A moment’s silence, then Lisa’s voice, tinged with surprise but steady: “The venture capitalist?”
“Yes. Tell him it’s a matter of national security...” I paused, then added, “and his own bottom line.”
“I’ll do my best,” Lisa replied, and I heard the determined click of her keyboard through the intercom.
“And Lisa?”
“Yes?”
“If he says no, call back. Keep calling until he says yes.”
I released the button and leaned back, my mind already assembling my strategy. This was my last shot. If I could get Ashley back on board, if I could secure a counteroffer better than Arthur’s, the board would have to listen.
They’d have to see that I was CarideoTech’s future.
Six hours later, I sat in Leonard Ashley’s sleek office, perched on the edge of an ergonomic chair. The room screamed money—not the gaudy, look-at-me wealth of nouveau riche tech bros, but the quiet, confident affluence of old money that had multiplied through shrewd investments.
Ashley himself was just as I remembered him—fit, tanned, with distinguished gray hair and sharp blue eyes that assessed everything. He’d greeted me with polite surprise, as if I were an interesting specimen that had unexpectedly appeared under his microscope.
“Mrs. Carideo,” he said, settling into his chair. “I have to say, your assistant is remarkably persistent. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
I smiled tightly. “Lisa understands the stakes.”
“Which are?” One eyebrow lifted slightly.
“The future of CarideoTech. And about thirty million dollars in potential profit for you.”
Ashley’s mouth quirked at one corner—not quite a smile, but close. “That’s a bold claim.”
“I’ve never been accused of understatement.”
I’d spent the drive rehearsing my pitch, distilling months of struggle into a clean, compelling narrative. Now I launchedinto it, laying out CarideoTech’s progress since Aspen—the successful clinical trials, the regulatory pathway, the market research showing massive demand. I walked him through the MacLeod partnership that would give us access to European markets once the joint venture got approved, the technical improvements we’d made to the glucose monitoring system, and the patent portfolio we’d built.
I was good. Really good. The kind of good that comes from fighting for your life every day for months on end.
Ashley listened attentively, his face giving nothing away. When I finished, he leaned back, tapping a finger on his desk.
“That’s impressive progress, Theresa. Especially given the circumstances.”
I nodded once, acknowledging the unspoken reference to Marco’s death.
“So,” I said, “I’m offering you the same deal we discussed in Aspen. Thirty million for a twenty-five percent stake. Pre-money valuation of 120 million.”
Ashley’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s a steep price for a company currently in the middle of what appears to be a leadership crisis.”
“There’s no crisis,” I said firmly. “Just a CFO who’s attempting a hostile takeover by creating the illusion of a crisis.”
“Arthur Vance.”
So he’d done his homework. Or Arthur had already been in touch. My stomach tightened, but I kept my face neutral.
“Yes. Arthur has been working with Axiom Ventures. They plan to strip CarideoTech of its parts. They plan to sell our patent to QuantumTech, who will bury it to protect their inferior insulin pump business.”
Ashley’s face remained impassive, yet a spark ignited in his gaze. Perhaps it was curiosity or maybe doubt.
“That’s a serious accusation.”
“I have evidence.” I gestured toward my bag, where the document lay tucked inside.
