15.
Justin
We’re coming up on being here in the incubator for a year, and today, we’re meeting with the partners at SHN—at their request. I’m not sure what that means. We’ve come close a few times, but we haven’t had any lasting movement forward with the charging issue. We fix one thing and then something else doesn’t work. I hope our time hasn’t run out. If they boot us, we’re screwed in so many ways.
I’m fussing with the stack of coasters on the table in one of the incubator’s conference rooms when Mason Sullivan strides in. Cameron Newhouse trails behind him like an ominous shadow, his reputation as SHN’s chief of technology preceding him.
“Justin, good to see you,” Mason says, clasping my hand firmly. His gaze is piercing yet not unkind. “How’s your father doing?”
“Better,” I reply, managing a half-smile. “We think they caught the cancer in time when they operated last fall, and his recovery seems nearly complete, so…all fingers are crossed.”
Austin, Rhys, and Theo file into the room, and we all take seats at the table.
“Good, good to hear that,” Mason nods, settling into one of the leather chairs.
Cameron remains standing. There’s a beat of silence before he lays a roll of plans on the table. The schematics spread out like a map to our collective dreams, instantly recognizable down to the last capacitor. It’s our EV battery, our brainchild. Confusion knots my stomach. Why would he have this?
“Guys…” Cameron says, and something about his tone sends a chill down my spine. “This is posted on the dark web.”
The words hit like a physical blow. Panic flares, a wildfire in dry grass. I exchange frantic looks with Austin, Rhys, and Theo. Our life’s work, just out there for any tech pirate to plunder? The consequences could derail everything we’ve built.
“Are you certain?” Theo’s voice cuts through the thick air, demanding proof.
“Unfortunately, yes.” Cameron’s expression is grim. “And this leak poses a significant threat to EnergiFusion’s future.”
My mind races, trying to piece together how our tightly guarded secret slipped through our fingers. This isn’t just a setback; it’s a disaster. The room seems suddenly claustrophobic as the weight of our predicament settles on my shoulders.
The air in the room crackles with unsaid accusations and suspicion. I scan each face, my friends, co-conspirators in this dream turned nightmare. I know it’s not them. We’ve fortified our company against corporate espionage, every line of code encrypted, every prototype locked away. How then? How has our blueprint found its way into the digital shadows?
“Justin,” Austin’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Could Crystal—?”
“No.” The word is out before he finishes, fierce and reflexive. The mere suggestion that Crystal, with her quiet determination and endless support, could stab us in the back stings like a hornet. It’s absurd, unthinkable. Yet, the seed of doubt once planted is not so easily uprooted. I suppose she’s as close to us as anyone. She could have gotten access…
“She’s asked for a raise, and we’ve not given it,” Austin presses, eyes searching mine for the lie he thinks he’ll find.
“Stop it,” I snap, anger boiling over. “She wouldn’t. Not ever.”
Across from me, Theo shifts uncomfortably, his gaze fixed on some invisible point between us. “She did ask about having a stake in the company…” His words hang awkwardly, a half-hearted attempt to rationalize the mistrust.
“Enough!” My fist hammers the table, the sound echoing off the walls.
Quiet descends once more, broken only by the shuffle of paper as Rhys leans over the schematics sprawled across the table. His finger traces the lines, pausing here and there, his brow furrowed in thought. The tension lingers like a bad aftertaste, but I watch him, hoping for a distraction, any lifeline.
“Guys,” he finally says, “these… These are old.” He points to a trio of modifications on the battery design. “Look, we improved this section, reduced the sodium cells, remember?” There’s a hopeful note in his voice that seizes my attention.
“Are you sure?” I lean in, examining the areas he indicates. Recognition dawns; he’s right. These plans are ancient history, relics of our early trials and original design.
“We made changes here and here not long after we got here almost a year ago,” Rhys continues, a touch of relief smoothing the lines of worry on his face.
A collective exhale fills the room, the pressure easing slightly. These outdated plans, while valuable, don’t hold the key to our current innovations. We’re vulnerable, yes, but not fatally wounded.
“Okay, so it’s a setback, not a death sentence,” I concede, allowing myself a sliver of hope. We have a chance to tighten our defenses, protect what’s truly important—the future we’ve yet to build.
“Who would have a copy of these plans?” Mason asks. “The fact that your intellectual property is out there is a concern.”
“We showed these plans to all the venture capitalists we presented to, as well as some of our professors and their teaching assistants in addition to the five of us,” I report, thinking carefully. “Oh, and Turner Bishop too.”
“Can you put the list together and send that over to us?” Mason says. “I’d like to send it to Clear Security to have them do some checking on anyone who had access.”
“Sure.” I nod. “Not a problem.” I don’t know that we have all that information. I feel ready to vomit.
