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Chapter 713
Chapter 713:
Dear Dr. Sophia, We are honored to inform you that your paper on “Adaptive Algorithms in High-Dimensional Fluid Dynamics” has passed the rigorous, multi-phase double-blind peer review process. Given the unprecedented geopolitical implications of your findings, it has been selected as the cover article for our upcoming global issue.
Isolde scrolled down. There was an addendum from the editor-in-chief.
Furthermore, the Dean of Aerospace Engineering at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology has contacted us. They wish to formally offer you an honorary visiting professorship based on this groundbreaking work.
Her hands began to tremble.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘰𝘯
For five years, Grayson had made her feel like a useless accessory. Belle had tried to steal her genius and parade it as her own. But the blind review process of the scientific community did not care about Lancaster money or PR campaigns. It cared only about raw, undeniable brilliance.
She had just been crowned a god in the scientific world.
Isolde leaned back in her chair, the phone resting against her chest, and let out a long, shaky breath. A single tear traced a path down her cheek — not a tear of sadness, but of pure, cathartic victory.
The next morning, she showed the email to Harper.
Harper let out an ear-piercing scream of joy.
“Oh my god!” Harper grabbed Isolde by the shoulders and shook her. “Isolde! You are on the cover of Nature! You are an actual, certified genius! MIT wants you p>
Effie didn’t understand the words, but she saw her mother’s face. She clapped her hands and jumped up and down. “Mommy is the best p>
Isolde looked down at her daughter. Her eyes filled with hot tears, but a slow, incredibly dangerous smile spread across her face.
This paper contained the exact foundational logic that Belle was trying to counterfeit with InnoTech. When this issue hit newsstands, Belle’s entire technological empire would be exposed as a fraudulent house of cards.
Isolde walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked out over the sprawling Manhattan skyline, feeling a surge of absolute, terrifying power move through her veins.
Harper stepped up beside her, then reached into her pocket and produced a thick black envelope with gold foil lettering, which she handed to Isolde.
“The Lancaster Centennial Gala is this weekend,” Harper said, her voice turning serious. “Grayson’s PR team is still spinning rumors that you had a mental breakdown in Boston p>
Isolde took the invitation and ran her thumb slowly over the embossed Lancaster crest. A soft, mocking scoff escaped her lips.
She turned to Harper. Her eyes were hard and bright — polished diamonds.
“Go to the climate-controlled closet,” Isolde said. “Bring out the Paris battle armor p>
It was time to show the Lancaster family exactly who they had tried to destroy.
The Waldorf Astoria had been transformed into a fortress of old-world luxury. Thousands of white roses cascaded down the grand staircase. The Lancaster Centennial Gala was the crown jewel of the New York social season.
Outside the hotel, a massive crowd of photographers and journalists pressed against the velvet ropes. Wall Street titans and political elites worked the red carpet, flashing expensive smiles for the cameras.