Part 10: The Broken Seal
When I brought the wooden toy car home and set it on the kitchen island, Logan stared at it for a full minute without moving a single muscle. His face went entirely blank, his breathing dropping into that deep, slow rhythm that signaled an internal storm.
"He was in the park," Logan said, his voice flat, dangerously quiet.
"He was alone, Logan," I said gently, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind. "He didn't have lawyers. He didn't try to get close to Liam. He just left that."
Logan reached out, his calloused fingers slowly touching the scuffed red paint of the toy. A tiny, imperceptible twitch mirrored near his eye—a micro-expression of a boy who had spent decades burying his childhood beneath his father's expectations.
"He kept it," Logan whispered, his voice cracking slightly before he instantly forced it back into a calm, hard register. "He spent twenty-five years telling me my emotions were a liability, and he was keeping a piece of my childhood in his desk drawer like a trophy."
"It's not a trophy, Logan. It’s regret," I said, leaning my cheek against his back. "He’s realizing that his shadow didn't just drive you away; it emptied his own house."
Before Logan could respond, his laptop on the counter chimed with an urgent, high-priority notification. It was an automated system alert from Apex Innovations’ patent monitoring network. A massive corporate lawsuit had just been filed in the federal district court of Oregon.
Vance Medical Group, a direct subsidiary of Wright Medical Group, was suing Apex Innovations for patent infringement over Logan’s hydraulic lift modification.
The plaintiff listed on the court document wasn't Robert Wright. It was the executive board of directors, signed and authorized by Thomas Sterling.
Logan let out a sharp, cynical laugh, his eyes flashing with a sudden, lethal clarity. He picked up the red wooden car and squeezed it tightly in his palm until his knuckles turned white.
"He didn't come to the park to see his grandson, Joanna," Logan hissed, his face hardening into an expression of pure, unadulterated Wright fury. "He came to see if I was soft enough to accept a sentimental distraction while his board of directors prepared to steal my company from under me. The old man hasn't changed at all."
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"Logan, wait," I said, seeing the dangerous path he was about to sprint down. "Look at the signature date on the filing. It was processed three weeks ago by the board. Your father didn't sign it. He's the chief of surgery, not the chairman of the real estate board anymore."
"It doesn't matter who signed it," Logan roared, spinning around to face me, his dark eyes burning with the old, defensive panic that had once driven him into that northern basement. "The Wright name is on the document. They want a war over my work? They want to prove that a mechanic can't hold on to his own creation? Fine. I’m going to the boardroom tomorrow morning, and I’m going to dismantle his legacy piece by piece."
