Chapter 310
Grayson stood at the front of the room, clicking a laser pointer at a complex slide, his voice resonating with practiced corporate confidence.
“As you can see,” Grayson said, “our AI integration is completely seamless. It predicts orbital decay with—”
“Your latency is too high,” Nelson interrupted, his voice loud and abrasive. “It’s 1.2 seconds.”
Grayson’s presentation faltered. He lowered the laser pointer, his brow furrowing.
“That is the current industry standard, Professor,” he argued.
“Not for this project,” Nelson said flatly. “The team from Carson Dynamics clocked their latency at 0.4 seconds yesterday.”
𝖣𝘰𝘸ո𝗹𝗈𝘢𝗱 P𝗗𝖥𝘴 𝘧𝗿e𝘦 on g𝗮𝗹nоv𝘦𝘭𝘀.𝖼о𝘮
Grayson’s jaw tightened. He knew Carson Dynamics was a formidable competitor, but to hear they had outpaced SkyLine on such a critical metric was a genuine blow.
“Carson Dynamics?” he repeated, surprise edging into his voice. “Whose team is leading that project? I know their top engineers, and none of them are capable of that kind of breakthrough.”
Nelson offered a thin, cryptic smile. “She prefers to remain anonymous. We all just call her Sophia.”
Belle let out a loud, unprofessional scoff.
“Sophia?” she mocked. “That sounds like a pseudonym for a ghostwriter. Or a cam girl.”
Nelson’s eyes turned to ice. He held his gaze on Belle until she shifted uncomfortably in her expensive heels.
“Call her whatever you want, Ms. Escobar,” he said coldly. “Her code works. Yours does not.”
He rose from his chair, gathered his folders, and walked out of the room without looking back.
Grayson slammed his fist onto the glass table.
“How the hell did Carson Dynamics recruit a genius like that?” he seethed.
“He probably stole the code,” Belle said, snapping her laptop shut. “Or ‘Sophia’ is just a front for a team of hackers in Eastern Europe.”
Grayson straightened. “I want to know who she is. Hire a private investigator. Find this ‘Sophia.’”
Directly above the conference room, inside the darkened observation deck, Isolde stood behind a wall of one-way mirror glass. She held a tablet in her hands, monitoring the live data feed from SkyLine’s failed presentation.
Arland stood beside her, arms crossed.
“Enjoying the show?” he asked quietly.
“Their architecture is sloppy,” Isolde said, her eyes scanning the data. “Grayson is relying entirely on open-source libraries. He didn’t write a single line of original code.”
She looked down through the glass at Grayson’s frustrated face.
“He is not an engineer,” she said softly. “He is a curator. And a bad one.”
Arland checked his watch. “Nelson wants you downstairs to review the new specs.”
“Not yet,” Isolde said, switching off her tablet. “Let them chase ghosts for a few more days.”
She turned away from the glass.
“I have to go into the city,” she said, her voice hardening. “I need to finalize the property transfer deed for the estate.”
Down in the conference room, Grayson suddenly looked up.
He stared directly at the large mirror on the wall. A strange, prickling sensation crept along the back of his neck — a heavy, instinctive feeling that someone was watching him.
He squinted, trying to see through the glass.
But all he saw was his own tired, angry reflection.
.