Page 70 of The Dis-Graced
Perhaps the most perplexing thing about this encounter is that Zevran himself is approaching me, and not some network of lawyers. There’s something odd about this whole thing. It doesn’t add up.
An attractive woman greets me. “Hello, Mr. Dallanger. Zevran has been expecting you.”
She leads me into an elevator, and as it ascends, my mind travels back in time to my night with Grace. To her hot-blooded passion. To her cries and moans. To her anger. Every bit of it justified.
Now, I don’t even know if a friendship would be salvageable, not after my confession.
At first, she was humiliated. I tried to calm her, but the last thing she wanted to hear was that she signed away her privacy in my legal office. That led to fury. But the biggest bomb was the discontinuation of the planned docuseries. It wasn’t so much that she was angry about it. If anything, she seemed to expect it. The hurt in her eyes was too much for me to bear.
Dare I say the exchange pained me just as much as it hurt her. No amount of telling Grace I was going to make things right worked. In fact, it made things considerably worse.
Then, there was that thing she had said. Something along the lines of paying the price for a deed she did not commit.
I can’t get it out of my mind. Obviously, she is referring to her scandal and the fallout she’s suffering, but how is that possible when there’s photographic evidence of her naked in a hotel room with Brigger? It just doesn’t make any sense.
Unless the situation goes deeper than I’m aware of. Grace could very well be a victim in all this and I’ve been treating her like some upstart, desperate to do anything to get ahead.
My stomach twists and I feel ill at the thought of my grave misjudgment. Of course, I’m probably reading too much into her words. The evidence is very well stacked against her, but I can’t help but wonder.
The elevator door opens, and I step out into a well-lit hall, following the guide to a door she uses a keycard to access. The door beeps and slides open.
“Mr. Dallanger is here to see you,” she calls through the doorway but doesn’t enter.
I see myself in, immediately spotting a smug-looking Zevran gazing out the ceiling-to-floor length window overlooking the city. But he’s not alone. A few feet to his left is Gabriel Icor, smiling at me like the asshole he is.
“Drake, how good to see you again,” Gabriel says.
Fuck! What the hell is going on? Act cool, don’t let them see they have you flustered.
“I wish I could say likewise,” I say, taking a seat in a plush, oversized chair without being offered.
The room has a lounging aesthetic, not at all business-like. It belongs more in a frat house than a billionaire’s high-rise.
“May I offer you a drink?” Zevran asks, going to an impressive bar areas.
“No, I’d like to get this over with as quickly as possible.”
Zevran takes on a sympathetic tone. “I understand.”
“No—you don’t understand. Accusing a business rival of theft and disallowing them from getting their lawyers involved is all kinds of illegal, and then getting your friends together to bully me? Don’t think for one bloody second that I’m not going to bring that up in court—”
“So, how’s ALAN?” Gabriel asks nonchalantly. “Is he being a good boy? Eating his vegetables?”
That got my attention.
My jaw drops. I move my lips to speak, but no words come to me.
“Finally, I can talk,” Gabriel says, taking a seat across from me. “Now, let’s have a discussion about who’s trying to stealyourintellectual property.”
“Who told you about ALAN? Did anybody? Did you merely look up the patent? Everyone has AI patents, yourself included—”
“I’m sorry for the cloak and daggers and sending you to Zevran, but it’s me you want to talk to,” Gabriel says. “I had to use him and throw some bullshit real estate theft out there, so nobody knew you were actually coming to speak with me. I want to help you.”
“Isn’t that rich. You help me?” I chuckle at the absurdity.
“I was approached earlier in the week with an offer. Turnkey AI technology for a cool billion, or at least that’s the initial bid. I have to say, if it’s really that price, it’s a steal.”
I ball my hands into fists, angry and dangerously close to jumping over the small coffee table between us and punching his lights out.
