Chapter 7 - The Mentor’s GambitThe executive conference room on the top floor of the university’s medical research wing smelled of old leather, polished mahogany, and high-stakes tension.
Through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, the city sprawled out beneath us under a clearing sky. Seated around the long conference table were three members of the university’s board of regents, Marcus Vance sitting calmly to my right with a thick leather binder of forensic digital audits, and at the head of the table, Dr. Harrison Thorne.
My former mentor looked older than I remembered, his silver hair neatly combed, his sharp eyes fixed squarely on the digital projection screen at the front of the room.
On the screen was the exact metadata trail of the patent modification timestamped at 2:45 PM the previous day—originating from an IP address inside West End Biotech, listing Sophia Lane as lead inventor, with Ethan Sterling’s digital cryptographic signature authorizing the transfer.
"The evidence is clean, Dr. Vance," one of the regents, a stern-faced woman named Dean Holloway, said quietly. "If this patent was filed without the institutional review board's dual sign-off, and specifically without Dr. Claire Montgomery’s primary consent as lead investigator, it constitutes a severe federal grant violation."
"It does more than that, Dean Holloway," Marcus spoke up, his voice smooth and authoritative. "It constitutes deliberate intellectual property fraud designed to misappropriate a twelve-million-dollar commercial acquisition by Meridian Health Ventures—an entity in which Dr. Ethan Sterling’s family trust holds a silent equity position."
A murmur rippled through the room.
Harrison Thorne leaned forward, resting his elbows on the polished mahogany table. He looked across the room at me, his expression a mix of paternal pride and grim satisfaction.
"Thank you, Marcus," Harrison said, his voice deep and resonant. He turned his gaze toward the double doors at the back of the conference room. "And I believe our remaining parties have arrived just in time for the conclusion of the preliminary review."
The heavy oak doors swung open.
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Ethan walked into the room, flanked by a nervous-looking corporate defense attorney he must have pulled out of bed with a retainer check. Behind them, shrinking into the shadows of the doorway, walked Sophia Lane, her face pale, clutching a designer leather folder to her chest like a shield.
Ethan stopped short when he saw the faces seated around the table. His eyes locked onto mine, widening with sudden, visceral horror as he realized the sheer scale of the trap he had walked into.
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