Chapter 7 - THE SECRET BURIED IN MY SISTER'S SUCCESS“GWEN, DID YOU USE MY COMPANY'S CONFIDENTIAL DATA WITHOUT PERMISSION?”
I never expected to ask my sister that question.
But forty-eight hours after the accident, the possibility was sitting directly in front of me.
Daniel had obtained a copy of the public research presentation associated with Gwen's doctoral work.
He wasn't accusing her of academic misconduct.
Neither was I.
We were trying to determine whether materials owned by Meridian had been shared or used without proper authorization.
That distinction mattered.
Gwen had spent years earning her degree.
Whatever she had done to me, I wouldn't invent a scandal to punish her.
But if confidential company information had been improperly disclosed, I had a responsibility to protect our employees, customers, and hospital partners.
Daniel and I reviewed the documents through a secure video call.
Several charts looked familiar.
Not because the results were identical to ours.
But because their structure and underlying methodology resembled internal analyses Meridian had developed.
Some could have originated from public information.
Others appeared to reference operational measurements that normally required access to private hospital data.
“Can we identify the source?” I asked.
“Our security and compliance teams are reviewing it,” Daniel answered. “We need to be careful. Patient information, hospital agreements, and research permissions are all involved.”
“Have we found evidence that Gwen accessed our systems?”
“Not directly.”
“Then don't assume she did.”
Daniel nodded.
“There is something else.”
He opened an email.
Michael Trent, our product strategy director, had attended an industry networking event six months earlier.
Gwen had been there.
So had representatives from Westbridge.
“Michael says Gwen asked him questions about our platform,” Daniel explained.
“That's not unusual.”
“No. But he also acknowledged sharing an older presentation that he believed contained only approved marketing information.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“Was he authorized to share it?”
“Not that version.”
The situation was becoming more complicated.
Michael might have made an error without malicious intent.
Gwen might have received materials she didn't realize were restricted.
Westbridge might have been unaware of any problem.
Or the facts might reveal something more serious.
I refused to jump to conclusions.
“Bring in outside counsel who specializes in data protection,” I said. “Preserve the records. And make sure nobody conducts a personal investigation into Gwen through company systems.”
Daniel nodded.
“You're handling this better than I expected.”
I looked at him.
“I'm angry enough to make bad decisions. That's exactly why I need people around me who won't let me.”
He smiled slightly.
“That's why you hired me.”
After the call, I returned to Poppy's room.
She was having a difficult morning.
The physical therapist had helped her sit more upright with appropriate support.
It was exhausting.
Poppy had expected herself to be stronger.
When she couldn't do something she remembered doing easily before the accident, she became frustrated.
“I hate this!”
Her voice cracked.
Olivia remained calm.
“That's okay.”
“No, it isn't!”
Poppy looked at me.
“Mom, I used to do cartwheels. Now I can't even sit up without help!”
I moved closer.
“I know, baby.”
“It's not fair!”
“No,” I said. “It isn't.”
For a moment, she looked surprised.
Adults had spent days telling her to be patient and positive.
Perhaps she expected me to do the same.
Instead, I sat beside her.
“You're allowed to hate what happened.”
Poppy's eyes filled with tears.
“I want my old legs back.”
I took her hand.
“I wish I could give them back to you.”
She began crying.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just the exhausted tears of a child who had discovered that life could change without warning.
I held her as carefully as her medical restrictions allowed.
And I didn't tell her everything would be fine.
I told her I loved her.
Again and again.
When she finally calmed down, Olivia asked whether Poppy wanted to stop for the day.
Poppy looked at the therapist.
Then at me.
“Can we try one more little thing?”
Olivia smiled.
“We can.”
That afternoon, the team helped Poppy practice a short, supported sitting activity.
She lasted only a little longer than before.
But when she finished, she smiled.
“Did I do better?”
“You worked hard,” Olivia answered. “That's what matters.”
I wanted to frame that moment.
Not because Poppy had accomplished something extraordinary.
But because she was learning that progress wasn't always dramatic.
Sometimes courage looked like trying again after crying.
At 5:30 p.m., Vanessa called.
She had received a response from the lender's legal department.
The larger financing application remained suspended.
The lender was also reviewing the earlier guarantee and the identity-verification procedures.
But another development concerned her.
“Brooke, your father has retained counsel.”
“Good,” I answered. “Then we can handle this properly.”
“He's also making allegations against you.”
I sat down.
“What kind?”
“He claims the financial support you've provided over the years was part of an informal business arrangement.”
I frowned.
“That's ridiculous.”
“According to his attorney, your father believes he's entitled to compensation for helping you establish Meridian.”
I stared at the wall.
“My father laughed at me when I started Meridian.”
“Do you have records from that period?”
“Every incorporation document. Every investor agreement. Every early payroll record.”
“Excellent.”
I thought of those difficult early years.
I had built the first version of Meridian's software on a secondhand computer while Poppy slept beside me.
My father hadn't invested a dollar.
He hadn't attended a single meeting.
He had told relatives that my business was a hobby.
And now he apparently wanted to claim a share of it.
“How much does he want?” I asked.
Vanessa paused.
“His attorney's letter alleges that your parents are entitled to twenty-five percent of the company's value.”
I almost laughed.
A quarter of forty million dollars.
Ten million.
For parents who hadn't even come to the hospital when their granddaughter was fighting for her life.
But Vanessa wasn't finished.
“Brooke, there's an attachment you need to see.”
She sent the document.
It was a purported agreement dated nearly nine years earlier.
According to its terms, my parents had provided substantial startup support in exchange for an ownership interest in Meridian.
My signature appeared at the bottom.
So did my father's.
And underneath was the name of someone I had never expected to see again.
Thomas Mitchell.
My late grandfather.
The man who had taught me how to write my first computer program.
May you like
The man whose death had changed everything.
And according to the document, he had witnessed an agreement that I knew had never existed.
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