Chapter 320
She turned to Arland.
“I need a drink,” she said. “A strong one.”
They moved to the bar. Isolde’s hand gripped her clutch so tightly her knuckles had gone white.
“They think they won the war,” she murmured. “They only won a battle.”
She pulled out her phone to check the time. A notification sat on the screen from an unknown number.
𝘔o𝘳е ո𝘰v𝗲𝗅s o𝗇 𝘨𝖺𝗹𝗻o𝘃е𝗅𝗌.𝖼o𝗺
I saw your schematic. The heat dissipation curve. Meet me at the bar.
Isolde went still. She looked up slowly.
The Summit Bar was dimly lit, the air thick with jazz and the scent of expensive cologne.
Isolde sat on a high stool while Arland ordered whiskey at the far end of the bar.
A man slid onto the stool beside her. He didn’t look like the other tech executives filling the room. His grey suit was tailored but understated, and his eyes were sharp and genuinely intelligent.
“Vodka martini. Dirty,” he said to the bartender.
He turned to Isolde.
“You’re the one with the thermal schematics,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
Isolde’s hand moved instinctively to guard her bag. “And you are?”
“Carter Sterling,” he said. “South Capital. We invest in underdogs.”
Isolde narrowed her eyes. “I saw you sitting near Daron. I assumed you were one of them.”
Carter laughed — a dry, genuine sound. “Daron is a noise machine. I like signal.”
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.
“I saw what you showed Felix. The heat dissipation curve. It’s radical. The geometry shouldn’t work — but it does.”
Isolde relaxed slightly. He was talking about the physics.
“It’s just math,” she said. “Not magic.”
“To this market, it’s magic,” Carter corrected. “Why did Felix pass?”
“Because I’m a woman,” Isolde said flatly. “And an ex-wife.”
Carter nodded. He didn’t argue. “His loss. I have twenty million liquid. I want in.”
Isolde blinked.
Arland returned with the drinks at that moment, eyeing Carter with measured suspicion.
“Sterling,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. “You’re a shark. Why are you swimming here?”
“Sharks smell blood,” Carter said, lifting his martini. “But I also smell money. This tech is money.”
He looked at Isolde. “What are your terms?”
Isolde sat up straighter. The humiliation of the keynote receded. This was business.
“Thirty percent equity,” Carter offered. “And a seat on the board.”
“Twenty percent,” Isolde countered without hesitation. “And a non-voting seat until the IPO.”
Carter grinned. “She negotiates. I like it.” He took a slow sip of his drink. “Deal. Twenty percent. But I have one condition.”
Isolde tensed. “What?”
“I want to meet ‘Sophia,’” Carter said.
The air went still.
Isolde held his gaze. Beside her, Arland stiffened almost imperceptibly.
“Sophia is shy,” Isolde said carefully. “You deal with me.”
Carter studied her face — her eyes, her hands — quietly assembling the pieces. The genius schematic. The confidence. The secrecy.
“Fine,” he said slowly. “I deal with you. But get the prototype ready.”
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