Read Chapter 36: The Comeback

The boardroom smelled like stale coffee and desperation. Jazz had stopped counting the identical glass-and-chrome meeting rooms they'd cycled through since 7 a.m. — this was the fourth, maybe the fifth, and her smile was starting to cramp.

Tom sat beside her, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up. He'd been good today. Really good. The humility in his voice when he mentioned the blog post had landed well with the first three firms. But this one, Sterling Ventures, was the prize. A five-million-pound fund that backed exactly one seed-stage startup a year.

"So let me get this straight." Marcus Hale, the managing partner, steepled his fingers. Silver-haired, sharp-suited, bored. "You lost your entire server three days before your demo deadline. Your codebase, your user data, your new features. All gone."

"Lost is one word for it," Tom said. "Stolen is more accurate."

Hale raised an eyebrow. "Stolen by whom?"

Jazz leaned forward. Time to play the card. "Have you seen the coverage of Vikram Shah Holdings this week? The press conference, the whistleblower testimony?"

"The one accusing them of threatening a former employee's mother's healthcare? Yes, I read about it. Impressive theatre. But theatre doesn't ship product."

Tom pulled out his phone, swiped to a video. "This isn't theatre. This is Shah's own words, recorded by that former employee. He admits to the coercion. Considers it a standard business practice."

Hale watched for thirty seconds, face unreadable. Then he pushed back from the table. "And this relates to your missing server how?"

Jazz met his gaze. "The night our office was broken into, our team was already rebuilding from a backup she'd hidden. We recovered in under twenty-four hours. We're ahead of schedule on the demo, and we have a security protocol now that makes a second breach nearly impossible."

"Nearly."

"Nothing's certain," Tom said. "But we've learned what it costs to be naive. We're not naive anymore."

Hale studied them both. Long enough that Jazz felt her pulse in her temples. Then he glanced at his watch. "I have another meeting in eight minutes. So I'll be brief."

She braced for the brush-off.

"Your numbers are solid. Your product is strong. But what convinces me is that you're still standing." He tapped the table. "Most founders fold when someone steals their life's work. You turned it into a press event. That's not theatre — that's strategy. I want in."

Jazz blinked. "You want—"

"One point five million. Seed round. Convertible note, standard terms. My legal team will send the paperwork by end of day." He stood, extended a hand to each of them in turn. "Congratulations. You've got your comeback."

The door clicked shut behind him. Jazz sat very still, waiting for the punchline that didn't come.

Tom let out a breath he seemed to have been holding since April. "Did that just happen?"

"I think..." Jazz's voice cracked. "I think we just secured our round."

He grabbed her, lifting her off the ground in a bear hug that smelled like cologne and last night's takeaway. She laughed, startled, her arms wrapping around his neck before she could think about it.

"We did it," he murmured into her hair. "We actually did it."

She pulled back, still buzzing, and saw the look on his face. The one she'd been cataloguing for months now — the one that showed up in the gaps between arguments, in the quiet hours after they'd saved each other's asses yet again.

"Tom?" Her voice came out smaller than she intended.

He set her down gently. "I know. I know we said — work only. Three months. Keep it professional."

"We're still in the room." She gestured vaguely at the glass walls. "They could still see us. There's still — the company is still —"

"I know." He ran a hand through his hair, messing it further. "I know all of it. But Jazz, in four days my debt comes due. In six, our lease ends. And in between, I've watched you fight like hell for something you believe in. I've watched you refuse to give up. And I've realized I don't actually care about the timeline anymore."

Her chest tightened. "What are you saying?"

He looked at her — really looked, the way he had in the seminar room five years ago when she'd challenged his business plan and he'd argued back for an hour just to keep talking to her.

"I'm saying I'm tired of pretending you're just my business partner." He stepped closer. "I'm saying that when this is over — when we sign the lease on the new office, when the round closes, when Priya's hearing is done — I need you to know something."

"What's that?"

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Shook his head with a rueful grin. "Not here. Not in a boardroom that smells like someone's burned their lunch. Give me tonight. The flat. Empty because we're moving out tomorrow. Just you and me."

Jazz's heart hammered. She should say no. Should point out every reason this was a terrible idea. The company. The investors. The history.

Instead, she said, "I'll be there."

His grin widened, boyish and bright. "Good. Now come on — we've got two more pitches, and I want to celebrate properly."

She laughed, following him out into the corridor. Her phone buzzed — Eleanor Vance's name, finally answered with a reply.

*Exclusive interview. Tomorrow, 9 a.m. Coffee's on you.*

Jazz typed back a confirmation, pocketed the phone, and caught Tom's eye.

The comeback had only just begun.