Page 89 of Omega's Formula

“I don’t care what it costs.”

She stares at me for a long moment. Then, slowly, she nods.

“I’ll have a draft for you by tomorrow.”

After she leaves, I sit at my desk and stare at the folder.

The anger I felt toward Nolan—that cold, righteous fury—has turned completely now. It burns just as hot, but the target has changed. Alistair Wallace, who played me like a fiddle.

But I’m not just angry at Wallace. Mostly, I’m angry at myself for being so easily manipulated. That stupid recording was so obvious that Anna picked up on it the first time she listened. I should have too. I just heard it and I lost my temper.

I’m going to destroy Wallace. Not just legally—though that’s coming—but completely. By the time I’m done, every door in every industry will be closed to him. Every bridge will be burned. He’ll spend the rest of his life knowing what it feels like to have everything taken away.

It won’t be enough. Nothing will be enough. But it’s a start.

The press release goes out on a Tuesday.

By Wednesday, it’s everywhere. Business news. Tech blogs. Even the mainstream media picks it up—billionaire CEO admits company was defrauded, promises reparations to victims. The narrative Sara crafted is working exactly as intended, painting Nilsson Industries as victims seeking justice rather than perpetrators trying to save face.

I don’t care about any of that.

What I care about is whether Nolan sees it. Whether he understands what it means. Whether he knows that I finally, finally believe him.

I go to Ellie’s hospital room that afternoon with a cashier’s check in my pocket.

She’s sitting up in bed reading when I arrive, and she looks better than I’ve ever seen her. Color in her cheeks.

“You saw the news,” she says without looking up.

“I made the news.”

Now she looks up, setting aside her book. Her expression is complicated—something between wariness and curiosity.

I cross the room and sit in the chair that’s become mine over these weeks of visiting. From my jacket pocket, I pull the check and hold it out to her.

She takes it. Looks at the number. Her eyes go wide.

“This is—Erik, this is—”

“A down payment,” I say. “On what I owe your brother. The full reparations will take time to calculate—his research generated significant revenue over the past four years, and he’s entitled to all of it plus damages. But I wanted him to have something now. Something concrete.”

Ellie stares at the check like it might bite her. “I can’t—Nolan wouldn’t—”

“It’s not charity,” I say firmly. “It’s not a gift. It’s what he’s owed. What I should have given him four years ago when he first tried to tell me the truth.” I lean forward. “Please. Give it to him. Tell him it’s the first step. Tell him—”

My voice breaks. I have to stop, take a breath, find my composure.

“Tell him I know why he doesn’t want to talk to me. I know he has every right to hate me. I’m not asking for forgiveness—I don’t deserve it. But I need him to know that I believe him. That I’m sorry. And that whatever happens between us, I’m going to make sure he gets what he’s owed.”

Ellie is quiet for a long moment, looking down at the check in her hands.

“The baby,” she says finally, her voice soft.

My heart stops. “What?”

“You know, don’t you?” She looks up at me, and there’s something like challenge in her eyes. “That’s part of why you’re doing all this. You know about the baby.”

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. It’s the confirmation I’ve been half-dreading, half-hoping for is right here in front of me, and I don’t know what to do with it.