Unlocking the Secret Genius

Millions of viewers were crucifying my entire family on a live, nationwide broadcast. They branded my parents as sexist parasites and demanded my brother, Miles, be permanently blacklisted and kicked out of Hollywood.

But those trolls hiding behind their keyboards would never know the truth.

The girl they swore was rotting away in some basement? I was currently standing in the control center of the most highly classified quantum initiative on the planet.

Chapter 1

"We did it! It actually works!" Wesley lunged forward to wrap his arms around me.

I took a smooth step back, letting him grab empty air.

The deputy director let out a guttural shout. Everyone was losing their minds. Of course, this core team holding the pulse of the globe had an average age of barely twentyCfive. To the ancient relics of the scientific community, we were terrifying technological monsters.

The project's highestCclearance director shoved past the security perimeter. His eyes were rimmed red as he gripped my hands. "You did it! You shattered the global tech hierarchy!"

For the past five years, to sever all outside interference, my entire social existence had been erased. I'd been running calculations day and night inside a heavily armed, topCsecret blackCsite base.

I let out a long breath. The impossible was finally done. I hadn't seen my family in half a decade. A sharp ache hit the back of my throat.

I missed my parents. I missed my brother, Miles. When I first vanished into this project, Miles made me a promise: the day I succeeded would be the day he became a global AClist superstar.

At the victory gala, security finally handed back my personal phone. Muscle memory took over. I typed my brother's name into the search bar. The results hit me like a physical blow.

The trending hashtags were all vicious demands for Miles to get the hell out of the industry. The comments were flooded with toxic abuse directed straight at my parents. My fingers stiffened over the screen. What the hell happened?

A quick scroll revealed the catalyst. My family was on a reality TV show. It was a phenomenal, ultraChighCbudget reality show produced by the nation's biggest streaming giant. The premise was a 24/7, noCblindCspot intrusion into the private lives of multiCmillionaire AClisters and their families.

I tapped the first episode. The opening shot caught my mom kicking off her heels, letting them drop wherever, and collapsing onto the couch.

Miles walked in right behind her. He let out a breath, picked up the scattered shoes, and lined them up neatly. "Mom, could you just put these on the rack next time?"

She gave a noncommittal hum, her eyes already glued to her phone.

The live comments covering the screen were moving at warp speed.

[ How does that violent piece of trash even have the nerve to show his face on TV? His whole family are just social parasites! Go rot in hell! ]

[ Wait, didn't they claim Maggot's mom was some elite college professor? She's just a lazy slob! ]

They were actually calling my brother Maggot. I stared at the screen, a muscle ticking in my jaw. Where the hell was this radioactive hostility coming from? This was exactly how my mom and brother always interacted at home.

Suppressing the urge to hurl my phone across the room, I kept watching.

Mitchell, my dad, walked through the door a moment later. He carried takeout bags from the university dining hall. He washed his hands, meticulously unpacked the containers onto the dining table, and called them over.

The second my mom heard the crinkle of bags, she dropped her phone and claimed her seat. Once my dad and brother sat down, they all started eating. Not a single word was exchanged. The only sound in the room was the low drone of the evening news playing on the TV.

The comment section exploded again.

[ Jesus, the vibe is suffocating. It's like they're three strangers trapped in an elevator. ]

[ Compare this to the Best Actor's family stream! Total jealousy. ]

[ With a toxic home life like this, no wonder they raised a plagiarizing, violent thug. ]

[ They literally eat cheap takeout? Did you see the pop star's mom next door? She cooked an entire feast! ]

[ I swear, they haven't spoken more than five words to each other since the cameras rolled. ]

Miles and I grew up on university dining hall food. There was absolutely nothing wrong with it. And we never talked at the table. My mom possessed a laserCfocus when eating; nothing existed to her except the food in front of her.

Plus, she had likely been lecturing all day. She was drained. And my dad was a man of few words by default.

"Have you finished verifying the final audit code for the Department of Defense?" my dad asked, slicing into a piece of steak without looking up.

"Submitted it three days ago. Who acts like you, constantly pushing the Pentagon's deadCdrop deadlines?" my mom rolled her eyes.

He finished his meal and walked off to read. Miles silently cleared the table and retreated to his room.

[ This doesn't even feel scripted. They're all acting way too naturally. ]

A lone comment floated across the screen, instantly buried beneath a fresh avalanche of hate.

Chapter 2

[ Totally scripted! Get that toxic trash out of Hollywood! ]

[ Stop acting, Maggot. You weren't playing nice when you beat up my idol. ]

A lot had clearly happened over the last five years. But I knew Miles. He wasn't that kind of person.

Compared to the other families, the production crew was starved for usable drama from us.

The director corralled my parents and brother into the living room. "Looking at your family's profile, Miles has a younger sister. But we've never seen her. Could we meet her?"

"No." My mom shut the director down without a second of hesitation.

The barrage immediately flared up.

[ I didn't even know Maggot had a sister. He never mentioned her. ]

"I noticed that door down the hall is always locked shut. Is that your sister's room? Can we take a look inside? Miles, what's your sister's name?"

"No entry. No comment." My brother cut him off.

[ Look at that attitude! No wonder he's a blacklisted thug! ]

[ Seriously. Why are they so defensive about a room? They're definitely hiding something. ]

That concluded our family's screen time for the first episode. I instantly tapped on episode two.

