Chapter 3 - JASON’S STORY
Jason was suspended from his firm within forty-eight hours.
Dad called me six times.
I answered the seventh.
“Mia.”
“What?”
“Your brother could lose his career.”
“Yes.”
“You need to tell Northstar this was a misunderstanding.”
“No.”
“He made a mistake.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve made mistakes.”
I almost laughed.
“Dad, he took confidential documents and sent them to a competitor.”
“He didn’t know what he was doing.”
“He’s a lawyer.”
Silence.
Good point.
Dad lowered his voice.
“Family does not destroy family.”
I closed my eyes.
“Where was that sentence when you threw me out on the lawn?”
“That was different.”
“Why?”
“I was angry.”
“So was Jason.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“Exactly.”
I sat at my hotel desk.
“Anger explains behavior. It does not erase consequences.”
Dad became quiet.
Then:
“You’ve changed.”
“No.”
“I’m seeing you differently.”
“Exactly.”
He did not like that answer.
The firm’s internal investigation found more.
Jason had not sent Lexora’s actual source code.
That distinction mattered legally and commercially.
But he had sent confidential product-roadmap documents, benchmark results, and acquisition materials.
Graystone had been evaluating whether to develop a competing feature set.
Jason hoped to impress one of their executives, who was also a major client of his firm.
He wanted relationship credit.
Maybe business origination.
Maybe partnership.
He never thought Graystone would use the information improperly.
That was his defense.
It was also the problem.
He thought intention could replace permission.
Jason called me directly after his suspension.
“You ruined me.”
I almost hung up.
Instead:
“Why did you access my files?”
“I told you.”
“No. Tell me the actual reason.”
Silence.
Then:
“Because I was curious.”
“About?”
“The deal.”
“Why?”
Another silence.
“How much?”
I knew immediately.
“How much what?”
“How much did you make?”
There it was.
He had found the acquisition because he wanted to know whether my “little app” was real.
Then he saw the number.
Nineteen million.
And something shifted.
“I thought Dad would finally stop comparing us,” I said.
Jason laughed bitterly.
“You think I liked being the favorite?”
I did not expect that.
He continued.
“You think being Dad’s successful child was fun?”
“You seemed to enjoy it.”
“Because the alternative was being you.”
That hurt.
He heard it.
“Sorry.”
“No. Continue.”
Jason exhaled.
“Every exam. Every internship. Every promotion. Dad treated it like proof he was right about my life.”
“And?”
“And I started needing to stay ahead of you.”
I sat back.
“You were already ahead.”
“In his world.”
That sentence landed.
Jason knew Dad’s love had conditions too.
Different conditions.
But still conditions.
Then he said:
“When I saw the acquisition, I panicked.”
“Why?”
“Because suddenly the thing he mocked about you was worth more than everything I’d done.”
I was quiet.
Jason continued.
“I wanted something from it.”
“Credit?”
“Yes.”
“Leverage?”
“Yes.”
“And you sent confidential material.”
“Yes.”
For the first time, no excuse.
I said:
“That was wrong.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then stop asking me to save you from the consequences.”
He did not answer.
Before hanging up, he said:
“I’m sorry, Mia.”
I believed he meant it.
I still did nothing to stop the investigation.
May you like
Both things could be true.
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