funding for my first coding rig—a $400 laptop I bought in high school—constituted a "Vane Family Enterprise investment." He wanted 40% of the OmniSyne acquisition.
I let him sit in my foyer for an hour before I descended the stairs. My neck was still bandaged from the coffee burns, a visual reminder of why I owed them nothing.
"Leo," my father said, standing up with a practiced, paternal grin. "Let’s be reasonable. The public is watching. If you give us the stake, we can release a statement about a 'misunderstanding' at brunch. We can fix your image."
I walked over to the coffee table and set down a tablet. I pushed it toward him. "That’s the digital trail of your 'investment,' Dad. It also contains the offshore account numbers you used to launder money through the Obsidian Resort. If you file that lawsuit, those records go to the SEC and the IRS by sunset."
He froze. His face went through a spectrum of colors, finally settling on a sickly gray.
"You wouldn't," he whispered.
May you like
"I’m an AI architect, Dad. I don’t act on emotion; I act on logic. Logic dictates that you leave this house, drop the claim, and never speak my name to the press again."
He didn't argue. He walked out, his stride noticeably less confident than when he entered. I had effectively cut them off from my success, but the war was only beginning. They weren't just losing money; they were losing their identity as the masters of their own house.
