Chapter 6

Juniper

I did not panic.

Vangough heirs are not raised to panic.

But as I stood in the penthouse, staring at Xavier after learning my father had funded Tristan, something unfamiliar pressed against my ribs.

Doubt.

“My father would never fund Tristan,” I said evenly.

Xavier watched me carefully. “Your father doesn’t make impulsive investments.”

“Exactly.”

“Which means it wasn’t impulsive.”

Across the skyline, Tristan’s factory lights burned again.

Alive.

Defiant.

“How much?” I asked.

“Two hundred and fifty million.”

“That’s not emergency funding.”

“No,” Xavier said quietly. “That’s insulation.”

An hour later, I was standing in my father’s private study.

He didn’t look surprised to see me.

“You funded Tristan,” I said.

“Yes.”

No denial. No hesitation.

“Why?”

He poured tea. Calm. Controlled.

“I assume you suspended his patent access.”

“That’s irrelevant.”

“It is the only relevant variable.”

I stared at him.

“You warned me about him.”

“I warned you about emotional decision-making.”

“This was strategic.”

“You revoked a patent within minutes of confronting your former husband.”

“That was business.”

“Was it?”

I felt heat rise in my chest.

“You protected him.”

“No,” he said calmly. “I stabilized the market.”

The words irritated me more than anger would have.

“Explain.”

“There are international contracts attached to Hale’s distribution chain.”

“That’s exaggerated.”

“No.”

He slid a folder across the desk.

Projected losses.

Supply chain disruption reports.

Defense-linked subcontract pathways.

My stomach tightened.

“You knew I would move against him.”

“Yes.”

“And you positioned yourself to counter me.”

“Yes.”

The bluntness of it felt almost cruel.

“Why?”

His gaze sharpened.

“Because you are not thinking five steps ahead.”

“I am not a child.”

“No,” he said quietly. “You are a strategist who allowed personal history to accelerate your timing.”

That hit.

But before I could respond, my phone vibrated.

Thomas.

“Chairwoman… we have a situation.”

“What happened?”

“There’s been a legal filing against Vangough Holdings.”

My spine straightened.

“On what grounds?”

“Intellectual property dispute tied to the original neural stabilization implant.”

The room went still.

“When was it filed?” I asked.

“Thirty-seven minutes ago.”

Thirty-seven minutes.

That meant—

After the board meeting.

After I revealed the implant truth.

After I destabilized him.

This wasn’t a four-year plan.

This was retaliation.

“What exactly is he claiming?” I asked.

Thomas exhaled slowly.

“He’s requesting forensic access to early-stage surgical data. He’s alleging co-development rights during the period of your legal marriage.”

My pulse slowed into something colder.

“He didn’t know about the implant details until today.”

“No,” Thomas confirmed. “The filing references information only disclosed during this afternoon’s meeting.”

So he went digging.

Immediately.

Desperately.

Good.

But desperation makes men dangerous.

I turned slowly toward my father.

“You anticipated this.”

“I anticipated a counterattack.”

“You suspected surgical vulnerability.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t warn me.”

“If I had,” he said calmly, “you would have hesitated.”

Silence.

He was right.

My phone buzzed again.

Thomas’s voice lowered.

“There’s more.”

“Say it.”

“He’s claiming the implant constituted marital intellectual property.”

“That’s absurd.”

“He’s arguing that because the procedure occurred during your legal marriage, any derivative medical commercialization may qualify as shared development.”

The audacity of it almost impressed me.

“He’s bluffing.”

“No,” Thomas said quietly. “He isn’t.”

The study doors opened without warning.

Xavier entered.

His expression was colder than before.

“The filing isn’t just about ownership,” he said.

I felt something tighten in my chest.

“What else?”

“He requested expedited injunction review.”

My father stood slowly.

“On what basis?”

Xavier’s gaze moved to me.

“Professional misconduct.”

The word echoed.

“What misconduct?” I asked evenly.

He held my eyes.

“He’s alleging you performed an unauthorized experimental override during the original procedure.”

The air left my lungs.

“He can’t prove that.”

Xavier didn’t answer.

Instead, he stepped closer.

“He accessed archived surgical servers within twenty minutes of leaving the boardroom.”

My stomach dropped.

“He went back to the hospital?”

“Yes.”

“He doesn’t have clearance.”

“He doesn’t need it,” Xavier said quietly. “He has lawyers.”

A cold, creeping realization slid through me.

“If he accessed the logs… then he found the override authorization.”

“Yes.”

“And he wouldn’t know to look for that unless—”

“Unless,” Xavier said evenly, “you told him there was something to look for.”

The truth landed like a blade.

My confrontation triggered this.

I exposed the foundation.

He attacked it.

That was logical.

That was clean.

That was war.

Thomas’s voice returned through the phone.

“There’s another complication.”

“Go on.”

