Chapter 3The Patent Betrayal: A Mother's Vengeance

Right as I hit send, a push notification popped up on my phone.

It was an alert from my smart home security app.

"Motion Detected: Living Room Camera."

I frowned.

It was 2:00 PM on a Tuesday. Mark should be at the corporate headquarters, and the housekeeper had called in sick today.

I opened the app, and the live video feed loaded on my screen.

The camera was angled perfectly toward the living room sofa. Sarah stepped into the frame.

Mark was leaning back against the sofa cushions, his tie loosened and hanging around his neck. Sarah had changed into a sheer, silk slip dress that clung tightly to her body. She straddled his lap, her fingers slowly, meticulously unbuttoning the top two buttons of his dress shirt.

Mark didn't push her away. Instead, his hand slid up her thigh, trailing along the silk before resting heavily on her waist, giving it a gentle, possessive squeeze.

His breathing was visibly ragged.

The warm, ambient lighting of the living room cascaded over them as they tangled together, entirely indistinguishable from one another.

I stared at the screen. A freezing, paralyzing chill spread through my stomach, and a wave of pure nausea violently rushed up my throat.

"Mark..." Her voice was soft, whining, dripping with manufactured vulnerability. "Do you have any idea how much it hurts me every time Liam calls me 'Auntie Sarah'? He’s supposed to be calling me..."

"Sarah!" Mark cut her off sharply, turning his face away and avoiding her kiss.

But the hand gripping her waist didn't let go.

In that exact moment, the final, fragile thread holding my sanity together completely snapped.

The rest of the video was just a graphic, sickening display of infidelity.

I hit 'Record,' saved the file, and threw my phone across the room.

My stomach violently revolted. I sprinted to the farmhouse bathroom and collapsed over the sink, dry heaving until my throat burned, but my stomach was empty. Only the agonizing, searing pain radiating from my chest made me feel like I was still alive.

My phone started buzzing relentlessly on the bed.

It took me a long time to pull myself together enough to walk over and look at it.

It was a rapid-fire string of messages from the private investigator.

"Ms. Sterling, I have the data."

"Sarah Bennett entered the US on a student visa in July, eighteen years ago. In August, she delivered a full-term baby boy at a private clinic in Los Angeles. Blood type recorded: B."

"I pulled the records from St. Jude's Maternity Ward for the date you requested. Between 3:00 PM and 5:00 PM, two baby girls were delivered. Both were transferred to a neonatal facility that went bankrupt years ago. The physical archives were destroyed in a fire."

"However, when Sarah Bennett re-entered the US on a brief trip in November of that same year... she was traveling with a five-month-old female infant."

"I tracked the girl down. She currently works at a Chinese takeout restaurant in Los Angeles. According to the restaurant owner and local neighbors, she lives in extreme poverty, has severe social anxiety, and frequently has unexplained bruising on her body. Sarah Bennett uses a third-party intermediary to confiscate 90% of the girl's wages every month."

A file of photos followed.

One was taken in a filthy back alley. A skeletal, tiny girl hauling a massive, industrial garbage bag that looked heavier than she was.

Another was taken inside the restaurant. She was curled up on a plastic stool in the corner, eating a bowl of cold, leftover white rice. Her face was completely devoid of emotion.

The final photo was a close-up of her arm. It was covered in purple and yellow contusions.

She was thousands of miles away, doing the most grueling, degrading manual labor, being physically abused, and every cent she earned was being stolen by the woman who stole her entire life.

A tidal wave of absolute, murderous hatred consumed me.

I tried to stand up, but my vision went completely black for several seconds.

I grabbed the edge of the wall, my fingernails digging into the plaster. The physical pain grounded me.

I sat on the floor and cried until I literally had no tears left. The only thing remaining was a hot, burning inferno in my chest.

I compiled all the data files, attached the video of Mark and Sarah on the sofa, and emailed the entire encrypted folder to my divorce attorney.

Then, I dialed a number. The direct line to the CEO of Sterling Tech's most aggressive, ruthless corporate rival.

"I will sign the patent transfer agreement tomorrow. But I have one non-negotiable condition. Sterling Tech must be utterly, completely annihilated."

A low, dark chuckle echoed through the receiver. A cool, authoritative male voice replied with absolute certainty:

"Consider it done."

I hung up the phone and stared at the evidence folder on my screen.

Mark.

I built the pedestal you stand on. Now, I am going to rip it out from under you, and watch you shatter.