The woman shook her head.
“No.”
Every eye in the room turned toward her.
She kept her hands resting lightly on the boys’ shoulders as she spoke. “You presented the idea,” she said to Julian, still with that maddening calm, “but I designed the system. I wrote the architecture. I filed the initial registration through a private holding structure because you insisted we keep my name out of public business matters until you had a better investor story.”
Julian scoffed too quickly. “That’s fiction.”
Judge Whitmore interrupted him. “This is not fiction.”
He lifted the document slightly. “These are certified formation records, transfer ledgers, and intellectual property filings. The beneficial ownership chain does not terminate with you, Mr. Reeves.”
Robert Hanley stepped forward. “Your Honor, may I see those?”
The judge handed them down.
Hanley’s eyes moved over the pages. His expression did not collapse; men like him were too trained for that. But something tightened at the corners of his mouth. A calculation. A revision.
Judge Whitmore turned back toward the woman. “Would you like to explain the discrepancy between the name in this file and the name listed in the pleadings?”