Chapter 30
Logan
The simulation has been running for six hours without a single anomaly.
I keep waiting for something to break. In my experience, when things are going this well, catastrophe is usually warming up in the wings.
But the edge computing architecture is holding.
Every test we throw at it—signal interference, hardware stress, even the simulated seizure events—the system handles without faltering.
“Stop staring at it like it’s going to explode,” Audrey says from her workstation.
“I’m not staring. I’m monitoring.”
“You’re hovering.” She rolls her chair over to look at my screen. “The encryption handoffs are clean. The processing latency is within acceptable parameters. Logan, it’s working.”
“For now.”
“For the past six hours. And the six hours before that. And the overnight run before that.” She bumps her shoulder against mine. “At some point, you’re going to have to accept that we might actually pull this off.”
She’s right. The numbers don’t lie. We’ve solved the security problem—really solved it, not just patched it.
The edge computing approach means sensitive data never leaves the device.
There’s nothing to breach because there’s nothing centralized to target.
It’s elegant in a way that makes me want to print out the architecture diagrams and frame them.
Not that I would. That would be weird.
“I’ll accept it when the FDA accepts it,” I say. “Until then, I’m cautiously optimistic.”
“Cautiously optimistic?” She grins. “From you, that’s practically cartwheels.”
We work in comfortable silence for a while—or mostly silence. Every few minutes, Audrey glances at the simulation metrics, even though the data streams directly to her workstation. She can’t help it. Neither can I.
This is one of my favorite things about her—she doesn’t need to fill every moment with conversation.
She understands that sometimes the best way to be together is to simply exist in the same space, each focused on our own tasks but connected by proximity.
Even if ‘focused’ means compulsively checking the same numbers we checked five minutes ago.
We’re both disasters. Highly functional disasters. But with only a week left until our submission deadline, we need everything to go perfectly.
My phone buzzes. I glance at the screen and feel my stomach tighten.
Mother.
I could ignore it. I’ve ignored her calls before—usually when I’m in the middle of something important, which is most of the time. But something about today makes me want to deal with it. Get it over with. Close the loop.
“It’s my mother,” I tell Audrey.
Her expression shifts to concern. “Do you want privacy?”
“No. Stay.” I’m not sure why I say it, but it feels right. I don’t want to hide this part of my life from her anymore. “It’ll be quick.”
I answer the call. “Mother.”
“Logan.” Her voice is clipped, the way it gets when she’s been inconvenienced. “I’ve been trying to reach your brother.”
“I don’t have a brother.”
“Dominic. Your friend, who seems to think he has the authority to make decisions about our family’s finances.”
Ah. So that’s what this is about.
“What specifically is the problem?” I keep my voice neutral. Flat. The same tone I’d use discussing server maintenance.
“He’s frozen the travel account. Your father and I were supposed to fly to St. Barts next week, and the card was declined. Declined, Logan. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?”
“I can imagine.”
“This is unacceptable. I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but—”
“I think I’m protecting my assets.” The words come out calm. Almost bored. “The travel account was funded through a trust I control. Dominic manages that trust at my direction. If he’s frozen the account, it’s because I asked him to review all discretionary expenditures.”
Silence on the other end. I can picture her face—the pinched expression she gets when things don’t go according to her plan.
“You asked him to,” she repeats slowly.
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t think to discuss this with us first?”
“No.”
Another silence. Longer this time.
“Logan, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but this behavior is—”
“Appropriate,” I finish for her. “This behavior is appropriate. I dug you out of a financial hole you created without a modicum of thanks. Then you used my money to fund a lifestyle that included treating the woman I love like she was something you scraped off your shoe. That has consequences.”
I feel Audrey’s eyes on me, but I don’t look at her. I keep my gaze fixed on the simulation data scrolling across my screen. Numbers are easier than emotions. They always have been.
“That woman,” my mother says, and the disdain in her voice is palpable, “is not suitable for someone of your—”
“Stop.”
The word comes out as a growl.
“I’m going to say this once, and I need you to actually hear it.
” I take a breath. “Audrey is the person I’m going to spend my life with.
That’s not a discussion. That’s not something you get to have an opinion on.
It’s a fact, like gravity or the speed of light.
You can accept it or not. I genuinely don’t care which. ”
“Logan—”
“What I do care about is how you treat her. And based on your performance at dinner, you’ve lost the privilege of being in the same room with her until you can demonstrate basic human decency.
” I pause. “The travel account will remain frozen until further notice, and the only property you’ll have access to is Barrington Hills.
If you have concerns about your financial situation, I suggest you discuss them with Father.
His income should be more than sufficient for your immediate needs. ”
“This is absurd. You can’t just—”
“I can. I am. Goodbye, Mother.”
I end the call.
The lab is very quiet. The simulation continues its steady scroll of data—green indicators, stable metrics, everything functioning exactly as designed. My hands are shaking slightly. I flatten them against the desk.
