Chapter 6 - The Idea He Thought She Had Forgotten|
Laurel stared at the document until the words blurred.
Hensley Community Access Model.
She hadn't seen that title in nearly three years.
She remembered writing it at two in the morning while Preston slept on the couch, surrounded by takeout containers and the remains of another failed investor presentation.
At the time, Brightstep was struggling to coordinate emergency resources for families.
A foster parent needing a wheelchair-accessible bed might have to call six organizations.
A social worker looking for transportation could spend hours finding someone willing to help.
Laurel had imagined something simpler.
A secure system that connected approved service providers with requests for assistance without sharing a child's identifying information with donors or commercial companies.
No public names.
No searchable addresses.
No personal stories traded for clicks.
Only verified requests and carefully controlled access.
She had spent four months developing the proposal.
Then Preston had told her it was impractical.
“Nice idea, sweetheart,” he'd said.
“But nobody makes money connecting people who can't afford to pay.”
Laurel had eventually put the project aside when Brightstep lost funding for its technology initiative.
Now the same concept was sitting in Camille's folder.
Except someone had removed the privacy protections.
And replaced them with commercial data collection.
“This isn't my project anymore,” Laurel whispered.
Camille looked at her.
“What do you mean?”
“My entire proposal was designed to prevent this.”
Laurel turned a page.
“See this section?”
Camille leaned forward.
“The original version specifically prohibited transferring children's identifying information to sponsors.”
She pointed toward a paragraph.
“This version allows participating vendors to retain individual-level records for future outreach.”
Camille's face tightened.
“That's what concerned me.”
Laurel looked up.
“Do you have proof he actually collected anything?”
“Not yet.”
“Then we can't claim he did.”
Camille seemed surprised.
“You're defending him?”
“No.”
Laurel closed the folder.
“I'm refusing to make an accusation I can't prove.”
For the first time, Camille looked at her with something resembling respect.
Laurel stood.
“We need an attorney.”
“I already spoke to one.”
“Good.”
“And Brightstep needs to know.”
“Immediately.”
Laurel took out her phone.
Then she hesitated.
Camille noticed.
“What?”
“If there's an active system connection, we can't start forwarding documents around and accidentally expose the children we're trying to protect.”
Camille nodded.
“You're right.”
Laurel called Dr. Evelyn Mercer.
The executive director answered on the second ring.
“Laurel?”
“I'm sorry to bother you.”
“After what happened last night, I'm surprised you still want to speak to anyone connected to this charity.”
“I need to ask you something.”
Dr. Mercer's tone changed.
“Go ahead.”
“Did Brightstep ever formally approve a data-sharing agreement with Wade Meridian?”
A long silence followed.
“No.”
Laurel closed her eyes.
“Are you certain?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then I think someone attempted to use my old community-access proposal to justify one.”
Dr. Mercer inhaled sharply.
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
“Stay there.”
“Why?”
“Because I'm calling our legal counsel, and I want everything preserved properly.”
Twenty minutes later, Roman arrived.
He didn't knock with his fist.
He rang the bell once and waited where Laurel could see him through the peephole.
She opened the door.
“Are you following me?”
“No.”
He glanced at Camille, then back at Laurel.
“Dr. Mercer called Elias.”
Laurel folded her arms.
“That's a rather complicated phone tree.”
Roman's expression softened.
“It is.”
He stepped inside.
Camille stood immediately.
“Roman Vale.”
He nodded.
“Ms. Dorsey.”
Something about his tone made Laurel curious.
“You two know each other?”
“Professionally,” Camille said.
Roman looked at her folder.
“Has anyone copied those files?”
“Only my attorney.”
“Good.”
He turned toward Laurel.
“Brightstep's lawyer is arranging an independent forensic review.”
“Can you help?”
“I can provide technical findings, but I won't be the only investigator.”
Laurel frowned.
“Why?”
“Because Northline is connected to the proposed investment.”
He looked serious.
“If the evidence implicates anyone inside Northline, an outside firm needs to assess it without pressure from Elias or me.”
That answer mattered.
Preston would have insisted that everyone simply trust him.
Roman was suggesting safeguards against his own employer.
Laurel relaxed slightly.
“Then what do we do?”
“We preserve records, protect the systems, and let qualified people determine what happened.”
Camille looked relieved.
“That's exactly what my attorney recommended.”
Laurel sat back down.
Then she noticed Roman studying the framed photograph on her bookshelf.
It showed Laurel standing beside a group of volunteers at Brightstep's old community center.
A little boy in an oversized red winter coat stood in front.
Roman's face had gone strangely still.
“Where was that taken?” he asked.
“The original Brightstep building.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
He moved closer.
“Do you remember the boy in the red coat?”
Laurel smiled faintly.
“His name was Oliver.”
Roman's eyes darkened with emotion.
“He was the reason I started donating to Brightstep.”
Laurel looked up.
“You knew him?”
Roman nodded.
“He was my nephew.”
Silence filled the kitchen.
Laurel remembered Oliver.
Quiet.
Serious.
Always carrying a small plastic dinosaur.
She remembered that his mother had been struggling after losing her husband.
And that Brightstep had helped the family secure temporary housing.
“Is he okay?” Laurel asked.
Roman smiled.
“He's twelve now.”
Laurel's eyes widened.
“He must be huge.”
“He thinks he's six feet tall.”
“Is he?”
“Not remotely.”
They laughed.
Then Roman looked at the photograph again.
“My sister was terrified when she came to Brightstep.”
His voice softened.
“They treated her like a person instead of a problem.”
Laurel felt something change between them.
Roman wasn't helping because she was an attractive woman in trouble.
He had a history with the organization.
A reason to care.
And suddenly, she wanted to know everything about him.
Her phone interrupted the moment.
Dr. Mercer had sent a secure message.
Our outside counsel has confirmed an unauthorized vendor integration was scheduled to activate at midnight tonight.
Laurel read it aloud.
Camille covered her mouth.
Roman reached for his phone.
“Has the connection been disabled?”
Laurel waited for the next message.
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Then reappeared.
Finally, the response arrived.
The connection is blocked, but our technology team found something disturbing.
A second message followed.
Someone created approval documents using Laurel's name.
Laurel slowly lowered the phone.
May you like
She had expected Preston to steal her ideas.
She had never imagined he would steal her identity.
