“Aurora, we need your penthouse.”
Victor Thorne’s voice. My stepfather. Dry. Sharp. Like a stock ticker in that quiet Shard room. He was blunt. I didn’t care. Me? Just some old problem in his perfect tech empire vision. I froze. Fingers still on the Quantum AI Workstation. Been there since 3 AM. Fixing market algorithms. Cold coffee nearby. Holographic charts, sparkling.
“Mr. Thorne, what do you mean?” My voice caught. I tried to sound calm. This sudden push.
He didn’t even look at me. His eyes glued to profit charts. Projected from his hand. “Chloe, your half-sister. Finished her Master’s at MIT. She needs space for Thorne Industries’ new lab. Your apartment? Best network. Enough room for her big data server cluster.” He glanced at my setup. Glowing cables. Custom modules. Blockchain designs. Not my Oracle AI. The one for exact market guesses. “You’ll move down to the studio. Ground floor. We cleaned it this morning. It’s… small.”
I’m Aurora ‘Rory’ Vance. Twenty-five. Living in the penthouse my late grandmother, a computer science pioneer, left me. Now it’s Thorne Industries property. Everything serves them. I work remotely. For a Silicon Valley firm. Just started testing Oracle AI. It predicts risk. Find chances. Not flashy. No big parties. No rich speeches. But it was real. Thousands of hours. Hard work. Code, written with heart. They didn’t care.
“The studio? No fiber optic. Street noise is bad.” I held my calm. Tried. But anger grew inside. And sadness. I knew they’d pull something like this. Not this fast. Not this cruel. Not after all my work.
My mother, Eleanor Thorne. Sipped coffee. I looked away. Like I was a bother. “Perhaps discomfort will motivate you, Rory. You can’t keep calling your ‘little side project’ a job. Be like Chloe. She makes valuable apps. Make money.” She set her cup down. A soft clink. Judging me. Echoing in the fancy room.
Ah, Chloe. The smart one. My favorite. All the praise. All the funding. Still living off family praise. And a huge MIT debt. Victor Thorne always bragged about paying it. Showed his kindness. His smarts. “I have a job, Mother,” I said. My words vanished. A quiet plea. Against a cold wall. Of not caring. Of disrespect.
“You’re just playing with old code,” my mother said. Cold. Didn’t even look. Just fixed her necklace. “Chloe needs space for something important. Real data breakthroughs. For Thorne Industries, Rory. It will change everything.”
I looked around my penthouse. Glass walls, lit up. Complex data charts. Code. Written by hand. Prediction models. Finely tuned. They saw scribbles. Just numbers. I saw the future. Financial markets. A chance. To change everything. To unlock huge potential.
“Alright,” I said. Calm. Closed the Quantum AI Workstation. Click. The data disappeared. “I’ll leave.” Not beaten. Not broken. Building something too big. Too important. For this house. These people. Three years of quiet hate. Watching them celebrate Chloe. Smallest hackathon awards. “Groundbreaking” articles. My work? A hobby. A strange pastime. No ambition. No profit or fame. For their “tech empire.”
“You have until noon tomorrow,” Victor Thorne said. Straight. Didn’t look up from his news. His voice? A final order. “Chloe’s team comes to put in servers in the afternoon. Not much time.”
Noon tomorrow. Funny. Because at 12:00 PM sharp tomorrow, Aurora Vance’s secret company, Epoch Systems, will start worldwide.
That night. I carefully packed small computers. Data parts. Blockchain plans. Into strong, protective cases. The locks clicked. Broke the quiet of the penthouse. I took off each fast fiber optic cable. Each valuable data drive. Wrapped them. Like jewels. Of a new future. Each box held three years. Hard work. Sleepless nights. Quantum AI console. Faint screen glow. Server hum. A coded message popped up. My smartwatch. From Aris. My chief tech officer. From a secret data center. In Iceland. He watched the main servers. “All systems are green. Epoch Systems launch locked for noon tomorrow. Perfect.”
I smirked. A cold smile. I pictured it. The tech and money earthquake. Hitting global stock markets. In less than 24 hours. The storm I made. Secretly. A wave of data. And algorithms. Now ready to sweep. Over their world. Three years. No one knew. I worked hard. Without stopping. I made an Oracle AI system. It could guess market changes. So accurately. It even found tricky insider trading. And hidden system flaws. Before anyone knew. My family called it “tinkering.” “Useless data games.” But it was a huge change. For money science. A tool. It could remake the whole world economy. My job. “Remote data analyst.” Working for myself. Enough to live. Just a useful cover. A fog. Hiding the truth. Simple coat. Over my tech armor.