The very first frame opened with the offCcamera director pressing my mom again. "The viewers really want to see your daughter's room. Can we open it up?"

"Absolutely not. Without my daughter's personal authorization, no one sets a single foot inside that room. That is our family's bottom line."

"Could you give her a call then? Just ask for her permission to give us a tour?"

"No," my mom repeated.

[ This family is a literal freak show! They claim they're protecting her, but they won't even make a phone call? They're totally guilty of something! ]

[ Did the daughter cut ties with them or something? ]

[ It's definitely because they're misogynistic boomers who worship their son. Sexist abusers need to die! ]

I stared at the rolling text, a hard lump forming in my throat. My eyes burned.

Back in high school, I despised anyone intruding on my space. Even though my parents never snooped, I was stubborn about my privacy.

So, we established an absolute rule.

My parents didn't appear in the rest of the show. The reason was simple: they had been doxxed and publicly crucified online.

Those online trolls who probably couldn't even pass high school algebra were mocking my dad's research as worthless garbage. But they had no idea that Mitchell controlled fuzzy mathematics and quantum cryptography capable of paralyzing global networks.

Before a true quantum computer was even built, his brain was the most dangerous weapon on this planet.

I remembered Mitchell pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, a calm smile on his face. "Theoretical research is like this. You have to stay ahead of the era."

"Many theorists are never recognized in their lifetimes. It doesn't mean their work is meaningless; the world just hasn't built the conditions to realize it yet."

In reality, there were less than ten people globally researching quantum programming. Less than five could even comprehend Mitchell's work.

My mom used to joke with him. "Can't compete with Professor Mitchell. Ranked number one in a circle of ten."

"Scientific research means getting used to the cold bench." Mitchell just smiled.

That was exactly how my dad had always been. EvenCtempered. Meticulous. He respected my mom, and he respected us.

The internet accused my mom of exploiting her students. They claimed she was a toxic, overlyCdemanding professor who pushed her grad students so hard they ended up hospitalized.

In the viral video, the mob hurled trash at my mom. But she didn't take a single step back.

She just coldly scanned the ignorant attackers, her spine perfectly straight, guarding the classified research data behind her.

The roaring flames of vengeance ignited in my chest.

My mom definitely didn't fit the traditional maternal mold. From what I remembered, she never voluntarily did chores. She might cook once in a blue moon. Her favorite activity was collapsing into her armchair and scrolling through her phone.

Chapter 3

For the longest time, I seriously thought my mom was just a lazy freeloader.

Until one day, I slipped into the back of her lecture hall. It was a side of her I'd never seen.

Standing at the podium, she radiated confidence, commanding the room without breaking a sweat.

The entire hall was glued to her slides. I never thought analytical chemistry could be so damn captivating. She had this magnetic pull; the second she took the stage, everyone was instantly hooked. That was the moment it clicked.

The podium was her throne.

And that was the exact place where those violent mobs had pelted her with garbage.

The internet was still screaming about my parents being toxic, sonCworshipping abusers. They dug up my parents' social media feeds from the past year, slapping screenshots everywhere to prove we were just a family of three.

Over the last twelve months, between reposting scientific papers and academic conferences, my parents only posted promos for Miles's music and a single holiday photo of the three of them. Of course, the conspiracy theorists swore I was already dead. Miles shut that down immediately, fiercely defending the fact that his sister was very much alive.

The idea of my parents favoring my brother was a total joke. Gender was never an excuse for special treatment in our house.

When Miles and I were little, we ripped up Mitchell's complex mathematical proofs to make paper airplanes. When my mom found out, she was ready to ground us into the dirt.

My dad blocked her, saying, "Miles is the older brother, and he's a boy. Give him hell. But Quinn is a girl. Let it go."

My mom snapped. "Why does Miles get it, but Quinn gets a free pass?"

"Girls are delicate and sensitive. They can't take the heat," Mitchell reasoned. "Boys are built tough. They can brush it off."

My mom glared at him. "Mitchell, do you even hear yourself right now? What do you mean girls are delicate? Who brainwashed you into thinking women have to be sensitive?"

Afterward, my mom confiscated all of our electronics, pointed a finger right at my dad's nose, and made him stand in the corner to reflect on his actions with us.

"Quinn, Miles," she said, her voice dropping to a serious octave. "Gender never defines you. Only you define yourselves."

"You messed up today, and you pay the price for it. It has absolutely zero to do with what's between your legs."

She paused, her gaze locking onto me. "Especially you, Quinn. You have to stay sharp. The world is full of guys with your dad's gentle sexism."

"They'll tell you girls need to be protected, that girls can't handle the rough stuff. Any little shortcut you get handed because you're a girl will eventually collect a brutal toll."

"It'll hit you when an elite firm only hires men because they're built for the grind. It'll hit you when you argue with a boyfriend, and he gaslights you by calling you hysterical and oversensitive, stripping away your voice in the relationship."

"You have to define what being a woman means for yourself. Never let the label define you."

Those words burned into my brain.

They were the exact reason I managed to carve out my own empire in a physics department overflowing with male egos.

When I first joined the initiative, Wesley actually questioned me. "Are you sure about this, Quinn? The conditions at the blackCsite are grueling. It might not be something a girl can handle."

Wesley meant well. He was trying to look out for me, but it carried the exact same blind, masculine arrogance my dad had shown. I proved them all dead wrong.

I survived, and I thrivedcrushing the competition and adapting faster than any guy in the room.

Gender never defined anyone