Seven
The San Jose Marriott Marquiswas packed with the usual crowd—venture capitalists in expensive suits, startup founders in casual jeans, and the engineers who actually built the technology wearing whatever they’d grabbed that morning. The BioInnovate Conference brought out everyone who mattered in medical technology, and from the stares I was getting, people had heard about me.
The widow. The woman whose husband died on a ski slope two months ago. The CEO claimant.
I kept my chin up, my expression neutral as I made my way through the main hall toward the registration desk. Shelly had helped me pick out my outfit—a tailored navy suit that said “executive” without screaming “trying too hard,” paired with the pearl earrings Marco had given me for our fifth anniversary.
“Theresa Carideo.” I handed my driver’s license to the young woman at registration. She glanced at it, then at me, then back at the screen.
“Oh, Mrs. Carideo. I’m so sorry about your husband. He was always so great at these events, and we’ll really miss him.” She flushed, realizing she was saying too much. “Anyway—here’s your badge and welcome packet.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking them with a forced smile.
The badge felt heavy.Theresa Carideo, CarideoTech, CEO.
No longer just Chief Strategy Officer. A firm declaration. Arthur would see it eventually. If he was here—and he probably was—he’d have questions.
The morning keynote was starting in twenty minutes. I found a quiet corner near the coffee station and checked my schedule. Three panel discussions today, networking lunch, then the evening reception. Somewhere in all of that, I needed to convince people that CarideoTech was still a force in the industry, that we hadn’t died with Marco.
“Theresa.”
I turned to find Dr. Vivian Keller, the Chief Medical Officer from one of our competitors. We’d always had a friendly relationship.
“Vivian. Good to see you.”
She pulled me into a deep hug that I hadn’t expected but desperately needed. “I’m so sorry about Marco. We all are. He was one of the good ones.”
“Thank you,” I managed around the lump in my throat.
“Are you speaking at any of the panels?” she asked, releasing me.
“Not this year. Just attending, making the rounds.”
Vivian’s expression turned knowing. “Showing the flag. Smart. There’s been a lot of talk.”
“I’m sure there has been.”
“For what it’s worth,” she said, “most of us think you can do it.”
The validation from a competitor, of all people, nearly undid me. “I appreciate that more than you know.”
“The keynote’s starting soon. Want to sit together? Strength in numbers and all that.”
I nodded, glad for the company, and we headed into the vast ballroom. There were hundreds of seats, and most were already taken. Vivian steered us to a spot about halfway back, and I slipped into an aisle seat, already plotting my escape if things got too heavy.
The lights dimmed. The keynote speaker—a renowned cardiologist discussing minimally invasive surgical techniques—took the stage. I tried to focus, taking notes on my program, but my mind kept wandering. Marco loved these conferences, the energy, the ideas, the connections. He’d be scribbling notes in the margins, already thinking about how to apply whatever he was hearing to our work.
The presentation ended with enthusiastic applause. I clapped mechanically, already standing.
“Coffee break,” Vivian said. “Want to brave the crowds?”
“I think I need some air first,” I admitted.
“I’ll save you a seat at lunch. Table seven.”
I nodded my thanks and made my way out of the ballroom, swimming upstream against the crowd heading toward coffeeand pastries. The main lobby was quieter, and I found a small alcove near the windows overlooking the city.
I pressed my forehead against the cool glass and closed my eyes.You can do this. Just a few more hours. Then you can go back to the hotel and fall apart in private.
