My phone started buzzing before I was out of the parking deck.
Please come home. We can talk.
Mother didn’t mean to be so harsh.
Liv please don’t do anything rash.
I ignored every one of them.
I drove down Peachtree Street with the downtown Atlanta skyline in my windshield, straight to the one person who would understand exactly what needed to happen next.
Carter & Associates is one of the best intellectual property law firms in the Southeast. Their offices take up two floors of a glass tower in Midtown.
Marcus Carter was Dr. Park’s attorney when I was in graduate school. He’d helped me file every patent I owned. And he’d been the one sitting next to me, six years earlier, when I negotiated Section 9.3 with Richard Bennett.
He was waiting for me in the lobby. Sixty-one years old. Silver goatee. Sharp dark eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses.
“I saw the writing on the wall months ago,” he said as he walked me back to his office. “When she hired the goddaughter. I’ve been waiting for your call.”
I sank into one of his leather chairs. And for the first time all day, I let my shoulders drop.
“Victoria finally made her move.”
Marcus nodded and pulled a thick file out of his credenza. My name was on the tab.
“Before we start,” he said, “I need to ask you something. Are you sure? Once we do this, there’s no going back. Victoria Bennett doesn’t lose quietly.”
“Neither do I,” I said. “Show me what we need to do.”
We spent the next three hours going through everything. Every patent. The license agreement. The royalty statements. The three renewal requests I’d sent Victoria, with the email timestamps showing she’d opened every one.
“Here’s what she’s going to try,” Marcus said. “First, she’ll claim your improvements were work-for-hire. That anything you developed while on their payroll belongs to the company.”
“Section 9.3 excludes improvements built on the platform.”
“Exactly. Which you wrote. Very carefully.” He smiled. “Second, she’ll wave the non-compete at you. But the non-compete has a carve-out for your own patents. You can license your own technology to anybody you want.”
“I wrote that too.”
“I know. I was there.” He tapped the file. “Third, she’ll try to just keep using your technology after the license expires and dare you to sue. Which would be patent infringement. On products they’re about to sell to hospitals. Right in the middle of an IPO, when every single risk has to be disclosed to the Securities and Exchange Commission.”
I leaned back in the chair.
“So what do we do?”
“We wait.”
“Wait?”
“Let them announce the launch. Let them file the IPO paperwork. Let them tell investors, in writing, that they have all the rights they need.” He closed the file. “And then we show them exactly who they’ve been dealing with.”
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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