Epoch Systems. It worked quietly. Under a company in the Cayman Islands. A strong legal setup. Built to protect assets. To hide from big companies. Ready for smart investors. And possible partners. Ready to change everything. About trading. And risk. Victor and Eleanor bragged. Chloe “led” “new” projects. About user behavior. At Thorne Industries. Just ideas. On paper. Wasted data. No real profit. I built it. A machine. Making billions. A machine. Saving. Or wrecking. The world’s biggest money firms. More than they ever dreamed. Through partners. And venture capital. They never knew. I got contracts. Worth hundreds of millions. Signed quietly. No big fuss. I made paths. Bridges. Connecting markets. Something they. With all their power and money. Could never imagine.
New message. From Aris. Hours after packing the last box. “Phase one confirmed. Epoch Systems now holds a controlling stake in Thorne Industries.”
Thorne Industries. Not just a top tech and money company. The heart. Of the Thorne family’s money empire. It managed all my family’s wealth. Paid for Chloe’s expensive MIT school. Victor Thorne’s main money source. Where he got power. And influence. In London’s tech world. By noon tomorrow. The very system that ignored me. It would have to answer. The secret was out. They’ll face me. The one they pushed aside. The one they tried to erase.
I taped the last box. Sharp sound. Echoed. Empty room. Chloe’s voice. Drifted down the hall. Excited. Her steps clack on the polished floor. “Mom, data green or blockchain purple for Aurora’s penthouse? Green, I think. Better with my servers. Techy. Modern.”
I smiled. No one saw it. But I felt good. And bitter. Let them decorate. Let them plan. For this apartment’s future. By noon tomorrow. They’d know. The penthouse? Maybe theirs. Maybe named Thorne. But the future. Of this tech empire. Their future. Mine. My room. My safe place. What they called “temporary.” A step. Until someone with “real talent” needed it. Now? A step to their ruin.
I thought about my graduation. Imperial College London. My PhD in Computer Science. Top honors. They skipped it. For a product party. A rival company. Victor wanted to impress. Not important. Compared to my win. The prototype. I paid for it. With maxed-out credit cards. Buried in debt. While they bragged. About Chloe’s “new” analysis. Still just ideas. Wasted resources. Never made money.
“Aurora!” My mother’s voice. Sharp. A distant order. “Don’t forget your Digital Key. You’re not coming back. No trouble later. No strange stuff left behind.”
I put the old Digital Key on the desk. Next to Chloe’s fake awards. Just a show. For nothing inside. No words. No need. They were right. I wouldn’t come back. Not to this penthouse. Not to my old life. I’d return. A power. They never thought of. A loud echo. They couldn’t stop.
I put the last box in the armored Tesla Cybertruck. The electric engine hummed softly. A quiet promise. Of freedom. I heard laughter. From the main room. Clear. Even through the soundproof walls. Crystal glasses clinked. Lively talk. Like they won big. Not knowing. A data storm. Sweeping through their financial system.
“Transformative data walls. Custom holographic consoles.” Chloe’s voice. Proud. “This apartment needs someone who digs up real data. Not just playing alone with old algorithms.” She said “playing” like it was a bad word. Totally putting down my work. My beliefs.
“Exactly,” Victor Thorne said. A sneer. His voice filled the fancy room. “A real project. Making pure cash. Not like Aurora’s risk analysis toys. Real money, Chloe. Real money matters. It gives Thorne Industries top power.”
I slid into the Cybertruck. Slammed the door. A heavy sound. Closing my past for good. I turned on the screen. Typed a command: “Initiate Project Genesis Authorization. Epoch Systems Core. Protocol Phoenix initiated. Full execution in 3 hours. Depart.” A message flashed. Calm. Planned. Sure to happen. I closed my eyes. For a moment. Took a deep breath. Felt the power. Down my back. It was time. The truth. It would shake the financial world.
I started the Cybertruck. It moved slowly. Silently. Gliding through London’s bright streets. Towards the Alpha Underground Data Center. My real base. Not a small studio. A hidden tech fort. Control center. Protected. By electric fields. Deep inside. The Core Research Zone. Of the Institute for Advanced Technology Discovery. Guards. White-hat hackers. Smart data people they’d ignored. They bowed to me. With deep respect. Data gates. Opened quietly. A magnetic elevator. Took me straight up. No stops. To the top of my world.
