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Izzy, appeared like a savior, her old Texas oil money propping us up. She was my rock, my biggest cheerleader through ninety-e
my "failures," systematically leaking my core algorithms and business plans to her old flame, Caleb. My IP was the foundation
ckery of love. My life was a meticulously constructed deception, my genius hijacked, my parents' legacy exploited. Nausea c
ith unwavering resolve. I would not just reclaim my work; I would unleash a reckoning so precise, so pu
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