I slump into my chair, fuming silently as the murmurs of suspicion still buzz around us like persistent flies. Crystal’s name has been unfairly dragged through the mud, a scapegoat for our collective paranoia. It’s ludicrous; she’s the backbone of this operation in ways none of us can quantify. I glance toward the office, picturing her empty desk, cluttered with invoices and quotes she’s meticulously compiled to save us a fortune. She’s probably running errands for us right now. If we had to cough up her true worth in wages, EnergiFusion would bleed out.
“Look, guys,” Mason says, fixing each of us with a stern gaze. “You’ve done well as a team, but it’s time to specialize. You need structure, to be better organized. You can continue to make decisions together and equally, but we need to identify roles.”
The room falls silent. We’ve prided ourselves on having equal footing, making decisions as a unit. But Mason’s right—our ship needs clear captains, not just a crew shouting directions.
“Let’s hash it out, then,” I say. We all have our strengths and areas of expertise, but the idea of singling out responsibilities is alien.
We debate, argue, and finally, begrudgingly, agree. Each of us wants the top spot. But it comes together. Theo, whose organizational skills have always kept us afloat, will manage operations. Austin, with his knack for tech, becomes head of technology.
Rhys clears his throat, drawing our attention. “I’m not sure about handling finances,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I can keep my bank accounts from overdrafting, but…”
“Rhys, you’re sharp,” I assure him, though my confidence in his financial acumen is as wobbly as his own. “We’ll figure it out together.”
So that leaves me. I take on the mantle of CEO, a title that seems both empowering and terrifying.
At the end of our discussion, Mason nods, seeming satisfied with our makeshift division of labor. This new way of working settles on my shoulders like a lead cloak. This is uncharted territory for all of us, but we have to navigate it if we want to keep our dream—and our control of it—alive.
The office is silent now, save for the hum of our prototype battery in the corner. Mason’s gaze sweeps over us, expectant. “So…” He folds his hands on the conference table. “How soon can we resolve the charge-retention issue? It’s been a year. You’ve used more money than we expected by this point. Yes, you’ve worked hard to keep your salary expenses low, but there have been lab costs and a whole lot of supplies. SHN now owns about fifteen percent of EnergiFusion, and we’ve let you retain full control, but maybe it’s time for a different approach. What are you thinking?”
We exchange glances, each of us likely hoping someone else has a timeline to offer. None of us does. It’s like admitting to a room full of doctors that you can’t find the heartbeat.
“Still working on it,” I mutter, but it seems like I’m confessing a sin.
Cameron leans forward, the light catching on his glasses. “Have you guys heard of Fraser Lamb?” At the mention of this Silicon Valley electrical engineering legend, a spark of recognition lights up the room. “He might be interested in helping…for a price.”
A piece of the business, a slice of our dream, in exchange for a solution. The words hang heavy, and a ripple of tension passes through my partners.
“Let’s talk this over,” Theo suggests, eyeing the plans scattered across the table. “Offsite.”
Mason nods and stands. “Talk it over. But you’ve been dealing with this same issue for over a year. We’ll either need to figure it out or shut you down.”
Austin gasps. The pressure has been mostly on him as the expert in chemical and electrical engineering. But there’s no shame in needing some help…right?
We all shake hands, and Mason and Cameron head out, leaving us with a big decision to make.
We return to our office to gather our things, and Crystal returns just as we’re headed out. “Where did you go?” I ask her.
She holds up a ream of paper. “We need it for the marketing materials.”
“We’re heading over to Bourbon and Branch to talk after our meeting with SHN.”
“Do you want me to join you?”
I lean in and kiss her forehead. “I know you have plans, and we’re just going to talk. SHN found a copy of our early plans on the dark web, so we need to sort that out.” I pause, but there’s no need to worry her with the ultimatum SHN has given us. “Can you compile a list of people who would have had access to the plans before we graduated? I’m thinking the TAs, the venture capitalists we met, and anyone else you can think of?”
“Sure.” She gives me a quick kiss. “See you back at the apartment.”
The four of us take a rideshare the ten blocks to Bourbon and Branch, and after giving the password, we enter. The speakeasy is dimly lit, a stark contrast to the brightness of our incubator. An hour later, we’re huddled into a high-backed booth, drinks in hand, the weight of potential failure pressing us into the leather seats.
“Fraser’s good,” Austin says, sipping his whiskey. “But are we ready to cut him in?”
“Only if he delivers,” Rhys adds, his brow furrowed. He’s already calculating the risks, I can tell.
I turn my beer bottle in my hands, watching the condensation trail down the glass. “If he solves the problem, it’ll be worth it.” I know that to be true. “SHN’s money is no good to us if we can’t finish what we’ve started. And they’ll own everything outright if we have to walk away.”
“Agreed.” Theo nods decisively. “We pay him for his time, but a share of the company comes only with success.”
“Success…” I echo, tasting the word. It’s bittersweet, lined with compromise but laced with hope. “It’s been a year, so maybe another perspective is what we need.”
We lift our glasses in toast. We need Fraser Lamb to bridge the gap between vision and reality, even if it means sharing a piece of our future.