“Logan.” Audrey’s voice is soft. She’s standing next to me now, though I didn’t hear her move. “Are you OK?”
I consider the question. Run a quick diagnostic on my emotional state.
“Yes,” I say, and I’m surprised to find it’s true. “I think I am.”
The old voice is there—faint, familiar—whispering that I’ve just destroyed whatever thin thread of connection remained with my parents. That I’ll regret this. That I’m not the kind of person who gets to set boundaries and have them respected.
But I shove it down. I don’t have to live by that old programming anymore.
“That was...” Audrey shakes her head. “I don’t even know what to say. You just—”
“Set a boundary.” I swivel my chair to face her. “Apparently that’s something I’m capable of now. The data was inconclusive before, but I think we can confirm it.”
She laughs—a wet sound, as if she might be close to tears. “You absolute weirdo. I love you so much.”
“I love you too.” The words come easier now than they used to. Practice helps. “And I meant what I said. All of it.”
“The part about spending your life with me?”
“Especially that part.” I reach for her hand. “Although I should clarify—I have a plan. For making that official. There are spreadsheets involved. I just need to optimize a few more variables before—”
She kisses me, which effectively ends the sentence. That’s fine. I wasn’t sure where it was going, anyway.
When she pulls back, her eyes are bright. “Spreadsheets?”
“Seventeen tabs. Dominic says that’s excessive, but he doesn’t understand the importance of comprehensive planning.”
“Of course he doesn’t.” She’s smiling now—that smile that makes my chest do strange things. “I can’t wait to see them.”
“You’re not supposed to see them. They’re confidential.”
“Logan, you just told your mother you’re going to spend your life with me. I think we’re past confidential.”
She has a point. I’ll need to recalibrate my information security protocols.
“Fine,” I concede. “But only the summary sheet. The detailed analysis is—”
My computer beeps. We both look at the screen.
SIMULATION COMPLETE. ALL PARAMETERS WITHIN ACCEPTABLE RANGE. RECOMMEND PROCEEDING TO FINAL VALIDATION PHASE.
Audrey squeezes my hand. “Looks like we’re not the only thing that’s working.”
I stare at the green text, letting it sink in. We did it. The security architecture is solid. The edge computing solution is viable. After months of setbacks and near-disasters, we’re actually going to make this work.
“Final validation,” I say. “Then FDA submission.”
“Then we change people’s lives.”
“Assuming nothing breaks between now and then.” The words come out before I can stop them—old habit, bracing for disaster.
“Logan.”
“I know. It’s working. It’s just...” I gesture at the green indicators. “This is simulation data. Controlled conditions. The real test is production—actual patients, actual hospitals, actual load. We won’t know if the architecture holds until it has to.”
“Then we’ll handle it if something breaks.” She says it like it’s simple. Maybe it is.
I look at her—this woman who walked into my life and rewired everything I thought I knew about connection and capability and what I deserved. The woman who saw through my awkwardness to something worth keeping. The woman who, against all statistical probability, chose me.
“We already have,” I tell her. “At least mine.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s blushing. “That was cheesy.”
“The data supports it.”
“Your data is biased.”
“All data is biased. The question is whether the bias points toward truth.” I pull her closer. “In this case, it does.”
My phone buzzes again. I glance at the screen.
Dominic:
Your mother just called me seventeen times in a row. I’m guessing you two had that conversation?
I type back.
Me:
It’s handled. Thanks for the assist.
Dominic:
Anytime. That’s what family’s for.
I stare at the word for a moment. Family.
Not the people who share my DNA and treat obligation like a transaction. Not the parents who outsourced my childhood and criticized everything I became.
Family is Dominic managing my trusts and fielding angry phone calls.
Family is David letting me crash his office to talk about things I couldn’t say to anyone else.
Family is Bennett giving me a place where my brain wasn’t a liability.
Family is Caleb making terrible jokes until I accidentally laugh.
Family is Audrey, steady and brilliant and inexplicably mine.
I put the phone down and turn back to the simulation data. There’s still work to do—final validation, documentation, the submission package for the FDA. But for the first time in months, it feels manageable. Like a success we can actually achieve.
“Ready to run the next phase?” Audrey asks.
“Ready.”
She initiates the sequence. I watch the data begin to flow—green lights across the board, systems functioning, everything exactly as it should be.
My phone buzzes. I glance at it without picking up.
Mother. Again.
Audrey raises an eyebrow. “Round two?”
“She can leave a voicemail.” I silence the phone and turn back to the monitor. “I have more important things to watch.”
“Such as?”
“You.” I keep my eyes on the screen, but I sense her smile. “Also, the simulation. But mostly you.”
“Still cheesy.”
“The data still supports it.”
She throws a pen at my head. I catch it without looking.
“Show-off,” she says, but she’s laughing, and the simulation keeps running, and my phone keeps buzzing, and I don’t answer.
I don’t have to anymore.