Chapter 3

The murmurs in the audience died down.

Tiffany looked at me, her eyes both pleading and threatening.

"Nancy, you were in such a bad place back then. You kept saying you wanted to delete the model. I was afraid you'd destroy everything on impulse, so I used Jason's credentials to go in and make a backup."

My mother jumped in. "Exactly. Nancy has always been so extreme. Tiffany was trying to save the project."

My father also rose to his feet. "This project was funded by the Shaw family, so what's wrong with Tiffany keeping the data? And there's no theft between sisters."

The scene was painfully familiar. Whenever Tiffany cried, my parents would rush to patch up her lies, always calling it "for my own good."

Jason finally regained his composure. Turning slightly away from the cameras, he said in a low voice, "Nancy, the project is based on your patent, but the investment agreement is clear.

"The results belong to the team. If you revoke the authorization now, you're breaking the contract."

This was his next move. He was trying to scare me with legal threats. Controlling the narrative hadn't been enough, so now he was painting me as the one breaking the contract.

Ethan stepped onto the stage and handed a document to David while saying to Jason, "Mr. Carter, are you referring to this exclusivity agreement?"

Jason's eyes turned icy.

Ethan continued, "Article 7 states that the Carter Foundation obtains exclusive trial rights only if Nancy Shaw, the lead inventor, maintains her authorization. Article 9 explicitly prohibits any team member from bypassing the lead inventor for patent implementation, marketing, or investor pitches."

He turned to the media. "Tonight, Tiffany is accepting the award as the lead researcher, and the Carter Foundation is announcing its investment. Neither action received written approval from Nancy."

Jason let out a cold laugh. "You represent only Nancy, Mr. Zane. This project involves more than just her. There's the advisor, the hospital partners, and the board of directors. You certainly don't get to define ownership here."

After he finished, he turned to my advisor, Marcus Turner, who was sitting in the front row.

In my previous life, at the investigation hearing, he had kept his head down and said, "Nancy was involved in the project, but the key decisions were made by the team." And then he added, "She's been emotionally unstable recently." Those words destroyed my career.

Now, he sat there, clutching the program booklet so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

Jason went on, "Mr. Turner, you know better than anyone how this project really began. Please tell everyone it was not Nancy's work alone."

All the cameras swung toward Marcus.

Tiffany looked at him with desperate hope. "Mr. Turner, please, say something."

Marcus slowly got to his feet. He looked at me, and in his eyes I saw guilt and fear.

I knew what he was afraid of.

Back when his lab was running on empty, the Shaw family had funded his first equipment. Later, when Tiffany applied for her PhD, my parents asked him to give her a spot. They wanted a "genius daughter" to show off, and he played along.

Marcus finally spoke. "This project... was truly a team effort."

My mother let out a sigh of relief.

Tears welled up in Tiffany's eyes again.

Jason shot me a look that seemed to say, "See? You can't win."

I opened another folder on the chip, and an email appeared on the big screen. It was sent from Marcus to me on May 16 of the previous year.

The email read, [Nancy, your model concept is already valuable enough to stand as an independent patent. I don't recommend merging it with Tiffany's project.]

I looked at Marcus. "Please, go on, Mr. Turner."

His face turned ashen.

I wasn't forcing him to confess. I just wanted him to confront his own words.

Jason broke in. "An email doesn't prove who the work belongs to."

I nodded. "There's more."

The next page showed the patent application draft, with my name listed as both applicant and lead inventor.

The agency's receipt, the hash of the original experimental records, and the archive number for the model training data were all displayed simultaneously on the notary platform.

Suddenly, Tiffany lunged forward, trying to rip the chip out.

Ethan moved swiftly and blocked her.

Tiffany's knees buckled. She clutched her chest as she collapsed to the floor.

My mother screamed, "Tiffany has a heart condition. Are you satisfied now?"

The whole place broke into chaos.

Jason scooped Tiffany into his arms and barked at the cameras, "Cut the livestream! Get a doctor!"

Tiffany buried her face in his chest, her complexion ashen, her hand clinging to his sleeve.

I noticed that her fingertips showed no sign of cyanosis.

In my previous life, I had believed her illness was real.

Every time she said her heart hurt, the whole family would swarm around her. I did the same, giving up everything for her: my room, my advisor, my project, even my future.

It was only during the investigation that I learned her heart condition had been stable for years. As long as she avoided strenuous activity, she could manage perfectly well.

I pulled another document from my bag. "The medical team arranged by the organizing committee is on site. She can be examined right now."

My mother yelled, "Do you even have a heart?"

I looked down at her. "I do."

I handed a document to the medical team. "That's why I had a medical incident report notarized in advance. If she truly has a medical emergency, I will cover all expenses. If she is faking it, I want that documented."

Tiffany's crying paused for a moment. And in that split second, every phone in the audience captured it.