Moje przemówienie pożegnalne zostało przerwane: „Nie mamy na to czasu”. Zamknąłem laptopa… Wtedy inwestorzy zapytali o mnie.

When he saw me, his smile thinned.

“Dr. Rodus,” he said. “Still playing savior?”

Maya’s hand lifted slightly.

“Answer questions only,” she said.

Rainer chuckled.

“I will,” he said, eyes never leaving mine.

The court reporter swore him in.

Maya began.

“State your name and position,” she said.

“Rainer—” he started.

“Full name,” Maya corrected.

“Rainer Holt,” he said. “Former technical director of Audiovance.”

“Former?” Maya asked.

Rainer’s jaw tightened.

“I resigned,” he said.

“On what date?” Maya asked.

Rainer answered.

Maya continued.

“Did you present a strategy to reintegrate Dr. Rodus’s autonomous division while she was abroad?”

Rainer smiled.

“I presented an optimization strategy,” he said. “It’s what I was hired to do.”

“Did it include reintegration?” Maya asked.

“It included efficiency,” he replied.

Maya’s voice stayed even.

“Answer yes or no,” she said.

Rainer’s eyes flashed.

“Yes,” he said.

Maya nodded.

“And did you communicate to investors that community programs were being phased out?”

Rainer shrugged.

“I communicated business realities,” he said.

Maya slid a printed email toward him.

“Is this your email?” she asked.

Rainer glanced at it.

“Yes,” he said.

“Read the highlighted line,” Maya instructed.

Rainer’s mouth tightened.

He read it.

Community programs will be phased out; we’re shifting to higher margin hospital partnerships.

Maya leaned back.

“Was Dr. Rodus aware you were telling investors that?” she asked.

Rainer’s smile returned, small and sharp.

“She doesn’t understand business,” he said.

I felt heat rise.

Maya’s gaze flicked to me—don’t react.

I breathed.

Maya continued.

“Did you attempt to file patents for modifications to Dr. Rodus’s designs under your own name?”

Rainer’s expression shifted.

“I filed patents for my work,” he said.

Maya slid another document forward.

“A provisional patent filing,” she said. “Your name as inventor. The modifications described match code commits traced to Dr. Rodus’s repository months before your arrival at Audiovance.”

Rainer’s eyes narrowed.

“That’s interpretation,” he said.

Maya nodded.

“Then let’s talk about timing,” she said. “You were installed as technical director six weeks before Dr. Rodus was dismissed, correct?”

“Yes,” he said.

“And within six weeks, you claimed ownership of modifications to a seven-year project,” Maya said. “Do you realize how that looks?”

Rainer’s lips curled.

“It looks like competence,” he said.

Maya didn’t flinch.

“It looks like theft,” she replied.

Rainer leaned forward.

“Careful,” he said.

Maya’s voice stayed calm.

“This deposition is under oath,” she said. “Threats are not appropriate.”

Rainer sat back, smiling.

“I’m not threatening,” he said. “I’m reminding you that people with money don’t like being embarrassed.”

The room went quiet.

Even the court reporter paused for a fraction of a second.

And something in me settled.

Not fear.

Clarity.

Because in that moment, I understood exactly what kind of man Rainer Holt was.

He didn’t care about sound.

He cared about control.

And control was his language.

After the deposition, Maya closed her laptop and looked at me.

“That was useful,” she said.

“Useful?” Lena echoed, furious. “He practically confessed.”

“He did,” Maya agreed. “And now we use it.”

Teresa met my gaze.

“The consortium will not tolerate this,” she said quietly. “They funded Audiovance because they believed in your model. If Audiovance misrepresented their intentions, there will be consequences.”

I exhaled.

“I don’t want to destroy them,” I said.

Teresa’s eyes held mine.

“They are destroying themselves,” she replied. “You are simply refusing to be buried under the rubble.”

Two weeks later, Audiovance requested mediation.

They didn’t frame it as surrender.

They framed it as collaboration.

But their desperation smelled the same either way.

The mediation took place in a neutral office building with beige carpet and a conference room that felt designed to drain emotion.

Bennett sat on one side with two board members and their attorney.

We sat on the other with Maya, Teresa, and our own counsel.

Rainer was not present.

When I asked why, Bennett’s mouth tightened.

“He’s no longer with the company,” Bennett said.

I didn’t react.

Not because I wasn’t satisfied.

Because satisfaction wasn’t the point.

Maya began.

“Our position is simple,” she said. “The Adaptive Hearing Initiative will continue operating community clinics. Audiovance will cease harassment, cease defamatory statements, and withdraw their injunction requests.”

Audiovance’s attorney leaned forward.

“And the intellectual property?” he asked.

Maya’s eyes stayed steady.

“You will license what you can prove you own,” she said. “And we will license what we can prove we own.”

Bennett exhaled.

“Vienn,” he said, voice low. “We can’t survive if you take half the consortium funding.”

I looked at him.

“You weren’t supposed to survive on funding meant for accessibility while you dismantled accessibility,” I said.

His face flinched.

One of the board members—Adira—spoke.

“We made mistakes,” she said. “We panicked.”

I didn’t respond.

Teresa’s voice cut in.

“The consortium did not fund panic,” she said. “We funded mission.”

Silence.

Bennett looked tired.

“What do you want?” he asked again.

This time, my answer wasn’t about control.

It was about protection.

“I want my team left alone,” I said. “I want clinics left alone. I want patients left out of your strategies. And I want a public correction of your false statements.”

Audiovance’s attorney frowned.

“A public correction is difficult,” he said.

Maya’s smile was thin.

“Then a public trial will be worse,” she replied.

The mediation stretched for hours.

Numbers were discussed.

Licensing terms.

Non-disparagement clauses.

Funding allocations.

At one point, Bennett asked for a break and pulled me aside.

In the hallway, away from attorneys, he looked at me like a man who had finally run out of tricks.

“I didn’t realize how dangerous he was,” Bennett said.

“Rainer?” I asked.

Bennett nodded.

“He convinced us,” he said. “He told us you were idealistic. That you’d ruin the company if we didn’t rein you in.”

I stared at him.

“And you believed him,” I said.

Bennett’s shoulders sagged.

“Yes,” he admitted.

The honesty surprised me.

“I made choices I regret,” he said. “I thought I was protecting the company.”

“You were protecting the stock,” I replied.

Bennett’s eyes flickered.

“And now?” he asked.

I looked down the hallway where our warehouse future waited.

“Now I’m protecting people,” I said.

He swallowed.

“You really don’t want revenge,” he said, almost to himself.

I shook my head.