Chapter 24
Chapter
Twenty-Four
THERESA
The morning sun slanted through the blinds of my office. I’d been here all night, fueled by an unholy mixture of desperation and coffee. The evidence Patrick had gained lay spread before me—damning proof of Arthur’s conspiracy with Axiom Ventures to strip CarideoTech for parts.
I ran my fingers over the edge of a revealing email from Arthur to QuantumTech, promising them our glucose monitoring patents at a bargain price once they’d completed their takeover. My stomach churned.
And yet...
I leaned back in my chair, the leather creaking in protest. The same nagging thought surfaced again: it might not be enough.
Even if I exposed Arthur as the duplicitous snake he was, even if I showed the board exactly how he’d plotted for eighteen months to destroy everything Marco and I had built, they still might vote to sell.
Fear is a powerful motivator, and nothing scares investors like uncertainty.
Arthur’s offer—likely with a low evaluation—would at least give them something.
A bird in hand versus the promise of a flock in the bush.
I needed more than proof of Arthur’s crimes. I needed an alternative.
Marco would’ve come up with a plan. He always had a plan, a vision, an angle. He could charm investors with nothing but a prototype and a smile. He made people believe.
I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my fingertips against my temples. Think, Theresa. What would Marco do?
He’d find another investor. Someone who could outbid Arthur. Someone who believed in our mission, not just the profit potential.
My eyes flew open.
Leonard Ashley.
The name materialized in my mind like a life raft in a storm. Leonard Ashley, the investor we’d met in Aspen just before Marco died. The one who’d been ready to commit thirty million before everything fell apart.
Arthur had told me Ashley had backed out after Marco’s death. He’d been so matter-of-fact about it, so regretful. “These things happen, Theresa. Without Marco, he’s lost confidence in the vision.”
But had he? Or was that just another of Arthur’s lies?
I straightened in my chair, my heart speeding up. Ashley had been interested in our technology—genuinely interested—but it was the technical details that had sealed the deal. The regulatory strategy. The market positioning. The stuff I’d provided.
If Ashley had been willing to invest thirty million for a minority stake before, maybe he still would. Maybe he just needed to hear from me.
My finger hovered over the intercom. This was a Hail Mary, a desperate shot in the dark. Ashley was notoriously picky about his investments, and Arthur had had months to poison that well. But what choice did I have?
I pressed the button.
“Lisa, I need you to get me a meeting with Leonard Ashley. Today.”
A moment’s silence, then Lisa’s voice, tinged with surprise but steady: “The venture capitalist?”
“Yes. Tell him it’s a matter of national security...” I paused, then added, “and his own bottom line.”
“I’ll do my best,” Lisa replied, and I heard the determined click of her keyboard through the intercom.
“And Lisa?”
“Yes?”
“If he says no, call back. Keep calling until he says yes.”
I released the button and leaned back, my mind already assembling my strategy. This was my last shot. If I could get Ashley back on board, if I could secure a counteroffer better than Arthur’s, the board would have to listen.
They’d have to see that I was CarideoTech’s future.
Six hours later, I sat in Leonard Ashley’s sleek office, perched on the edge of an ergonomic chair. The room screamed money—not the gaudy, look-at-me wealth of nouveau riche tech bros, but the quiet, confident affluence of old money that had multiplied through shrewd investments.
Ashley himself was just as I remembered him—fit, tanned, with distinguished gray hair and sharp blue eyes that assessed everything. He’d greeted me with polite surprise, as if I were an interesting specimen that had unexpectedly appeared under his microscope.
“Mrs. Carideo,” he said, settling into his chair. “I have to say, your assistant is remarkably persistent. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
I smiled tightly. “Lisa understands the stakes.”
“Which are?” One eyebrow lifted slightly.
“The future of CarideoTech. And about thirty million dollars in potential profit for you.”
Ashley’s mouth quirked at one corner—not quite a smile, but close. “That’s a bold claim.”
