She reached her slender arm deep into the recess, her sleeve catching on the dark wood.

Her fingers caught on something heavy, and she pulled out a dusty leather portfolio.

The leather was cracked and bound with a faded red ribbon.

I set down my purse and knelt beside her on the Persian rug.

Mia untied the ribbon with careful, deliberate fingers.

Inside were large, yellowed sheets of thick drafting paper.

They were original engineering schematics.

At the bottom right corner of each page was a hand-drawn seal.

It was my father’s signature, Arthur Sterling, dated twenty years ago.

Beside his name was the original patent stamp for the core software algorithm that powered Hayes Enterprises.

Preston had always claimed he invented it in his college dorm room.

“Grandpa made this,” Mia whispered, tracing the blue ink of her grandfather’s signature.

“Yes,” I said, my heart hammering against my ribs. “He did.”

This was the smoking gun.

The current patents registered to Hayes Enterprises were copies, but these were the original, unaltered designs.

They proved Preston’s entire career was built on a lie.