I looked at Marcus. We were in his office going over the Thompson contract.
“Should I take it?”
He shrugged. “Could be interesting.”
“Hello, Margaret,” I answered.
“Olivia.” She sounded nervous. Nothing like the smiling woman who’d promised to take good care of my projects. “I need to talk to you. In person. It’s important.”
I almost said no. Curiosity won.
“Tomorrow. Ten a.m. There’s a coffee shop called the Edison, on Peachtree, near the Fox Theatre. Don’t be late.”
She was already there when I walked in the next morning, sitting in a back corner booth, turning her coffee cup around and around in her hands.
Her designer suit was wrinkled. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. She looked like she hadn’t slept in a week.
“Thank you for meeting me,” she said as I sat down. “I know you probably hate me.”
“I don’t hate you, Margaret,” I said. “I don’t feel anything about you at all. You’re just another piece on Victoria’s chessboard.”
She flinched. But she kept going.
“That’s actually why I’m here. Because of Victoria. Because of what’s really going on.”
For the next hour, she told me everything.
Victoria had been undermining my work for years. Not just in the last eight months. Years. Taking my research reports and presenting them to the board as “company initiatives.” Telling investors that the sensor was “developed by Bennett’s engineering team.” Quietly keeping me off the patent continuation filings for minor improvements, so that over time, the company’s name would show up on more and more paperwork near mine.
“She has a whole file,” Margaret said, her voice dropping low. “She’s been building it for two years. Trying to make it look like the patents should belong to the company. And she’s planning to sue you. Not to win. Just to tie you up in court for years until you run out of money and settle.”
“Let her try,” I said.
“You don’t understand.” Margaret leaned forward. “She’s desperate, Olivia. The IPO is dead. Investors are pulling out. And now there are rumors Thompson Medical is about to sign a deal with you. She’s talking about going to the district attorney. About criminal charges. Theft of trade secrets.”
I studied her across the table.
“Is that why you’re here, Margaret? To warn me? Or to save yourself?”
To her credit, she looked ashamed.
“Both,” she said. “I thought I was getting my dream job. I really did. I thought Aunt Victoria believed in me. But then I sat in those meetings, and I realized I couldn’t answer a single technical question about the products. Not one. The engineers look at me like I’m a joke. Because I am one.” Her eyes filled up. “And when this all falls apart, she’s going to need somebody to blame. And it’s going to be me.”
I sat back.
Margaret was ambitious. And naive. But she wasn’t evil. She was just another person who’d believed Victoria Bennett when she said she was on her side.
“Send me copies of everything,” I said finally. “All of it. The file she’s been building. Every email you have. Send it to my attorney, Marcus Carter. Tell him the truth about what you were asked to do. If you do that, I’ll make sure you land on your feet when this is over.”
Her relief was so strong I could feel it across the table.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’ll send everything tonight.”

Ethan Blake is a skilled Creative Content Specialist with a talent for crafting engaging and thought-provoking narratives. With a strong background in storytelling and digital content creation, Ethan brings a unique perspective to his role at TheArchivists, where he curates and produces captivating content for a global audience.
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