I looked at the waiver again. The settlement attached to it offered me two million dollars, paid over ten years, on the condition that I never publicly suggested I had contributed to Helixora. Adrian’s personal fortune was estimated at more than one hundred and eighty million dollars. The company he said I had never helped build was preparing for a transaction that could value it at nearly a billion.
“You told the board I’m making a false claim?” I asked.
Adrian released a controlled breath, pretending patience. “I told them the truth. You were my wife. You supported me at home. I’ve always acknowledged that.”
“You told investors I was your co-founder.”
“I may have used the word casually in the beginning.”
“You gave me forty percent.”
“No.” His answer came quickly. “You misunderstood conversations we had when the company barely existed.”
I studied the faces around the table. Some of these people had eaten dinner in my home. They had thanked me for hosting investor meetings when Helixora could not afford event space. One had slept on our couch after a snowstorm stranded him during the company’s first fundraising trip. Yet not one of them challenged Adrian.
He seemed encouraged by their silence.
“Claire made personal sacrifices during our marriage,” he continued. “I’m not denying that. But sacrifice is not the same as ownership. She never invested a dollar. She never held an operational role. She never developed Helixora’s technology. She stayed home, raised our children, and lived very comfortably because of this company.”