“He submitted supporting evidence.”

My hand tightened around the device.

“What evidence?”

A pause.

Then:

“Surgical footage.”

Silence swallowed the room.

“That’s impossible,” I said.

“The operating room had internal recording for research archive.”

“I did not authorize external release.”

“You didn’t,” Thomas said carefully. “But someone preserved a private copy.”

Four years ago.

Six people in that room.

One copy saved.

Six people in that room.

One copy saved.

I began listing them in my head.

Myself.

Dr. Selene Armand.

Chief Resident Malik Rao.

Nurse Coordinator Imani Okoye.

Cardio-tech Evan Leroux.

And the surgical observer from the regulatory board — Dr. Victor Hale.

My pulse paused.

Hale.

Not Tristan.

Victor Hale.

Distant cousin.

Medical compliance specialist.

Present as oversight during the procedure.

I turned slowly toward Xavier.

“Pull the attendance log from that night.”

He didn’t ask why.

Within seconds, the names appeared again on his screen.

There it was.

Victor Hale.

“He filed the original procedural clearance,” Xavier said quietly.

“Yes.”

“And his credentials were later transferred to Hale Biotech.”

Silence fell heavier than before.

Not coincidence.

Alignment.

Four years ago, Victor Hale had insisted the surgery be recorded in full for “regulatory transparency.”

I remembered the conversation clearly.

He had been polite.

Measured.

Almost forgettable.

But I remembered something else.

After the procedure, when everyone else dispersed—

He stayed.

He watched me close the incision.

He watched the implant stabilize.

He watched Tristan’s vitals normalize.

And when I authorized the override—

He did not object.

He simply observed.

And then he left.

I turned back to my father.

“You knew Victor Hale was in that room.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t flag the surname?”

“You were married at the time,” he said evenly. “It would have seemed conspiratorial.”

No.

It would have seemed inconvenient.

“There’s more,” Xavier said quietly.

He adjusted the screen again.

“Victor Hale resigned from regulatory oversight two weeks after the surgery.”

“And?” I asked.

“He joined Hale Biotech six months later.”

The precision of it was surgical.

I felt something shift inside me.

“Tristan didn’t dig randomly,” I murmured.

“No,” Xavier agreed. “He knew where to look.”

Which meant this was not panic-driven improvisation.

It was triggered.

But the tools were already in place.

Victor preserved the footage.

Victor archived it privately.

Victor waited.

My phone buzzed again.

Thomas.

“Chairwoman, I’ve contacted the surgical team.”

“And?”

“Five have confirmed willingness to speak.”

Five.

“And the sixth?”

A pause.

“Dr. Victor Hale has not responded.”

Of course he hasn’t.

“Keep calling,” I said.

“We’ve tried three numbers.”

“And?”

“He’s unreachable.”

The study felt colder.

“He resurfaced the footage within an hour,” Xavier said quietly. “Which means he had immediate access.”

“Meaning?” my father asked.

“He never lost it.”

The implication unfolded slowly.

Four years.

Four years that footage sat somewhere secure.

Not leaked.

Not threatened.

Preserved.

For leverage.

But leverage for what?

Tristan had never used it during the divorce.

Never during patent negotiations.

Never during funding rounds.

Why now?

Because now I moved first.

Now I attacked his patent.

Now I destabilized his expansion.

Which meant this was not revenge.

This was counter-control.

Victor Hale had been a dormant piece on the board.

And Tristan just activated him.

My father’s voice was calm.

“This complicates your counterattack.”

“No,” I said slowly.

“It clarifies it.”

Xavier studied me carefully.

“You’re certain?”

“Yes.”

Because now the war was visible.

Not emotional.

Not reactive.

Structural.

The Hale family embedded oversight in the surgery.

Archived the evidence.

Waited until power shifted.

And now they were using it.

Which meant one thing.

This was never just about marriage.

It was positioning.

From the beginning.

I exhaled slowly.

“Set up a trace on Victor Hale,” I said.

“Already in progress,” Xavier replied.

“And if he surfaces publicly?”

“Then we assess his vulnerability.”

My father looked at me for a long moment.

“You’re calmer than I expected.”

“No,” I corrected. “I’m clearer.”

Because clarity is more dangerous than anger.

My phone buzzed again.

Thomas.

“Chairwoman… update.”

“What.”

“Victor Hale’s medical license was quietly reinstated last month.”

I stilled.

“He’s been inactive for years.”

“Yes.”

“Why reinstate now?”

“That’s unclear.”

No.

It wasn’t.

They were preparing.

And I hadn’t seen it.

I closed my eyes briefly.

Just long enough to feel the weight of it.

Then I opened them again.

“Book me a press conference.”

My father’s voice was calm but sharp.

“You’re certain?”

“No,” I answered.

I looked at Xavier.

“But he isn’t either.”