By early July, Julian officially transitioned to a permanent role. His responsibilities remained the same, but the salary was a qualitative leap.

When the HR representative read out the figure, Julian used every ounce of his self-discipline to keep his face a neutral mask. He didn't let the smile break.

The raise was a ghost; he had no time to spend it. The Synapse AI project had entered its final, brutal stretch. With the prospectus submitted to the exchange, the listing team moved into a dedicated war room in New York City.

Audit, legal, and investment banking teams were crammed into one space. Julian was seconded to the new office, buried under listing protocols.

Meetings were a daily ritual. They were like students cramming for the SATs, reviewing foundational materials and summarizing every possible query from regulators.

Unlike traditional firms, AI models carried astronomical valuations but limited current profits—a primary target for scrutiny. They obsessively detailed risk disclosures, core technologies, and the specific use of raised funds. They didn't leave a single detail to chance.

Samuel attended frequently. He was a silent predator in the room, speaking only to challenge a phrasing or to point toward an overlooked risk.

During a review of the issuer's personnel, Samuel looked up. "Who's tracking the Synapse AI leadership shifts?"

Julian was already on it. Three days prior, a founding member had resigned. The financial press was having a field day, fueled by black PR from competitors claiming the IPO was in crisis.

"I spoke with the firm," Amanda said, her expression sour. "He signed a non-disclosure. It won't affect the listing. I can re-verify if you're concerned."

"Why did he leave?" Samuel asked. "Founding members hold original shares. He's walking away from generational wealth. It's illogical."

Amanda's face soured further. "A crime of passion. The person he was pursuing chose a colleague instead. He quit in a fit of rage."

Julian went quiet. The room—a collection of overachievers who lived for the climb—sat in a stunned, judgmental silence. To walk away from the finish line over a heartbreak was a foreign concept.

Samuel remained impassioned. "Add a supplement on internal controls and patents. Address the departure clearly in the response."

"Understood," Amanda replied.

The meeting resumed with the drone of an AI voice reading the prospectus word for word. It was a firm tradition, once the burden of interns like Julian, now outsourced to software to save time and saliva.

When the session finally broke, Julian headed for the kitchenette to reward himself with milk tea. He stopped at the doorway. Asher was already there, speaking with Samuel.

"I thought Harold handed the M&A project to your uncle?" Asher asked. "I haven't seen a single filing. Even your uncle is still scrambling."

Samuel didn't look surprised. "My grandfather has spent fifty years at the helm. He doesn't relinquish power—not even to me. He certainly won't hand it to my uncle without a leash."

Asher's eyes widened. "So he's waiting for you to cave?"

Samuel shook his head. "Not necessarily. He's observing. He wants to see if my uncle can actually carry the weight."

Harold Frost encouraged a "Hunger Games" style of competition among his heirs, believing it strengthened the family.

Yet, he maintained mandatory Sunday dinners to keep the silk threads of the web intact.

Previously, Samuel had always been the victor. Now, the game felt hollow.

Julian realized he was eavesdropping. He stepped into view to leave. "Sorry. I didn't mean to overhear."

"It's fine," Samuel said. "You can stay."

Julian glanced at Asher, who offered a friendly nod. Julian grabbed his tea.

"The cake is decent," Samuel added. "Try a piece."

Julian nodded and began to eat in the corner. The conversation continued.

"You know my grandfather," Samuel told Asher. "He never leaves himself only one path."

"I think it has to be you," Asher insisted. "Even if your uncle gets the project, you'll be the one cleaning up the wreckage."

Samuel set his cup down. "Maybe not."

"If he had the talent, Harold wouldn't have named you heir at fifteen," Asher countered.

Samuel offered a faint, cryptic smile. He didn't explain. He was no longer interested in being the one who swept up the pieces.

Julian listened, but the complex Frost family dynamics were a blur. He finished his cake and forgot the conversation by the time he reached his desk.

A few days later, Oliver contacted him. Oliver had been gone from the firm for months. They were barely acquaintances, but since he was Samuel's cousin, Julian agreed to meet.

In a quiet cafe, Oliver claimed he wanted to break into investment banking. He asked for "reference prospectuses." Julian didn't hesitate; those were public record. He downloaded the PDFs from the SEC site and sent them over.

Oliver hesitated. "Do you have any specific cases? Like... Synapse AI?"

Julian's gaze sharpened.

"You're working on them now, right? Do you have the internal materials?" Oliver pushed.

"I do," Julian said. "But I can't give them to you. We don't leak IPO data."

Oliver blinked, looking sheepish. "Oh. Right. Sorry. I didn't know the rule. Never mind."

Julian shared a few public research websites instead and left.

An hour later, Julian was summoned to the executive suite. Samuel was staring at a photo in his inbox, his expression granite.

"Did you meet with Oliver?" Samuel asked.

Julian was caught off guard. "Yes."

"What did you discuss?"

"He wanted Synapse AI data," Julian said. "I refused."

The silence in the room stretched. Julian felt the first prickle of dread. "Did something happen?"

Samuel turned the screen. It was a photo of the two of them in the cafe. "Someone informed me you were colluding with Oliver to leak IPO secrets."

Julian's heart hammered. "I didn't! I didn't say anything! I only sent him the public templates from the website."

"I don't doubt you, or I wouldn't have asked," Samuel said, his voice dropping an octave. "I need you to do me a favor."

Julian blinked. "A favor?"

The next day, a financial blog broke a story: Confidentiality Breach at Major IPO Project. The lead analyst was reportedly furious; a massive internal audit was imminent.

Simultaneously, an internal memo announced Julian's immediate transfer from the executive office. He was stripped of his projects and "exiled" to work as an assistant for a VP.

The office atmosphere curdled.

Leo was the first to corner Julian. "What happened? Samuel just let Amanda take you? He just let you go?"

Julian struggled for an answer. Emma stepped in. "Why are you digging? He's still in the project. He's still in the building. That proves he didn't do anything major".

Something was wrong. Jordan couldn't find the thread.

Three days later, the real bomb dropped. Samuel was named in a whistleblower report for "irregular trading." He was ordered to cease all work immediately.

Apex Capital launched a self-discipline investigation. The executive office was gutted.

Computers were fitted with monitoring software. Every chat log was scrutinized. Management encouraged internal reporting.

Panic rippled through the firm. Julian's "exile" turned out to be a sanctuary. While Samuel and Asher were blacklisted and barred from their desks, Julian remained functional.

But the blow was catastrophic. If the firm was found guilty of irregular trading, their IPO applications could be suspended. A year of Julian's life and Synapse AI's future would vanish.

Julian was out of the direct line of fire, but the pressure was greater than ever. He was the only one left in the trenches.