Here. I wasn’t the “lost cause” they said I was. I was Dr. Aurora Vance. Founder. CEO. Of Epoch Systems. One of the world’s top fintech and data companies.
I went into my control room. Holographic screens glowed. With complicated market charts. Data. From exchanges worldwide. Flowing. Every moment. Risk and chance analysis. Blending together. In the middle. A glowing window. Words: “Thorne Industries Systems Sync: 94% – Full launch imminent.” Everything. Going as planned.
This wasn’t just about new data science. The system we were turning on. Epoch Systems’ Protocol Phoenix. It could guess market swings. And make profits. Perfectly. It also found hidden financial crimes. Smart insider trading. And secret money. Moved through fake companies. Dark secrets. Thorne Industries kept hidden. For too long. It would quietly break down. The networks. That helped Thorne Industries for years. The same group Victor Thorne used. To hide risky tech investments. Wash crypto money. Move funds from real trusts. Into Chloe’s wild side projects. He called it “new research.” While telling me. I needed to “focus on what’s real.” To drop “pointless and silly things.”
A message popped up. In the family group chat. My mother’s phone. A gold halo emoji: “Welcome Chloe’s new User Behavior Analysis report. At the Billionaires Club. Noon tomorrow. Aurora, you can come. If you have a real job now. Wear evening clothes. Victor says don’t shame the Thorne family.”
The Billionaires Club. A haven. For London’s rich and powerful. A sign. Of their untouchable place. And power. The same place. They cheered Chloe getting into MIT. With a huge party. I stood there. At the Data Firewall security. Saving every penny. For my first graphics card. The same club. By noon tomorrow. Their company credit cards. Would quietly be rejected. Because the money and data systems. Helping them. No longer under their control. They’d be in my hands.
I typed a quick reply. Cold. “I’ll be there.”
Then. I opened the encrypted file. Called “Project Nemesis.” A full check. Of every insult. Every tech put-down. Every faked record. Every shady deal. For Thorne Industries. This wasn’t just a business plan. It was a planned revenge. Written in faked data. And tears of unfairness.
“Dr. Vance, the Global Market Oversight Council has met. Ready for the final strategy talk,” Aris. My chief tech officer. Over the speaker. His voice is professional. I’m a bit excited. Like he was waiting for this too.
“Thanks. I’m on my way.” I looked at myself. On the screen. No longer the ignored girl. No longer saying sorry. For being here. By noon tomorrow. Sitting across from them. At the Billionaires Club. I wouldn’t be with them. I’d be in charge. They’d cheer Chloe’s “new” research. Not knowing. Their empire. Had a new leader. Under their control. Of the very person they dismissed.
Aris’s final message. On the screen. Just as the Cybertruck stopped itself. At the Billionaires Club gates: “Protocol Phoenix: Huge growth. Epoch Systems stock up 700% since launch. Congrats, Rory. We have permanently altered the global financial flow. Major banks are lining up to partner.”
I put the device away. In a small bag. Made of light titanium. It glowed faintly. In the dim light. I walked through the automatic gates. Of the Billionaires Club. My family called it sacred ground. A sign of their untouchable power. In London’s money world. The manager. Marcus. Older man. Perfect suit. Bowed low. His eyes. Not on the Aurora they ignored. On Dr. Vance. The new owner. Of the company. That ran the Club. Now the real boss. Of this place. Of every deal made here.
“Your usual seat, Dr. Vance?” he asked. With a knowing smile. His lips curved. Like he was in on it. I had waited so long.
I shook my head. Lightly. My eyes swept. To the main room. Where my family sat. Laughter echoed. Through the fancy room. Crystal sparkling. Under bright lights. “Not tonight, Marcus. I’m with them.” My voice is soft. But firm. An order. No need to repeat.
I walked closer. Chloe was waving her hands. Describing her latest “award.” Her face was bright. A voice full of pride. Loud enough. For everyone. “…my own User Behavior Analysis lab. On Thorne Tower’s top data floor. Overlooking Canary Wharf. They even gave me my own AI team, Victor. Can you believe it? Youngest to get this job. In Thorne Industries history!”