“I’ve never been accused of understatement.”
I’d spent the drive rehearsing my pitch, distilling months of struggle into a clean, compelling narrative.
Now I launched into it, laying out CarideoTech’s progress since Aspen—the successful clinical trials, the regulatory pathway, the market research showing massive demand.
I walked him through the MacLeod partnership that would give us access to European markets once the joint venture got approved, the technical improvements we’d made to the glucose monitoring system, and the patent portfolio we’d built.
I was good. Really good. The kind of good that comes from fighting for your life every day for months on end.
Ashley listened attentively, his face giving nothing away. When I finished, he leaned back, tapping a finger on his desk.
“That’s impressive progress, Theresa. Especially given the circumstances.”
I nodded once, acknowledging the unspoken reference to Marco’s death.
“So,” I said, “I’m offering you the same deal we discussed in Aspen. Thirty million for a twenty-five percent stake. Pre-money valuation of 120 million.”
Ashley’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s a steep price for a company currently in the middle of what appears to be a leadership crisis.”
“There’s no crisis,” I said firmly. “Just a CFO who’s attempting a hostile takeover by creating the illusion of a crisis.”
“Arthur Vance.”
So he’d done his homework. Or Arthur had already been in touch. My stomach tightened, but I kept my face neutral.
“Yes. Arthur has been working with Axiom Ventures. They plan to strip CarideoTech of its parts. They plan to sell our patent to QuantumTech, who will bury it to protect their inferior insulin pump business.”
Ashley’s face remained impassive, yet a spark ignited in his gaze. Perhaps it was curiosity or maybe doubt.
“That’s a serious accusation.”
“I have evidence.” I gestured toward my bag, where the document lay tucked inside.
He cast a look toward it but made no move. “And you’re sharing this with me because...?”
“Because Arthur is presenting Axiom’s offer to the board on Thursday afternoon.
If they accept, Axiom gets control, and our technology disappears into QuantumTech’s vault.
Millions of diabetics lose access to a system that could transform their care.
” I leaned forward, locking eyes with him.
“And you lose the opportunity to get in on what will be the most significant advance in diabetes management in decades.”
Ashley studied me for a long moment, his expression calculating. Then he sighed.
“Theresa, your pitch is great. The technology is impressive. But thirty million is a lot to risk on a company in this much turmoil. I need to see proof of stability... at least over a year.”
The words crashed into me. He was buying time. The board would convene in two days. A year? I barely had forty-eight hours left before everything burned to the ground.
“Mr. Ashley—”
He held up a hand. “I’m sorry, Theresa. The timing just isn’t right. Come back to me once things have settled, and we can revisit.”
I knew a dismissal when I heard one. My last hope evaporated like morning dew under a merciless sun. I stood, gathering my materials with hands that felt numb.
“Thank you for your time,” I said, my voice hollow even to my own ears.
Ashley rose as well, extending his hand. “I truly am sorry about Marco. He was a visionary.”
I shook his hand automatically, turned to leave, but halfway to the door I stopped, struck by a sudden, dangerous impulse. This was my last shot. If it failed, I’d be in no worse position than I was now.
I turned back to face Ashley, who had already settled behind his desk again, attention returning to his computer screen.
“Leonard,” I said, my voice steady despite the thundering of my heart. “Just one question. If I had been the one who died in that avalanche, and Marco was standing here right now... would your answer be the same?”
Ashley’s head snapped up, his eyes widening in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“It’s a simple question.” I took a step back toward his desk. “If Marco were here instead of me, would you be telling him to wait a year?”
A flush crept up Ashley’s neck. “That’s not—”
“We both know my contribution to this tech was at least half,” I continued, the words tumbling out now, driven by months of frustration and grief and rage.
