Finding Spring Page 14

  “Before you move ahead with anything,” the flinty-eyed female named Mrs. Stone says, “you should know that WelshAllyn had absolutely nothing to do with any illegal dealings. We purchased the information we submitted in good faith.” She hands a folder to Mr. Brighton.

  He flips it open, and I look over his shoulder. Gerty peers over his other shoulder. It's a contract.

  “It's for nine thousand, nine-hundred and ninety-nine dollars,” Gerty says. “Doesn't that seem a little low for this tech?”

  Mr. Brighton turns back toward the group of lawyers and clears his throat. “With whom exactly did you make this deal?” He shakes the folder. “This says J.F. Holdings.”

  “Their lawyer approached us,” Mrs. Stone says. “He offered us the deal with a lot of stipulations, the privacy of his client foremost among them.”

  “You didn’t find that offer suspect?” Mr. Brighton lifts one eye accusingly.

  “We'd have been moronic not to take it.”

  “You were negligent not to examine where it came from and why the information was being offered so inexpensively.” Mr. Brighton frowns furiously. “Which you clearly know.”

  “Maybe,” she says. “Maybe not. That’s a matter of fact for a jury to decide.”

  Mr. Brighton rolls his eyes. “Common sense may not be plentiful or well regarded in New York, but the jurors in Georgia don’t love big corporations who hide behind excuses and willful ignorance. You had received proposals from my client for this same tech and replied with interest. In fact, in light of that, I imagine if we poke into the last deal I handled for SITB, we'll find WelshAllyn behind the shell company that filed for the patent first.”

  “Not that we admit anything,” Mrs. Stone says, “but what are you asking for?”

  Mr. Brighton glances my way and I shrug. We haven’t suffered any damages on this tech, other than the extra legal fees, but the last venture was worth something. I’m smart enough to know that proving WelshAllyn’s involvement or wrongdoing for that snafu will be much tougher, given the timeline. Those employees have scattered, and it’s been over a year.

  Mr. Brighton clears his throat. “My client might be appeased if you were to pay my fees and a restitution fee of five hundred thousand, which is an absurdly low, limited time offer, if he even agrees to that.”

  It’s half a million more than I expected this morning, so I nod. “I will agree to it, if you accept or decline here today, and sign a document to that effect by close of business. I want the funds transferred within three business days.”

  Mrs. Stone's face hardens. One of the men next to her whispers in her ear. She taps into her phone and watches the screen. A moment later, she looks up, her face twisted into a sour expression. “WelshAllyn accepts your demands as long as this agreement includes a provision that protects us from any claims relating to any other, prior, purchase of tech involving your client.”

  So they did buy the prior tech. Interesting.

  Mr. Brighton's face reddens, but before he can argue, I put a hand on his arm. “We'll accept those terms.”

  “Fine,” Mrs. Stone says. “Draw up an agreement and we'll sign.”

  The second they're gone, Mr. Brighton curses. “We should've asked for more. They agreed too easily, which means we could have linked them to that first patent.”

  “Maybe we could have, but it's done at this point and I don't want to spend years in litigation.” I smile at him. “I've got lots of other ideas I'd rather focus on, and I’m pleased with the outcome.” I look around the room at Mr. Brighton's associate and legal secretary, and Lenny from SITB who came to testify about some of the tech research. “You've all done a great job.”

  I catch Gerty's hand on the way out without thinking about it. Her eyes widen in alarm and I let it go, but I don't want to.

  “I've got a favor to ask,” I say.

  “What?”

  I'm distracted for a moment by the sky blue of her eyes. I smile and she returns it.

  “The favor,” she prompts.

  “Right,” I say. “Sorry, you're so adorable that sometimes I forget what I was thinking.”

  She blushes and looks down at her cute black high heels. A row of dainty black flowers crosses over the toe of each shoe.

  “I instructed Mr. Brighton to send me a copy of whatever’s inside that folder they provided. I really need to figure out who it was that put Cynthia up to all this, since it clearly wasn't WelshAllyn. I've clearly got an enemy, and I want to know who it is.”