My mother’s eyes. Eleanor Thorne. Twitched. Saw me. Her face mixed. Surprise. Annoyance. Like my being there. It was an unwanted problem. A stain. On their perfect party. “Aurora, you came? Thought you’d be busy with your coding ‘projects’?”
“We already ordered,” Victor Thorne added. Didn’t turn. His eyes on the screen. On his wrist. Showing market charts. From Thorne Industries.
“I had some things to finish,” I said calmly. Slipped into the seat. My usual spot. On the edge. Always an outsider. At my family’s party. But not ignored. Or dismissed. Anymore.
“Work?” Chloe sneered. Disgusted. Her voice was sharp. “Still call it that? She doesn’t even have a real office. Just old computers.”
Victor Thorne finally looked up. His eyes narrowed at me. Face filled with judgment. And annoyance. “Hope you won’t disgrace the Thorne name. That name means something. Not for lazy people to ruin.”
Before I could speak. Chloe kept going. Proud. Not hiding her ego. “Thorne Industries’ CEO said I can lead the new Breakthrough Investment Funds next quarter. Victor knows. Real impact stuff. Big money flows. True power. Not little things.”
“Speaking of leading,” I said softly. Took a sip of champagne. The waiter just brought it. Crystal clinked. Small. Sharp. Got their attention. “Did anyone hear about the board changes at Thorne Industries?”
Victor Thorne stiffened. The screen on his wrist. Shook slightly. Market charts. Began to flicker. Then vanished. Gone. “What changes? Nothing was reported to me. What crazy talk is this, Aurora?” His voice. Losing calm. A hint of panic.
Just then. A waiter. With a smile. Champagne glasses. On a silver tray. My mother. Reached into her expensive bag. “Let’s celebrate. My treat.” She showed her platinum credit card. Gold bank logo shining.
I knew. What came next. My heart. Skipped. Not from worry. From waiting. This was the moment. I waited for. Planned. Built. Little by little.
The waiter returned. His voice tight. Eyes down. Avoiding my mother’s gaze. “Sorry, madam, your card declined. Not enough money.”
“That’s crazy!” My mother snapped. Her face turned red. From anger. And shame. “Swipe it again! Must be a mistake! I’m Eleanor Thorne. Victor Thorne’s wife!”
“We’ve tried three times, madam,” the waiter said calmly. Patient. A hint of firmness. “Another card?”
Victor Thorne. Teeth clenched. His face changed. From not caring. I am very upset. Then. Pure fear. He pulled his black company credit card. From his wallet. Threw it on the waiter’s tray. “Use this. This is Thorne Industries’ card!”
The waiter took the black card. Silently. Bowed. Came back. Same sorry voice. But. A bit surprised. Quick look at me. “Sorry, sir. This card also declined. The Thorne Industries account is frozen.”
Chloe sighed. Clearly annoyed. Pulled out her own card. “Ugh, fine. I’ll pay. Such a pain! Must be a network bug or something.” She put the card down. With a shrug. Like she was doing them a big favor.
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“That card won’t work either,” I said softly. Setting my glass down. Crystal clinking. Small. Sharp. Like a bell. The storm arrived. Unstoppable. All three. Stared. Their faces changed. From annoyed. I am very confused. Then. To pure horror. No one was smiling. Not anymore.
“What do you mean?” Victor Thorne slowly asked. His eyes narrowed. Looking at me like an enemy. Not his daughter.
I looked him straight in the eye. My gaze is cold. Like steel. Steady. “Regarding Thorne Industries. There’s been a change. On the board. Since noon today. All money and trading. Under new eyes. Even the Monetary Authority.”
My mother’s face. Pale. Her lips trembled. Eyes wide. Can’t believe it. “Aurora, what are you saying? You… you can’t do anything! This is Thorne Industries!”
“Protocol Phoenix,” I said calmly. Leaned back. Enjoying every second. Every flash of knowing. In their eyes. I saw it. Recognition. Growing. In Victor Thorne’s eyes. Scary. A man who lived by secret deals. Dark world of tech and finance. He knew that name. Heard about the AI system. It guessed markets. Showed fraud. Never thought it could touch him. His empire.
“No way,” he mumbled. Voice rough. Like talking to himself. A hopeless prayer. “It… it can’t be fully ready yet.”
“Epoch Systems,” I confirmed. Voice clear. Strong. Echoing. Across the table. A final judgment. “The very corporation that just bought Thorne Industries. And started a full audit.”
