Replication Protocol
They didn't go to the office.
For the first time since the engagement announcement, Alexander skipped a scheduled executive briefing.
Instead, he locked the penthouse security grid and rerouted all internal traffic through a private offline server node he hadn't accessed in years.
Evelyn watched him work.
Focused. Precise. Ruthless.
"You've done this before," she said quietly.
"Not like this."
He entered a manual override code.
The Helix archive reopened.
This time, deeper.
Layered subfolders populated the screen.
CARTER_TECH – ARCHIVEBLACKRIDGE SYSTEMS – ARCHIVENORTHSHORE CYBER – ARCHIVE
Each marked: REPLICATION COMPLETE.
Evelyn's stomach dropped.
"Open mine," she said.
Alexander hesitated.
Then he did.
The Carter folder expanded.
Internal schematics.Source code architecture.Encryption blueprints.
Her father's proprietary cybersecurity engine.
Rebuilt.
Modified.
Stamped with a new watermark:
REED DYNAMICS DEFENSE CORE v3.1
Her vision blurred for a second.
"They cloned it," she whispered.
Alexander's jaw tightened.
"It's worse than cloning."
He opened a comparison window.
On the left: Carter Technologies' original firewall framework.On the right: Reed Dynamics' military-grade defense infrastructure.
Line by line.
Structure by structure.
Identical base architecture.
"But my father's system wasn't licensed," Evelyn said. "He refused to sell full integration rights."
"He didn't need to," Alexander replied quietly.
The realization hit them simultaneously.
"They absorbed the company," she breathed.
"And transferred all intellectual property ownership under liquidation law," he finished.
It was legal.
Technically.
But the speed.
The pressure.
The containment.
It hadn't been partnership.
It had been acquisition by force.
"They drove him into bankruptcy," she said, voice trembling. "Then copied his life's work."
Alexander didn't deny it.
Because the files were undeniable.
Time stamps showed Helix engineers accessing Carter's server backups three days before the public liquidation announcement.
"They were inside before the collapse," she said.
"Yes."
Which meant—
"This wasn't insurance," she whispered.
Alexander stared at the screen.
"No," he said slowly.
"It was harvesting."
Silence filled the penthouse.
Evelyn's chest tightened painfully.
"My father wasn't a liability," she said. "He was a blueprint."
Alexander scrolled further.
There was another subfolder inside Carter's archive.
Labeled: UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS EVENT.
His pulse shifted.
"Evelyn," he said carefully.
"What?"
"He flagged something."
She stepped closer.
A final internal memo written by Thomas Carter, dated two weeks before liquidation.
Subject: Breach anomaly – Defense network mirror.
Evelyn's breath caught.
"Open it."
Alexander did.
The memo was short.
Concise.
Panicked in tone.
Detected mirrored architecture inside federal sandbox server.Replication not authorized.Source appears internal to prime contractor.Escalation required.
Prime contractor.
Reed Dynamics.
Her knees nearly buckled.
"He found it," she whispered.
"Yes."
"He discovered they were copying his system."
"And he escalated."
Evelyn's heart pounded.
"To who?"
Alexander's face hardened.
"There's no follow-up record."
Because there had never been a chance.
She stepped back slowly.
"They destroyed him."
"No," Alexander said quietly.
"They absorbed him."
The difference felt semantic.
Cruel.
"And what about the others?" she asked.
He opened Blackridge Systems.
Same pattern.
Northshore Cyber.
Same pattern.
Each founder had flagged irregular replication anomalies before liquidation.
Each had attempted escalation.
Each company had collapsed within weeks.
"It wasn't containment," Evelyn said.
"It was consolidation."
Alexander leaned back slowly.
"Helix wasn't designed to silence companies," he said.
"It was designed to replicate their innovation before they realized what was happening."
"And then legally erase them."
"Yes."
Her pulse thundered.
"So Reed Dynamics' defense core—"
"—is built on stolen architecture."
The word hung heavy.
Stolen.
And then she saw it.
Another file.
PROJECT HELIX – PHASE II.
Alexander opened it.
This time, his composure slipped.
Phase II wasn't about replication of companies.
It was about replication of people.
Evelyn read the header twice to make sure she understood it.
BEHAVIORAL REPLICATION MODELING.
She looked up at him.
"What is that?"
Alexander scrolled.
Internal reports described AI-driven behavioral modeling based on founder psychology, coding style, strategic decision patterns.
"They weren't just copying systems," he said slowly.
"They were studying the creators."
"For what?"
"To anticipate them."
The implications were chilling.
"If a founder discovered replication," Evelyn whispered, "Helix could predict their response."
"Yes."
"Legal action."
"Media exposure."
"Whistleblowing."
Alexander nodded grimly.
"They ran simulations."
"And neutralized them before escalation gained traction."
Her stomach turned.
"This is corporate warfare."
"It's corporate intelligence," he corrected.
She stared at him.
"That's not better."
Silence stretched.
Then—
Another layer appeared.
Authorization signatures for Phase II expansion.
Daniel Cross.
Jonathan Reed.
Margaret Reed.
All three.
Evelyn felt something fracture inside her.
"Your whole family signed off," she said quietly.
Alexander didn't defend them.
He didn't deny it.
He just stared at the names.
Then he said something unexpected.
"There's a fourth signature."
She blinked.
"What?"
He zoomed in.
A restricted authorization code.
Not public.
Not board-level.
Executive security clearance.
Initialed:
A.R.
Her pulse froze.
Alexander Reed.
Timestamped six years ago.
She looked at him slowly.
"You signed this."
His face drained of color.
"No."
"It's your clearance."
"I never approved Phase II."
The timestamp glared back at them.
Six years ago.
The year after he officially joined executive command.
"This is impossible," he muttered.
Evelyn's mind raced.
"If your clearance was used…"
"Then someone accessed my credentials."
"Or—"
He looked at her.
"Or?"
"You were manipulated into it."
He shook his head sharply.
"No."
But doubt flickered in his eyes.
She stepped closer.
"Think."
Six years ago.
What had happened?
His jaw tightened.
"There was a system breach."
"What?"
"Minor. Internal audit flagged irregular login activity. It was dismissed as a server glitch."
Her stomach sank.
"That wasn't a glitch."
"No," he said quietly.
"It wasn't."
The alliance shifted again.
This wasn't just about their fathers anymore.
This was about him.
His name.
His access.
Used to authorize something monstrous.
"They framed you," she whispered.
"Or prepared a scapegoat," he replied grimly.
Silence pressed in.
Then her phone buzzed again.
Another message.
Phase III launches in three weeks.
Alexander stared at it.
"There's a Phase III?"
Evelyn's pulse thundered.
"What does Phase III replicate?"
He looked at the screen.
Then at her.
And for the first time since this began—
He didn't have an answer.
But whatever Helix started years ago—
It wasn't finished.