CHAPTER 13: THE VINDICATION
The conference room at ten AM was packed.
Same room as the original Vaulter presentation. Same players. But the energy had shifted. Where before there'd been Kendall's desperate enthusiasm, now there was corporate dread. Everyone knew what this meeting would confirm.
I sat in my usual spot. Middle of the table. Not hiding, not pushing forward.
Kendall sat near the head, face carefully blank. He'd arrived early, I'd noticed. Probably trying to control his reaction, prepare for the blow.
Logan sat at the head. He'd made a point of attending. Wanted to see this play out in person.
Frank stood at the front with David from Deloitte. The same tired analyst who'd spent three weeks pulling apart Vaulter's numbers.
"Let's begin," Frank said.
David pulled up his presentation. First slide: Executive Summary in bold letters.
"Our independent analysis of Vaulter Media confirms significant discrepancies between reported and actual performance metrics."
The room went very still.
He clicked to the next slide. Two graphs. Vaulter's reported subscriber growth—smooth, ascending, beautiful. And the verified numbers—choppy, lower, realistic.
"Vaulter reported consistent eight to twelve percent month-over-month subscriber growth," David continued. His voice had that particular flatness of someone who'd found fraud and had to report it to people who could make his life difficult. "Independent verification shows actual growth of four to six percent, with significant month-to-month variance."
Another click. Revenue projections.
"Based on the inflated subscriber counts, Vaulter projected revenues of approximately three point two billion over five years. Corrected projections suggest actual revenues closer to one point nine billion."
Someone at the end of the table muttered something under their breath.
Frank stepped in. "To be clear—Vaulter wasn't cooking the books in the illegal sense. They were using extremely generous counting methodologies. Free trial accounts counted as subscribers. Cancelled accounts remained in counts for sixty days. Multiple accounts from single users counted separately." He paused. "All technically defensible. All deeply misleading."
I watched Kendall from the corner of my eye. His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping. Hands flat on the table, knuckles white.
From his direction, the Empathy Engine caught fragments: This can't be—I vetted—they said—oh god, Dad's seeing this—
Frank continued. "At the price Vaulter was asking—three billion—this would have represented a forty percent overpayment based on actual asset value."
The room absorbed this. I could feel the collective wince. Three billion dollars. Forty percent overpayment. Career-ending mistake.
Kendall had almost made it.
I'd stopped him.
Logan's voice cut through the silence. "Roman."
Every head turned toward me.
Logan's eyes were on mine. Sharp. Assessing. "You saw this."
I could gloat. Could take full credit. Could use this moment to elevate myself at Kendall's expense.
Old Roman might've done that. Turned the knife, made a crude joke, enjoyed the victory.
I met Logan's gaze. Kept my voice level. "I asked questions about the subscriber numbers. They looked too clean. Frank and his team did the actual work." I gestured toward Frank and David. "They're the ones who found the discrepancies."
Deflection. Sharing credit. Strategic mercy.
Frank blinked slightly. Surprised.
Logan's eyes narrowed. Reading me. Trying to figure out what angle I was playing.
"Mmm," he grunted finally. Turned back to Frank. "Recommendation?"
"Walk away," Frank said without hesitation. "Even at a corrected price, the cultural integration would be problematic. Better to develop our own digital strategy or find a more compatible target."
"Agreed," Gerri added from her seat. "The due diligence revealed enough red flags that continuing would expose us to shareholder lawsuits if the acquisition underperformed."
Logan nodded slowly. "Kill it. Send them a polite fuck-off. Move on."
The meeting continued. Other business. Quarterly updates. Normal corporate machinery.
But the real business was done. Vaulter was dead. Kendall's first major play as interim CEO: prevented before it could destroy him.
And I'd been the one to spot it.
The meeting ended at eleven thirty. People filed out quickly, conversations already shifting to other topics.
Kendall stayed seated. Staring at his laptop screen like it might offer answers.
I stood to leave. Gave him space.
In the hallway, Logan caught my arm as he passed. His grip was firm. Not painful, but present.
"Good instincts," he said quietly. Not quite praise. But acknowledgment. From Logan, that was almost the same thing.
He clapped my shoulder once—rare physical approval—and kept walking.
I stood there for a moment. The shoulder-clap. The "good instincts." Logan Roy had just validated me in front of the executive team.
It felt... complicated. Satisfying and hollow at the same time.
"Roman."
I turned. Frank stood a few feet away, briefcase in hand.
"Good catch," he said. Simple. Genuine.
"You did the heavy lifting. Three weeks of analysis."
"Three weeks that would've been wasted if you hadn't flagged the problem." He shifted the briefcase to his other hand. "You're developing an eye for this. Keep it up."
He walked away before I could respond.
I stood in the empty hallway. Two separate acknowledgments in as many minutes. From Logan. From Frank. The Vaulter call had bought me credibility I couldn't have earned any other way.
My phone buzzed. Gerri.
Well played. Deflecting credit was smart.
I smiled despite myself.
Me: Dinner? The usual place.
Her reply came fast: 8pm. You earned it.
I pocketed my phone. Headed back to my office.
Through the glass walls, I could see other executives at their desks. Karl on a phone call. An assistant rushing past with files. The normal rhythm of corporate life.
But something had shifted. When I walked past, people looked up. Made eye contact. Nodded.
They saw me differently now.
Not the joke. Not the crude younger son. But someone who could spot problems. Someone whose questions mattered.
It should've felt better than it did.
I reached my office. Closed the door. Sat at my desk and stared out the window at Manhattan.
Being right had cost me Kendall's trust. Maybe permanently. He wouldn't forget that I'd questioned him publicly, been proven correct, made him look foolish in front of Logan and the board.
The smart play. The necessary play.
But Kendall was still my brother. Or rather, he was Roman's brother. The distinction was getting harder to maintain.
I pulled out my phone. Typed a message to Kendall: You okay?
Stared at it. Deleted it.
Too soon. He needed space. Time to process the humiliation without me prodding at it.
Instead, I opened my email. Started going through the backlog.
Twenty minutes later, a new message appeared. From Kendall's assistant: Mr. Kendall Roy requests no meetings or calls for the remainder of the day.
Translation: Kendall was hiding. Licking his wounds.
I leaned back in my chair. The Vaulter victory was complete. My credibility was enhanced. Logan's approval secured, at least for now.
But I'd made an enemy of my brother in the process.
The game continued. And every victory came with a cost.
For the first time since arriving in this body, since taking over Roman's life, I felt like I actually belonged here. Like I wasn't just wearing his skin but inhabiting his role.
Whether that was good or terrifying, I wasn't sure yet.
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