“We both know I was the one who answered your technical questions in Aspen. I was the one who laid out the regulatory strategy that convinced you this wasn’t just a pipe dream. ”
Ashley’s face hardened, the flush deepening. “Mrs. Carideo—”
“But you’re telling me to wait a year.” I met his gaze steadily. “I’m asking you to consider whether you’d be saying the same thing to my husband if our positions were reversed.”
Ashley’s jaw tightened. He glanced pointedly at his watch. “Thank you for coming, Theresa.”
The dismissal was crystal clear. I’d blown it. I’d insulted him, questioned his motives, and now I’d lost any chance of securing his investment.
“Good luck with your board meeting,” Ashley added, his tone making it clear he considered the conversation over.
The drive back to San Jose disappeared in a haze of dead-end math. I’d bet my entire future on Ashley and crashed spectacularly. The board would vote in two days, and without something to counter Arthur’s offer, they’d take his deal without blinking.
Sure, I had proof Arthur was corrupt to his core, but I’d come upon it illegally. Completely useless in a courtroom, and potentially suicidal in a boardroom.
Game over.
As I drove home, I thought of Patrick, of how he’d risked so much to help me fight this battle. I’d have to tell him I’d failed. That his cousin’s illegal intel, his support, his faith in me—none of it had been enough.
I pulled into my driveway just as a pizza delivery car was leaving.
Inside, Rome and Paris were arguing over the breadsticks, Austin was setting the table, and Aspen was finger-painting with what looked like marinara sauce.
Michael stood in the middle of it all, a human buffer zone preventing total anarchy.
“Mommy!” Paris abandoned the breadstick dispute to launch herself at my legs.
I knelt to hug her, breathing in the sweet-sweaty scent of her hair, feeling the solid warmth of her little body against mine. This was real. This mattered. Whatever happened with the company, I still had this—my family.
“How’d it go?” Michael asked as I moved to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine.
I shook my head slightly. “Not great.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Later,” I said, forcing a smile. “Right now, I just want to have dinner with my kids.”
And so, we did. I listened to Rome’s elaborate retelling of a playground adventure involving a missing shoe and what may or may not have been a small earthquake.
I helped Austin with a math problem that had stumped him.
I wiped sauce from Aspen’s face and hands, marveling at how she’d managed to get it behind her ears.
Through it all, the board meeting loomed in my mind like a guillotine, the blade suspended, ready to fall.
After the kids were in bed, I retreated to my office now, though I still thought of it as his. I poured another glass of wine and sat in the dark, watching the moon rise over the hills.
The phone on the desk rang, its sharp sound cutting through the silence. I knew who it was before I picked it up.
“Hi,” Patrick said, his Scottish accent warm and familiar. “How did it go with Ashley?”
I closed my eyes, not ready to say the words aloud. But I did. “He said no. Said to come back in a year when things are ‘more stable.’”
Patrick’s exhale was audible across the line, a sound of frustration and disappointment that mirrored my own. “Shite. I’m sorry, Theresa. I really am.”
“So am I,” I said.
“Do you want me to come over? I can be there in twenty minutes.”
The offer was tempting—the thought of not being alone with my failure, of having someone real beside me in the dark. But what would be the point? There was nothing he could do, nothing anyone could do now.
“Not tonight,” I said. “I need to think.”
“You’ll find another way,” Patrick said, his voice steady with conviction. “I know it.”
His faith in me was touching, but it felt heavy tonight. After we said goodnight and I hung up the phone, I took another sip of wine, letting the silence of the house settle around me.
I’d tried everything. I’d played by the rules, I’d played the grieving widow, and I’d even tried playing the ruthless CEO. None of it had worked.
I picked up the illegal file Patrick had given me. The pages felt heavy in my hand, heavier than paper had any right to be. This was all I had left. It was a weapon that might destroy me as surely as it destroyed Arthur, but it was the only weapon in the room. And I couldn’t use it.
I looked at the photo of Marco on the desk, his smile frozen in time, full of optimism I no longer possessed.
“I tried, Marco,” I whispered to the empty room. “I tried to do it.”