Chapter 3

As expected, Preston already thought he'd won.

Three days after I transferred my shares, he rented out the entire second floor of an upscale San Francisco restaurant and threw a lavish celebration.

Officially, it was to celebrate DeepCare surviving the system crisis.

In reality, he'd paid a few contractors to slap together a patch at the last minute.

Once the system was barely functional again, he couldn't wait to celebrate finally getting rid of me—the "problem"—and the multimillion-dollar Series A he was convinced Apex was about to approve.

Whether that patch would survive the next round of testing didn't matter to him.

He was convinced that by tomorrow, he'd be Silicon Valley's newest tech darling.

Meanwhile, I was back at the apartment, packing up the last of my things.

Five years.

Every corner of that apartment held a piece of the life we'd built together.

A photo from the day we landed our first angel round hung on the wall.

On the bookshelf sat the books and industry reports I'd bought while researching the healthcare market for him.

I stood in front of the photo for a few seconds.

Then I took it down and tossed it, frame and all, into the trash.

My phone suddenly lit up.

It was a message from one of the senior researchers on our team.

[Sloane, are you really leaving?]

Another message followed.

[Preston's been telling everyone you're quitting because you're jealous of Willow.]

I glanced at the screen and typed: [Let him say whatever he wants.]

Then I left every work group.

At eight that evening, I wheeled my last suitcase out of the apartment.

The moment I reached the lobby, a black Porsche screeched to a stop in front of me.

The window rolled down.

Preston was behind the wheel, clearly several drinks in.

Willow sat in the passenger seat, still wearing the dress from the celebration, leaning against him intimately.

Preston looked over my suitcase and gave a mocking laugh. "So, you're really leaving?"

He pushed open the door, and the smell of alcohol mixed with smug satisfaction hit me.

"You think any other company is going to want you once you're out of DeepCare?"

I said nothing.

That only encouraged him.

"Sloane, you really think you're that important? DeepCare is doing just fine without you. Technical skills don't mean much when you're talking about serious money."

Willow gently slipped her arm through his and gave me a sympathetic look.

"Preston really is trying to be generous, Sloane. If you apologize now, he might even let you stay." She paused, then smiled sweetly. "Maybe he'd even keep you on as a junior developer."

I looked at the two of them in silence.

After five years, I finally saw them for what they were.

Ridiculous.

"Preston." I tightened my grip on the suitcase handle, my voice perfectly calm. "Apex's final due diligence starts tomorrow."

His smile faltered.

I continued, "Are you sure that patch your contractors cobbled together will survive the next round of clinical-data validation?"

A flicker of unease crossed his face.

But it disappeared almost immediately, replaced by his usual arrogance.

"Stop trying to scare me."

"Our business model has already proven itself. Once Apex signs off tomorrow, DeepCare's valuation is going to skyrocket."

He looked at me with absolute confidence.

"When that happens, you'll realize exactly what you gave up."

I smiled. "Will I?"

He had no idea Apex cared about far more than our business model.

He had no idea their due-diligence team would scrutinize the technology down to the last line of code.

And DeepCare's so-called "patched" system wouldn't survive a serious validation run.

As for me—

I didn't need to lift a finger.

The managing director overseeing Apex's North American technology investments happened to be Harper Wainscott, my best friend from college.

She knew who had really built DeepCare's technology.

And she knew exactly what Preston had just taken control of.

"Good luck, Preston."

I opened the door of my rideshare and loaded my suitcase inside.

The moment the door closed, I didn't even bother looking back.

In the rearview mirror, the black Porsche grew smaller and smaller.

Leaning back against the seat, I closed my eyes.

Some debts have a way of settling themselves without me lifting a finger.

And Preston was completely, utterly oblivious.