Chapter 2

The night was a long, sleepless blur. The image of Jake' s face twisting from feigned sorrow to genuine rage was burned into my mind. It wasn't just the lie about his score. It was the calculated cruelty of it, the attempt to leverage our entire history to sabotage my future. Why?

The question echoed in the silent room. By 3 AM, I knew I couldn't let it go. I needed to understand the depth of this betrayal.

An idea sparked, a memory from years ago. We were working on a project for the state science fair, building a rudimentary learning algorithm. To collaborate, we set up a shared cloud server, a digital treehouse filled with our code, notes, and dreams. We had shared passwords, a symbol of our unbreakable trust. I wondered if it still existed.

My fingers flew across the keyboard. The old login page looked ancient. I typed in my password, then hesitated over his. I tried his dog's name. Access denied. His birthday. Denied. Then I remembered something he'd said once, laughing, that his "one true password to everything" was the name of the first company he wanted to build: "PetersonPrime."

Access granted.

I was in. The server was a mess of old and new folders. I ignored the high school projects and looked for anything recent. A folder named "P-Tech_Future" caught my eye. P-Tech was Peterson Technologies, his family's struggling company.

I clicked it. Inside were not college plans, but business proposals, financial projections, and strategy documents. My blood ran cold. One file was a PowerPoint presentation titled "Project Nightingale - Acquisition Strategy."

I opened it. The first slide was a picture of me from the science fair, smiling, holding our award. The next slide was a detailed breakdown of my AI research, the very project I was hoping to pursue in college. It was all there-my unique neural network architecture, my data processing techniques, everything.

The final slide made me gasp. It was a mock-up of a product launch. My AI, rebranded and repackaged, with a big, bold logo at the bottom: "Nightingale by Peterson Technologies." They weren't just trying to hold me back. They were planning to steal my work.

As I stared in horror, I clicked on a sub-folder labeled "Assets." A corrupted video file was inside. When I tried to open it, my screen flickered violently. For a split second, an image flashed before my eyes: a legal document, a cease and desist letter, with my name and Alex Turner's name printed at the top. The image was gone as quickly as it appeared, leaving me with a dizzying sense of vertigo and a name I barely recognized from a childhood science camp.

A noise from outside my window made me jump. I peered through the blinds. On the sidewalk below, under a streetlight, stood Jake and his mother. I couldn't hear every word, but their gestures were sharp and angry.

"...too risky," Mrs. Peterson was saying, her voice a low hiss. "You pushed her too hard. If she finds out about the AI..."

"She won't," Jake interrupted, his voice full of a chilling arrogance. "She trusts me. She's emotional. I can handle Sarah."

My hands were shaking. I saved copies of everything to a secure thumb drive, my mind racing. I was about to shut it down when I heard a soft knock on my front door. My heart leaped into my throat.

It was Mrs. Peterson. Her face, under the porch light, was a mask of sweet concern.

"Sarah, dear? I saw your light on. I was so worried after Jake told me about your little disagreement."

I quickly shoved the thumb drive in my pocket. "I was just... I couldn't sleep."

"I know, honey. He feels just awful about it," she said, her eyes scanning past me into the house. "He just doesn't want to lose his best friend."

The lie was so smooth, so practiced. I felt sick.

The next day at school, I avoided everyone. I needed confirmation, one more solid piece of the puzzle. I went to the guidance counselor's office.

Mr. Harrison greeted me with a warm smile. "Sarah! Congratulations on the score. MIT will be lucky to have you."

"Thank you, Mr. Harrison. I actually had a question about transfer credits." I tried to keep my voice casual. "My friend, Jake Peterson, was talking about maybe starting at the state university and then transferring to a tech school like CIT. Is that a common path?"

Mr. Harrison' s expression was thoughtful. "It's possible, but difficult. It's funny you should ask. Jake was in here just last week asking about the exact opposite. He wanted to know which of his CIT acceptance credits would transfer back to the state school, in case his 'plan A' didn't work out."

There it was. The final nail in the coffin of their lies.

As I left his office, a sharp voice called my name. "Sarah."

It was Emily Chen. She sauntered over, a smirk on her face.

"Heard you had a little meltdown yesterday," she said, looking me up and down. "You really thought he'd throw away a future at CIT for you? You're not that important."

"This has nothing to do with you, Emily," I said, my voice cold.

"Oh, it has everything to do with me," she purred. "We have plans. Big plans. And you're not going to get in the way."

Before I could respond, my phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown number.

"Sarah dear, it's Carol Peterson. Please come for dinner tonight. We need to clear the air. Jake is heartbroken. 7 PM. Don't be late."

It wasn't an invitation. It was a summons. And I knew, with absolute certainty, it was a trap.

Fine, I thought, a cold resolve hardening inside me. They want to play games? Let's play.

I texted back: "I'll be there."