Chloe blinked fast. Trying to get it. She looked at me. Like I was from space. A devil. “What does that have to do with our credit cards? What… What are you talking about, Aurora? What the hell is Epoch Systems?”
“Our Protocol Phoenix system flagged bad deals. Hidden money. Secret investments. Sent to accounts. Linked to Thorne Industries,” I said. Staying calm. Each word. A knife. To their hearts. “It also recorded hundreds of ignored data flaws. Faked money reports. To trick markets. Secret contracts. Thorne Industriessigned. With fake companies. All Thorne Industries accounts. And its parts. Frozen now. Waiting for a full check. Every penny. Every expense. Every bit of faked data. Being looked at closely.”
Victor Thorne’s voice dropped. Menacing. Laced with extreme panic. Fear. “How do you know that? That’s secret company info! No one can access it! This is betrayal!”
“I know that,” I smiled faintly. Met his scared eyes. “Because I designed that system. And my AI neural network. AuraNet. Accessed every corner of Thorne Industries.” Paused. Let my words sink in. Like a curse. From the past. They made. “I built it. I am Epoch Systems.”
Silence. Covered the table. Heavy. My mother’s gasp. Clear in the fancy room. Even Chloe’s usual bragging. Stopped cold. Her eyes wide. Disbelieving. Staring at me. Like a ghost. Just appeared. From another place. A vengeful spirit. From the dark.
“That’s absurd,” she scoffed. Finally. Trying to sound tough. Voice shaking. Full of despair. “You work for a small firm. Silicon Valley. Cheap startups. Victor, don’t believe her! She’s dreaming!”
“A useful cover,” I replied coldly. Leaning back. Power rushed through me. Stronger than any cash. Or code. “Epoch Systems works through complex tech groups. Anonymous investment funds. Quiet buys of smaller companies. That firm. Just a piece. Of a huge network. Covering money tech. AI. Data analysis. Cyber security. We now have over 15,000 tech and money experts. In 40 countries. And we’re growing. Changing the market’s future.”
I took a sip of champagne. The waiter poured it. Afterwards, I gave him a special business card. Solid black. No logo. Just “Vance” etched on it. “And since noon today. We control all systems. That back your money. Your funds. Payroll. Thorne Industries’ investments. Every account. Every deal. All your info. In my hands. Including the secrets. Of Chloe’s illicit projects.”
The waiter bowed. His eyes showed respect. “Of course, Dr. Vance.” Placed the paid bill on the table.
“Vance?” Victor Thorne repeated. Shocked. Stared at the waiter. Then at me. “You’re Aurora Vance? Aurora Vance of Epoch Systems?” His voice. A whisper. Couldn’t believe his ears. Like the name. A curse. A ghost. From the past. He tried to delete it.
I nodded. Slowly. My gaze is steady. A hidden smile. “The very Aurora Vance. Whose Oracle AI algorithm. I tried to patent. Under the Thorne Industries name. Last winter. Victor. You probably didn’t notice. Too busy. Promoting Chloe’s ‘achievements.’ To read reports. Or internal papers. About projects. Developed outside your control. Projects my grandmother warned about.”
Chloe’s face. White as chalk. No color. Her mouth hung open. No words came out. “And yes. Thorne Industries’ upgraded data analytics and AI system. What Victor brags about. A huge step forward. It’s powered by Epoch Systems. You will be using my technology. If compliance doesn’t freeze all Thorne Industries first.”
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I turned to Chloe. My voice is steady. No shake. A faint smirk. “Dear Chloe. By the way, Protocol Phoenix has flagged serious issues. In your User Behavior Analysis reports. Especially faked data. To make stocks rise. Mysterious ‘partners.’ Black market deals. Plus. Your reported ‘success’ data. Just twisted models. Causing big losses. For Thorne Industries’ side funds. So. If I were you. I’d rethink that Breakthrough Investment Fund Director job. Or any job. Managing public money. And user data.”
My mother leaned forward. Hands trembling. Grabbed her napkin. I crushed it. Her eyes begged. “Aurora, my dear. Can we talk? We’re still family. You can’t do this. To us. We can settle. Right? I’ll talk to your father. Just stop this.” Her voice broke. Full of despair. And sorrow.
