Chapter 91:


    “Exactly,” Nelson said. “You don’t know. Because you didn’t build it.”


    He turned his back on her entirely. “I don’t waste time with pretenders.”


    He offered his arm to Isolde. “Ms. Carson. I believe there is a bottle of 1964 Scotch in the VIP lounge. And I have some questions about a certain variable-cycle engine patent that bears a striking resemnce to your handwriting.”


    Isolde took his arm. She looked at Grayson. His mouth hung open, his face a mask of shock and confusion.


    “Goodbye, Grayson,” she said.


    She walked away with the Professor, leaving the Lancasters standing in the wreckage of their own arrogance.


    “Did you hear that?” Daron whispered, still dabbing at his face. “He said she was a student at The Institute.”


    Grayson stared at her retreating figure — the red dress, the patent threat, the Professor’s recognition. The pieces were clicking into ce. And the picture they formed terrified him.


    The VIP lounge was quiet, insted from the noise of the g by thick velvet curtains.


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    Professor Nelson poured two sses of amber liquid and handed one to Isolde.


    “Sophia,” he said softly.


    Isolde flinched. “I haven’t heard that name in a long time.”


    “It was a good name,” Nelson said. “A ghost name. The name on the papers you submitted anonymously because you were afraid your family — or your husband — would find out.”


    “I wanted to protect them,” Isolde said. “I thought if I was just a wife, just a mother… it would be enough.”


    “And was it?”


    Isolde looked into the scotch. “No. It was killing me. Almost finished the job.”


    “Well,” Nelson raised his ss. “You look very much alive to me tonight. That move with the patent usation? Very kic.”


    “I was angry,” Isolde admitted.


    “Good. Anger is fuel. Use it.” Nelson leaned forward. “I need you back, Isolde. The Institute is stuck. We have a contract for a Mars habitat and the life support systems are failing — the math simply doesn’t work. But I saw your ISSDC submission. The honeb structure. It’s brilliant.”


    “You saw that?”


    “I see everything. I want you to lead the team. Not as a student. As a Fellow.”


    Isolde’s heart soared. “Professor… I’m with Orbital now.”


    “I know. And and I have already discussed it. A joint venture. You bridge the gap.”


    The door to the lounge burst open.


    Grayson stood there, disheveled, having pushed past the security guard at the entrance.


    “Isolde,” he gasped. “We need to talk.”


    Nelson rose slowly from his chair. “Mr. Lancaster. You are trespassing.”


    “I need to speak to my wife,” Grayson said, moving toward them. “Professor, with all due respect, you have been misinformed. She isn’t an engineer. She’s a—”


    “She is Sophia,” Nelson said, his voice filling the room.


    Grayson stopped dead. He stumbled back a step, his face draining of all color. Thest, desperate fragment of denial evaporated from his mind, reced by a cold, gut-wrenching certainty. It wasn’t a suspicion anymore. It was a fact.


    “What?”


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