“You’re asking me to believe this is altruism,” my father said. “That’s insulting.”
“It isn’t altruism,” I said. “It’s negotiation.”
That made him sit back.
“You don’t sacrifice yourself without wanting something in return.”
“Exactly.”
The words hung between us. I let the silence work for me, watching as irritation slid into interest behind his eyes.
“What are your terms?” he asked.
“I want Grantstone BioLabs,” I said. “Full voting control.”
Serena inhaled sharply.
“That division is dormant,” my father snapped. “It hemorrhaged money. We shut it down because it was unsalvageable.”
“You shut it down because it wasn’t profitable fast enough,” I replied. “Not because it wasn’t valuable.”
“You don’t even know what you’d be inheriting.”
“I’ve already studied the patents.”
The room froze.
My father stared at me. Really stared this time, as though trying to identify the version of his daughter who had quietly acquired that kind of knowledge.
“You want a dead company in exchange for your future?” he said.
“I want autonomy.”
“That division is a liability.”
“Then you’ll be relieved to be rid of it.”
His jaw worked.
Serena whispered, “Dad—”
He raised a hand.
“How quickly do you want it transferred?” he asked me.