I stood. Slowly. Let my gaze sweep. Over each of them. No expression missed. Victor Thorne’s face. Furious red. A mix of anger. And no power. His big show. Industry giant. Broken. My mother’s. Eleanor Thorne. A pale mask of shame. Shock. Her perfect hair. Seemed to droop. Her eyes filled with tears. Realizing their huge mistake. And Chloe. Face frozen. Stunned. Her perfect act. Data genius. Crumbled. Before my eyes. Showing. A deep fear. The raw truth. Of her failures. And bad ethics.
“Family don’t kick you out. To a small studio. Just because you don’t fit their ‘genius’ story,” I said. The voice echoed. Through the luxurious space. Billionaires Club. Loud enough. Waiters. Other important guests. Heard. “Family, don’t miss your PhD defense at Imperial College. To toast someone else’s worthless product launch. Family don’t call your career ‘tinkering with old code.’ While funding lies. Money laundering. Shady projects. With the very money. Of investors. They should protect. People who trusted the Thorne Industries name.”
I held my clutch bag. Made of light titanium. It glowed faintly. In the air. Fine. But clearly expensive. A luxury. Worth more. Then Victor Thorne’s private jet. He always boasted. A sign. Of success. I built it. From ignored numbers. And disrespect. From code. Written alone.
“All Thorne Industries’ money accounts. Will stay frozen. Until Epoch Systems’ internal check. Is finished,” I said. Calmly. Strong. Unmoving. “And based on what Protocol Phoenix has flagged so far. I think you’ll be getting calls. From the Financial Conduct Authority (FCA). And the National Crime Agency (NCA). Probably before the end of the week. Every fraud. Every secret. Every fake data. Will be shown. Justice will happen.”
“You can’t do that!” Victor Thorne growled. I stood up fast. Face red. Like a tomato. Fists clenched. Shaking. With anger. And powerlessness.
I looked him in the eye. My gaze firm. No tremor. Cold smile. “I already did, Victor Thorne. And this is just the start.”
Then. Paused. Slight, knowing smirk. The end of their show. “And dear Chloe,” I tilted my head. Slightly. Voice soft. But heavy. Each word. A sharp knife. Cutting into her mind. “If you are looking for a quieter place to ‘lead Breakthrough Investment Funds.’ And ‘research user behavior analysis.’ I hear the studio. Ground floor. Shard building. Bad street noise. No dedicated fiber optic. You’ll have plenty of space. For your ‘breakthrough’ reports. No one is bothering you. Sure you’ll be very ‘focused’ there. Among the distorted data you created.”
I turned. I walked away. Not a single look back. Behind me. Muffled crying. Whispers of doubt. And the sound. Of an ego. An empire. Breaking down. In my hand. My communication device buzzed. Message from Aris: “Protocol Phoenix: Historic growth. Epoch Systems stock up 700% since launch. Congrats, Rory. We have permanently altered the global financial flow. Major banks are lining up to partner.”
I smiled. To myself. Satisfied. Peaceful. The small studio. They pushed me into it. That’s where. I wrote the first line of code. For Epoch Systems. Where I began. To build the system. Now holding their empire. In its complex network. That’s where I turned their disrespect. Into my power. Turned the dark of being forgotten. Into the light. Of a new time. In financial tech.
Next quarter. The Thorne Empire completely fell. FCA and NCA investigators. Uncovered huge money fraud. Market fixing. In Thorne Industries. Leading to arrests. Probes. Around the world. Chloe’s job. Quietly ended. During Epoch Systems’ ethical changes. She faced a future. Full of lawsuits. Bad reputation. In tech. My mother’s social life. Eleanor Thorne. Disappeared. With her frozen platinum card. Shut out. From London’s rich. Lost everything. Victor Thorne. Faced serious criminal charges. Fraud. Money laundering. Insider trading. Risking all his wealth. Power. Freedom.
And me? I kept building. Not for them. Never for them again. But to make a mark. For people like me. Ignored minds. Underestimated. But able. To change the world. Epoch Systems. Became a clear leader. In money tech. Setting new rules. For data honesty. AI ethics. Risk management.
These days. Someone asks. How it all started. I tell them. Sometimes. Best thing. They can do it. It pushes you out. Into the darkest place. So you find your own light. And sometimes. The best revenge. Is a platinum credit card rejected? At their favorite table. At the Billionaires Club. While the person they dismissed. Hold the keys. To all their data. All their cash flow. And their destiny.