PART 3: The Black Folder Revealed My Control of Prescott Technologies, but Jasmine’s Real Identity Raised Worse Questions
I remained in Dad’s library long after sunset.
The photograph from Zurich sat beside the black folder.
Jasmine’s face looked ordinary in it.
Calm.
Professional.
Exactly the woman who had spent months moving through Prescott Technologies as Aaron’s secretary.
Except Jasmine was not her real name.
Dad’s investigators had traced an identity change seven years earlier.
He had enough documentation to establish that much.
Not enough to explain why she had joined my husband’s company.
“What was her name before?”
“We’re confirming the records.”
“You just told me Jasmine isn’t her real name.”
“I know.”
“Then what do you have?”
Dad sat across from me.
“An identity trail that doesn’t begin where her employment file says it begins.”
I tapped the photograph.
“And Zurich?”
“She met Aaron’s former partner.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
I hated that answer.
Not because Dad was withholding information.
Because for the first time, uncertainty seemed to exist everywhere at once.
My marriage.
The company.
Jasmine.
Aaron’s finances.
The public story of Prescott Technologies itself.
I looked down at the controlling-interest documents.
“At least these are clear.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you force me to look at them before?”
Dad’s eyebrows rose.
“Force you?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No.”
He folded his hands.
“You were an adult who believed she was protecting her marriage. If I attacked Aaron directly, you defended him more strongly.”
I hated that he was right.
“I could have used a reminder.”
“You had documents.”
“I stopped thinking about them.”
“That was the problem.”
His tone remained gentle.
“The legal structure never changed, Alyssa. Your willingness to exercise it did.”
I looked away.
That distinction hurt.
Aaron had not secretly stolen my voting rights.
I had simply allowed him to behave publicly as though they did not exist.
Every time the company succeeded, I stood beside him.
Every time he took credit, I told myself recognition was not why I helped.
That was true.
But humility had gradually become erasure.
And I had participated by staying silent.
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
Dad looked toward it.
“Answer.”
“Why?”
“Because right now I’d rather know what people want.”
I accepted the call.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
Then breathing.
I sat straighter.
“Who is this?”
A woman spoke.
“Alyssa Vale?”
The use of my maiden name made my pulse jump.
“Yes.”
“If you want to know why Jasmine joined your husband’s company, look at the original patent files.”
Dad moved closer.
I switched the phone to speaker.
“Who are you?”
The caller ignored me.
“Aaron didn’t build Prescott Technologies.”
I looked at Dad.
The woman continued.
“He stole it.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone.
Dad immediately reached for his own.
“Wait.”
He stopped.
I replayed the sentence.
Aaron didn’t build Prescott Technologies. He stole it.
The accusation should have sounded impossible.
Instead, I thought about the thirteen patents.
My patents.
Those patents had not been invented by Aaron.
I acquired rights to them independently before licensing arrangements tied them to Prescott Technologies.
At the time, Aaron needed technology and capital.
I had access to both.
I never questioned the deeper history of his own original systems because the company already existed before I invested.
“How did Aaron describe the early development?” Dad asked.
I tried to remember.
“A small team.”
“Names?”
“Some.”
“Companies?”
I looked at the photograph.
Hart Systems was not yet in front of me.
There were only gaps.
Stories Aaron told at dinners.
Late nights in rented offices.
Engineers working without salaries.
A founder risking everything.
The same origin story repeated so often it became biography.
“What if that story isn’t true?” I asked.
Dad did not answer.
I moved toward the patent records.
The thirteen patents I controlled were legitimate.
That was not in question.
But if Aaron’s foundational technology had come from somewhere else, my investments might have helped scale a company whose origin I never understood.
The problem was suddenly larger than an unhappy marriage.
There could be people harmed before I ever entered Aaron’s life.
Investors.
Engineers.
Former partners.
Companies.
I looked at Dad.
“I need the original patent-development files.”
“We can get them.”
“No.”
I closed the black folder.
“I’m going to the company.”
“Tonight?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
Dad watched me carefully.
“What are you planning?”
“I’m done asking Aaron what he thinks belongs to him.”
The next morning, I arrived at Prescott Technologies shortly before eight.
The glass headquarters had always felt strange to me.
My money existed in the walls.
My intellectual property existed in the company’s valuation.
Yet every profile written about the building described it as Aaron’s empire.
When the revolving door opened, the receptionist looked up.
Surprise crossed her face.
Then recognition.
By then, everyone had seen the jet video.
I could feel it.
Two employees near the elevators glanced toward me.
A man passing through the lobby slowed.
They probably expected a domestic confrontation.
A humiliated wife arriving to reclaim her husband.
I carried the black folder against my side.
They had no idea why I was there.
The elevator climbed to the executive floor.
I looked at my reflection in the mirrored doors.
I had slept badly.
My face showed it.
I did not care.
When the doors opened, Daniel was waiting.
He walked toward me immediately.
“You came.”
“You told me not to trust anyone in Aaron’s inner circle.”
His mouth tightened.
“I did.”
“Do you still mean it?”
“Yes.”
“Does that include you?”
Daniel paused.
“If you’re being careful, it should.”
That answer reassured me more than a denial would have.
“What do you know about Jasmine?”
“Not enough.”
“Dad says her identity changed.”
“I heard.”
“You knew?”
“Not until last night.”
I studied him.
“What were you trying to tell me at the airport?”
Daniel looked toward the conference-room doors.
“That company funds are moving in ways I don’t like.”
My pulse increased.
“Through Jasmine?”
“I can’t establish that yet.”
“Through Aaron?”
Daniel did not answer directly.
“Come inside.”
The executive conference room was already occupied.
Aaron sat at the head of the table.
Margaret sat several chairs away.
Jasmine was beside a stack of briefing papers.
Board members occupied the remaining seats.
Every face turned toward me.
Aaron’s mother reacted first.
“Really?”
I stopped near the door.
She looked me up and down.
“Do you think coming here is appropriate after what you did yesterday?”
I almost smiled.
After what I did.
The language had not changed.
“I came to discuss the company.”
Aaron leaned back.
“This is a board meeting.”
“I know.”
“Alyssa.”
His tone became warning.
“Not here.”
I walked toward the table.
Jasmine watched every step.
I pulled out an empty chair.
Then placed the black folder in front of me.
Aaron’s expression changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
“What is that?”
I opened it.
“Something I should have brought to this table years ago.”
END PART 3
