Chapter 12 - An Unwelcome Letter
Despite the clean legal break, the past had a way of leaving long, persistent shadows.
Six months after the sentencing, Maya’s assistant brought in the morning mail. At the bottom of the stack of corporate reports and design submissions lay an unadorned prison envelope, postmarked from the federal facility at Sheridan.
Maya stared at the bold, institutional stamp across the top: INMATE CORRESPONDENCE.
Her first instinct was to drop it directly into the shredder beside her desk. Marcus no longer had a legal claim to her life, her company, or her daughter. But something about the neat, uncharacteristic penmanship made her hesitate. She used a silver letter opener to slide the envelope open.
The paper inside was cheap, yellowed legal pad paper.
Maya, the letter began, stripped of the bravado that had once defined him.
I am not writing to ask for money. My lawyers have informed me that my accounts are permanently cleared, and I know I have no standing to contest the trust. I am writing because eight months in a concrete cell forces a man to see his reflection clearly for the first time.
You were right. I was a thief, and worse, I was a coward. I told you to call an Uber because I couldn’t face the reality of becoming a father—I was terrified that someone else would matter more than my ambition. I don’t expect your forgiveness. I don’t deserve it. But there is one thing you need to know before the board meets next week. Ray wasn't just my COO. He was working with our venture capital partners to siphon your patents out of the country before I ever left for Chicago.
May you like
Watch your server logs. Ray is coming for the algorithms.
Maya’s eyes narrowed. She dropped the letter on the desk, her heart racing not with fear, but with immediate, tactical suspicion.
