Dad was awake and waiting for them in the foyer when they arrived. Going right to Nicole, he wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her cheek, whispering in her ear. She nodded and glanced back at Matisse and Genevieve before returning the kiss.

“I’m going to bed,” she announced.

“Me, too.” Genevieve yawned. “I have homework that will take me all day tomorrow.”

As one, they headed upstairs. Two late nights left Matisse spent, but still his body fought to stay awake, keeping him jittery. It would take him twice as long to fall asleep.

His mother stopped him as he was about to head into his room. “You didn’t say goodnight.”

“Sorry.” He’d been in his head, focused on himself. “Goodnight, Mom.”

The light scent of her perfume washed over him when she stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Instead of dysregulating him further, the scent soothed him. “Get some sleep. Put on your noise machine and the fan. It always helps.”

Inside his room, he left the lights off and went right to the window, lifting it. The cool air was scented with the freesia blooming in the gardens. Matisse turned on the ceiling fan and white noise machine and stretched out on his bed. From head to toe, he concentrated on relaxing each part of his body. At times, he would twitch and jerk, as if his muscles were fighting him.

He persevered though, knowing he needed the rest. When his mind tried to recall the stresses of the night, he called up the periodic table of elements, listing each one. When that didn’t work, he started listing the digits of pi. The next thing he knew, the sun had risen, and he was sweating uncomfortably through the suit he’d worn the night before.

His mother’s voice filtered in from outside, and he peered out the window. Dressed in her gardening clothes, she gestured to the hedges and blooms. The normality of the scene had the evening rushing back to Matisse. Whatever had happened last night didn’t seem to be bothering Nicole anymore.

After closing the window, Matisse hurried through showering and dressing. He’d only poured his coffee when his father came into the kitchen.

“Good sleep?” he asked.

The strong coffee burned his throat as he swallowed. “Yes. You?”

His father shook his head. “I need to speak with you. Come into the office?” Dad stared at the floor and glanced up at Matisse when he didn’t answer right away.

“What’s going on?”

“Not here.” Turning on his heel, his father strode to his office and waited for Matisse to pass him before shutting and locking the door.

Stomach tight, he paced, passing on the seat Dad offered. “Just tell me.”

Dad’s eyes held his for a moment before he sighed and fell into a chair. “I need your help.”

Of all the things he expected his dad to say, this wasn’t it. “Me? Why?”

Leaning forward, Dad spun the laptop on his desk to face them. It was the same page Matisse had found on his computer and in the public library. The code for the new software.

“Do you know what this is?”

“It’s your new software,” he answered.

“No,” his dad said. “Read it carefully.”

Sitting in the chair next to his dad, Matisse pulled the computer closer and began to read through it, line by line. He was right. This software differed subtly from the one he’d seen last night. It was better, actually. The small changes would offer speed and less glitches. “You fixed it.”

His dad shook his head. “No.”

He leaned back and pushed the laptop away. “I don’t understand.”

“This is software developed by one of our employees, on company time, with my resources. And this—” With a push of a button, his father called up another page with the software he’d seen last night. “This is the software we patented.”

He was missing something.

“This is Rene’s idea, my code, my company’s work perfecting the code. Except it’s not. Because my employee stole the code, stole the idea, and patented it.”

He listened quietly, trying to understand what his father was telling him. “You mean, someone stole your software, fixed the glitches, and patented the glitch-free version?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“Yes, but the problem is, Tisse, he patented his software before ours.”

“So?” Filled with indignation for his dad, Matisse still didn’t see why he needed to know about it. There wasn’t anything he could do about it.

“So...” Dad repeated. “The future of our company hinges on this control software. We put everything we had into its development. This revolutionizes technology. The company who releases this platform could be the next global leader in quantum computing. But this is the first step. Before we invest in superconductors and semiconductors and nanowires, we need this. Without it, we’re merely a fancy factory, churning out motherboards.”

Matisse understood the implications his father talked about, but he didn’t understand why the company’s future seemed so shaky.

“What is everything?” he asked, wondering if his father would actually tell him.

“Everything is every penny. Trusts, stocks, everything.” Dad’s voice trembled, and Matisse stared at him.

It came together slowly. He wasn’t a businessman, but he understood math. “You sank everything into developing this, marketing it, hiking up your stock prices with the promise of it, and now it’s not yours.”

“Exactly. Except it is mine. This man took our work and stole it and patented it.”

“I’m sorry, Dad.” What did he want his help with, though? Telling his mother? His sister? How could he possibly help out?

“Last night, Matisse, you got through our company firewalls.”

His face heated, and he stared at the floor. “I did.”

“That’s why I need your help.”

He peered up, trying to get a read on his father, but the man’s face was stony. “It’s your company. You can go wherever you want.”

“I can. What I need your help with, Tisse, is getting into the patent office.”

His brain stuttered to a stop. “The U.S. Patent Office?”

“Yes.”

The coffee he’d sipped earlier burned his stomach, the acid threatening to make a reappearance, and he swallowed hard. Dad wanted him to hack into a government site, and do what? Delete a patent?

He drummed his fingers nervously on his knees then folded his hands together. It wasn’t enough to calm his nerves. He stood up to pace around the room. At once, the leather, the hum of the air conditioner, even the fan in the computer, was too much for him to take. Another second inside, and he’d go mad.

He didn’t see where he was going. All he knew was he needed to get away from all of it. Before he realized what he was doing, he was on his bike, peeling out of the garage and down the drive. Downshifting, he roared through town and to the interstate as fast as he could go. With the wind roaring past him, he swerved between speeding cars, and his mind finally slowed.

Dad needed his help, and Matisse would give it.