Years blurred into a decade. My apartment, smaller than I’d once hoped, now felt like a familiar refuge from the relentless hum of the tech world. My son, Leo, had grown from a bright-eyed boy into a tenacious young man, now an aspiring tech journalist. He often worked late into the night in his makeshift home office, a corner of his bedroom cluttered with monitors and notebooks.
One evening, I heard the muted sounds of a video call emanating from his room. He was interviewing a former executive, Mr. Henderson, for a story about ethical lapses in big tech—a different story, not mine. I sat in the living room, trying to read, but my attention kept drifting to the murmur of his voice.
“And what about the culture at InnovateCorp, Mr. Henderson?” Leo’s voice was sharp, professional. “Any specific challenges you faced?”
There was a pause, then Mr. Henderson’s voice, slightly distorted by the speaker. “InnovateCorp has always been…ambitious. Some might say ruthlessly so. Especially after Alistair Finch took over Global Innovation.”
The name hit me like a physical blow. *Alistair Finch.* Even after all these years, the sound of it sent a jolt of icy dread through my veins. It was the same name, the same man who had stolen my work, my career, my trust.
“Finch,” Mr. Henderson continued, a casualness in his tone that made the personal cruelty of his words even more pronounced. “He was always known for aggressively managing talent, pushing boundaries, especially with junior staff. Had a reputation for ‘acquiring’ innovations, if you know what I mean.”
My breath hitched. Leo, on his end, must have sensed something in the pause. I heard the tap of his keyboard, a subtle shift in his tone.
“Acquiring innovations?” Leo asked, his voice now laced with a new, quiet interest. “Could you elaborate on that, Mr. Henderson?”
Mr. Henderson chuckled, a dry, knowing sound. “Oh, nothing illegal, mind you. Just… very strategic. He always had a knack for identifying ‘under-utilized’ talent. Very good at making sure brilliant ideas stayed within his purview.”
The casual dismissal of what amounted to corporate theft, phrased as “strategy,” was infuriating. It highlighted the systemic acceptance of such predatory behavior within the industry, making it seem like a natural part of business, not a moral failing. The world I existed in, the world I had hoped to change with Orion, hadn’t changed at all.
I heard Leo’s voice again, asking another pointed question about Finch, his journalist’s instinct now fully engaged. The name had clearly resonated with him, though I knew he didn’t have the full story. I had never burdened him with the crushing details of Alistair’s betrayal, only vague allusions to professional disappointment.
But the seed was planted. Alistair’s name, coupled with the loaded phrase “acquiring innovations,” had piqued my son’s curiosity.
The interview ended a few minutes later. I heard Leo’s chair scrape as he pushed back from his desk, then the quiet click of his keyboard. I knew, without him telling me, that he wasn’t just wrapping up his interview notes. He was starting a new search. A search for Alistair Finch.
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