Chapter 4 - The Results Tristan Needed to Be True
Asterion's board review started with governance.
Then the scientists found a problem.
Dr. Priya Raman, our head of biostatistics, requested a private meeting with me.
She looked terrified.
“Zoe, I should have come earlier.”
Those are never good words.
“What happened?”
She placed two reports on the table.
The first was a validation summary Tristan had presented to prospective investors.
It claimed HMRE achieved a ninety-three percent concordance rate in a specific oncology screening dataset.
The second was Priya's internal analysis.
Eighty-four percent.
Still promising.
Not ninety-three.
My stomach tightened.
“Why are these different?”
“The external deck excludes certain samples.”
“Why?”
“Tristan said they were technically compromised.”
“Were they?”
“Some. Not all.”
I read the exclusion criteria.
A subset had genuine quality problems.
Another subset simply produced results that lowered the headline number.
“Who approved the exclusions?”
Priya looked down.
“Tristan.”
“He isn't a scientist.”
“I told him.”
“What did he say?”
“That investors needed a clean picture and the next dataset would validate the direction anyway.”
My jaw tightened.
“Did Tessa know?”
Priya hesitated.
“She helped prepare the presentation.”
There it was.
Maybe.
Not enough.
“Did she alter data?”
“No.”
“Did she direct exclusions?”
“I don't know.”
Good.
Precision.
I had learned that betrayal made exaggeration tempting.
I would not do it.
We reconstructed the analysis.
The real number was eighty-six percent after defensible quality exclusions.
Still meaningful.
Still investable.
Just not spectacular enough for Tristan.
Miriam's independent review expanded.
Now we had three categories.
Undisclosed related-party transactions.
False governance approvals.
Potentially misleading investor materials.
Tristan remained unaware.
At least I thought he did.
Then he came into my laboratory that evening.
He almost never visited anymore.
When Asterion was young, he lived there with me.
Pizza boxes.
Whiteboards.
3 a.m. assay failures.
Now he preferred glass offices and investor dinners.
He leaned against a bench.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes.”
“Priya seems tense.”
My heart slowed.
Not sped.
He knew something.
“Funding season.”
He smiled.
“That's why you're my genius.”
I hated that phrase.
My genius.
Possessive even in praise.
Then he looked around.
“I miss this.”
“What?”
“The early days.”
“So do I.”
He stepped closer.
“After the wedding, things calm down.”
I almost laughed.
According to Northlight's timeline, things did the opposite.
“What changes?”
“We bring in capital. Hire. You can step back from operations.”
There it was.
“Why would I?”
“You've been exhausted.”
Had I?
Or had Tristan needed me to be?
“You said yourself you wanted more research time.”
“Research is operations.”
“You know what I mean.”
I did.
He wanted me in the laboratory.
Brilliant.
Useful.
Removed from governance.
He continued.
“We should restructure titles after financing.”
“What title do you want me to have?”
“Chief Scientific Founder.”
Not a real role.
A ceremonial one.
“What about CSO?”
“We hire someone to manage the organization.”
“And my board seat?”
He paused.
Tiny.
“There are discussions about reducing founder concentration.”
I almost admired the nerve.
“You're staying on the board?”
“Obviously.”
“Then which founder concentration are we reducing?”
His jaw tightened.
“Don't turn this into a gender thing.”
I had not.
Interesting that he did.
“I'm asking a governance question.”
“Zoe.”
He lowered his voice.
“We're getting married in twenty-six days. We don't need to start measuring who owns what.”
I stared.
He already was.
Northlight existed because he had measured exactly that.
Then Tristan touched my cheek.
“You trust me, right?”
Seven years earlier, I would have answered instantly.
“Yes.”
He smiled.
Another lie accepted.
After he left, Priya emerged from the adjacent analysis room.
She had heard enough.
“I'm sorry.”
“For what?”
“For thinking you knew.”
My stomach dropped.
“Knew what?”
She looked toward the door.
“About Tessa.”
There it was.
Not evidence.
Culture.
People had seen.
They simply assumed the fiancée knew.
“How many people?”
“I don't know.”
“Did everyone know?”
“No.”
“Did you?”
“I suspected.”
“For how long?”
“Months.”
I nodded.
It hurt.
But I understood.
Workplaces become strange around powerful men.
People learn not to name what leadership refuses to name.
Then Priya said:
“There is another reason I came.”
Of course.
Tristan had asked her to prepare a new analysis for Monday.
Not Asterion.
Northlight.
Using raw HMRE data.
“That data cannot leave Asterion.”
“I know.”
“Did you send it?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“He said you approved.”
I closed my eyes.
Again.
Imaginary Zoe had become extraordinarily productive.
Approving companies.
Licenses.
Data transfers.
Board consents.
Career changes.
A future marriage.
All without being asked.
I called Miriam.
“Move the board meeting up.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
The wedding was twenty-five days away.
May you like
Tristan still thought he had twenty-five days.
He had one night.
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