“Here’s to solving the unsolvable.” I salute them with my bottle, meeting each of their eyes. They nod.
“Here’s to EnergiFusion,” they chorus back.
For a moment, the burden is lighter among us, diluted by camaraderie and alcohol. But as the night deepens, I know the real work is just beginning.
A little while later, I’ve traded my beer for whiskey, which leaves a warm trail down my throat as I set down my glass. The conversation takes a turn, the weight of business decisions giving way to the personal.
“Speaking of hard work,” Theo muses, swirling his drink, “what’s Crystal up to tonight?”
I smile at the mention of her name. It comes so naturally. “She’s out with Teagan. Some much-needed girl time.” Leaning back, I feel a mix of pride and guilt. “You know, she got us fifteen quotes on aluminum providers earlier today. She’s grinding for barely more than minimum wage.”
Across the table, the guys exchange glances. “That’s dedication,” Austin acknowledges, tipping his glass to her efforts. “But she still doesn’t contribute to rent, and Theo is still sleeping on the couch. Not to mention, when was the last time she paid for her own drinks? She’s compensated out of our pockets.”
“Yeah,” Rhys agrees, his voice softer than usual. “We owe her our appreciation, but she’s paid well.”
Paid well? Hardly. Maybe by Atlanta numbers, but she can’t even afford to move out. We’ve talked about this. Why can’t they understand? I guess everyone is caught up in how little money we have and how meager our salaries are, compared to so many in Silicon Valley. But those others have made it, and we haven’t yet, and Crystal is helping us get there. She deserves more.
A contemplative silence settles over our booth, but then Theo, ever the instigator, nudges the conversation forward. “So, Mr. CEO,” he says with an impish glint, “you and Crystal have almost hit the one-year mark. Got any plans?”
There’s an anticipatory pause, as if the very walls are leaning in to listen. I take a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about it,” I tell them, my heartbeat accelerating at the confession. “I’m considering proposing, actually.”
“Proposing?” Rhys chortles, his skepticism thinly veiled. “That’s one way to shut down her share-of-the-company spiel.”
“Rhys…” I warn, the edge in my voice sharper than I intended. But what he’s said holds a kernel of truth. Crystal has been vocal about her concerns, her ambitions—and if I’m honest with myself, it complicates things.
“Easy, man. Just poking fun,” Rhys says, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. But his words linger.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the doubt. “Let’s have another round,” I suggest, signaling the bartender. “And here’s to taking risks—for EnergiFusion, for love, for everything in between.”
Glasses clink, and a new resolve settles in my chest. We’re going to find a way forward for EnergiFusion, and I’ll talk to Crystal soon, lay bare my hopes and fears once and for all.
After our walk home, the click of the lock echoes through the hollow space as I step into the apartment first. It’s quiet—too quiet—and I can tell immediately that Crystal’s not here, leaving me with a blend of longing and concern. She’s rarely out without me—or maybe Theo—and though I know she’s with Teagan, the emptiness remains striking.
“Hey, you okay?” Theo asks.
I turn to find the guys behind me, their forms just shadows against the backdrop of the night. “Yeah,” I reply. I toss my keys on the small table by the door and shrug off my jacket, hanging it over the back of a chair. My gaze drifts to the couch, to the spot where Crystal usually curls up with her laptop, chasing down leads or comparing prices for whatever we need.
I can almost picture her there, her focus absolute, her brow furrowed in concentration. The urge to call her, to have her tell me about her night, surges within me. But I force it down, knowing she deserves her time with Teagan, her momentary escape from the relentless pace we’ve all been keeping.
“Let’s fire up the gaming console,” suggests Austin, patting me on the shoulder. He knows, they all know, how much I miss her when she’s not around.
“Sure,” I say, allowing myself to be led toward the entertainment center. Rhys is already scrolling through the game library. I settle on the couch, grabbing a controller. The familiar weight of it in my hands grounds me, brings me back to countless nights spent like this. We choose a game, something cooperative, something that demands less of our frayed nerves and more of our ability to function as a unit.
But as the game loads, I can’t shake the image of Crystal from my mind—the way her eyes light up when she talks about finding a better deal, the pride in her voice when she saves the company money. It stings, knowing that earlier I let suspicion tarnish my trust in her, even if only for a moment. And it stings more to know my partners are the source of that suspicion.
“First round’s on Justin,” Rhys declares, breaking into my thoughts with a lopsided grin.
“Deal,” I agree because, despite everything, these moments with the guys are important too. They’re the fabric of EnergiFusion, of this life we’re building. I pull my phone from my pocket and order some Scofflaw IPA—a beer from Atlanta—for delivery.
We play, we laugh, and we lose track of time. But through it all, I hold on to the warmth of Crystal’s smile, the unwavering support she’s given me, given all of us.
I resolve all over again to make things right, to show her in no uncertain terms how much she means to me, and to all of us.