Chapter
One
THERESA
Aspen,February 1994
Champagne bubbled in the flute, cold against my fingers. Across the crowded ballroom of the Ritz-Carlton, Marco Carideo held court. My husband and business partner.
He didn’t just talk; he orchestrated. His hands moved in wide, sweeping gestures, carving shapes in the air that seemed to pull the listeners in. Men in five-thousand-dollar suits leaned forward like kids at story time. Women adjusted their jewelry, their eyes fixed on his smile.
I took a sip, the dry bite of the champagne grounding me. Aspen in February smelled of pine needles, expensive perfume, and money. Lots of money.
Marco laughed, head thrown back, exposing the strong line of his jaw. The sound cut through the low hum of conversation—genuine, loud, unashamed. That was the thing about Marco. He didn’t know how to be small.
“He’s doing it again,” a voice murmured beside me.
I didn’t turn. “Of course he is.”
Arthur Vance, our CFO, swirled his scotch. He was a man built of spreadsheets, always looking slightly uncomfortable in social settings unless numbers were involved. “Leonard Ashley looks... skeptical.”
My gaze snapped to the older man standing opposite Marco. Leonard Ashley. The whale. The man whose venture capital firm could turn our company, CarideoTech, from a scrappy San Jose startup into a household name.
Arthur was right. Ashley’s arms were crossed, his expression flat. He wasn’t buying the dream. Marco was selling the vision—a world where diabetics didn’t have to bleed themselves six times a day—but Ashley was seeing risk.
“Hold my drink,” I said, thrusting the flute at Arthur.
“Theresa, wait?—”
I was already moving, but I didn’t rush. Rushing looked desperate. I glided, cutting through the crowd.
Marco saw me coming. His eyes, the color of warm honey, lit up. He didn’t falter, didn’t pause. He just opened the circle, making space for me at his side.
“And here is the genius who makes it all work,” Marco announced, his hand settling on the small of my back. “Gentlemen, my wife and partner, Theresa.”
Ashley’s gaze shifted to me. It was assessing. “Mrs. Carideo. Your husband was just telling us about this... non-invasive monitoring.”
“It sounds like science fiction,” another man muttered.
“It was,” I said, my voice steady. I didn’t smile. I wasn’t here to charm. “Until six months ago. The prototype in San Jose is currently running at ninety-two percent accuracy against traditional blood draws. We’ve reduced the lag time to under three minutes.”
Ashley raised an eyebrow. “Ninety-two percent? That’s a bold claim.”
“We’re in Phase Two trials,” I countered. “The data package for the FDA is already compiled. The bio-impedance spectroscopy sensors we developed aren’t just theoretical, Mr. Ashley. They’re patented. Three of them. The competition is still trying to figure out how to filter the noise from sweat and movement. We solved that last November.”
I saw the shift. It was subtle—a slight uncrossing of arms, a tilt of the head. The skepticism didn’t vanish, but it changed flavor. It became interest.
“Patented?” Ashley asked.
“Utility patents,” I confirmed. “Granted. Not pending. We own the method.”
Marco squeezed my waist, a silent cheer. He picked up the thread instantly. “Theresa built the algorithm that cleans the signal. It’s cleaner than a Swiss watch.”
Ashley looked between us. The dreamer and the architect. The fire and the steel. He took a sip of his drink, eyes narrowing.
“I want to see your facility in San Jose,” he said finally. “Next Tuesday?”
My heart hammered against my ribs, but my face remained a mask of professional calm. “Ten a.m. I’ll have the technical team ready for a full demo.”