  “Why do you think you've got an enemy, as opposed to just a thief on your tail?” Before I can answer, she inhales. “Because they sold the information they stole way below market value.”

  I nod. “Exactly, which is why WelshAllyn was so quick to settle. I'm meeting with several buyers this week to decide whether to manufacture these wireless EKG transmitters myself, or whether to sell them. Ironically, WelshAllyn was one of the possible purchasers.”

  She frowns. “If you sell, won’t we all lose our jobs?”

  “Not at all. They'll insist we provide support for a while, usually a year, and after that we'll have new tech to work on.” I tap my temple. “I've got lots of ideas. Don't worry.”

  “I'm happy to dig around to try and find the owner, but I've never done anything like that before.”

  “You'd never cloned a phone before either,” I point out.

  The right side of her mouth creeps up into a smile.

  “What about running an operation on a corporate spy?”

  She shakes her head again, but the smile widens.

  “Had you ever been an assistant before?”

  Another head shake. “I'd never kissed my boss before either,” she whispers.

  I drop my voice too. “It seems like you're good at everything new you try. I have faith you can do this, too.”

  She doesn't whisper, but her voice is small, and her eyes downcast. “I may let you down.”

  I reach beneath her chin and lift it with two fingers. “You'll never let me down. Even if you can't find this, I won't fault you. Clearly whoever did this knows how to cover his or her tracks.”

  She bobs her head, but still doesn't meet my eyes. I want to track down her ex and drag him into my office so I have an excuse to thrash him. How badly must he have treated this phenomenal woman to make her doubt herself so badly? She's excelled at everything I've seen her do in the past week and a half. She's one of the best moms I've seen. She's kind, hard working, gorgeous, and feisty.

  The more time I spend with her, the more I like her. But when I see the nervousness in her eyes, when she worries she'll disappoint me after doing everything right, I can guess where that came from. I head for LitUp right after the hearing, trying to catch up on the prep work for the upcoming launch. Luke's still steady as a rock a few days before his wedding, but he's handling a lot of last minute details for that. I'm mostly staying away from my own home as much as possible so that Geo and her employees can change everything about it.

  Part of me is annoyed I can't just invite Gerty over to my own house. I mean, it's sort of weird to make her meet me in the park, but maybe it's for the best. Her house is adorable, but I could stack ten of her place inside of mine. It might freak her out, especially since she thinks of me like a startup kind of guy. Which is fine, but I don't have the house of a tiny tech startup guy.

  On Wednesday, I meet with four possible buyers. 3M, Stryker, Siemens, and Philips. They all make offers by the end of the day. The offers are bigger than I expected. I've got meetings next week with Cardinal, Johnson & Johnson and GE Healthcare. All four today offered a ten percent uplift if I sign before meeting with anyone next week. I've also got some preliminary projections on the market if we push this product out ourselves. I'd make more, and I could still sell later to one of these companies, but how much more of my life would I spend splitting time between two offices?

  I want to call Luke and ask him what to do. This was supposed to be my chance to do someth
ing without him, something just for me. Except now, I wish he were here. I wish I could talk to him about it, or if not him, anyone I trust to guide me.

  I'm going over the numbers again, trying to make sense of the bottom line on the various offers when I hear a tiny tap at my door. Gerty's head pokes around the corner. “Hey. You got a minute?”

  I lean back in my chair. “Of course. Come on in.”

  She sits on the very edge of the chair across from me, a folder on her lap. “I almost came to see you yesterday, but I didn't have the answer yet, not for sure. I think maybe I do now.”

  I sit up a little straighter. “An answer to what?”

  “Did you know most agencies have twenty business days to respond to open records requests?” She wrings her hands. “I might have expensed a mini muffin basket to expedite a few of them.” She coughs. “Or six.”

  I laugh and pull out a stick of gum. If I can convince her to close the door, I don’t want my breath to smell like the French dip I ate for lunch. “And?”

  “Do you know someone named James Fullton?”

  I stop in the middle of unwrapping the piece of Trident.

  “I take your absolute stillness as a yes.”

  I meet her eyes. “I know a James Fullton the fourth. Is that the one you mean?”

  She nods. “Parents James Fullton III, and Violet Kennedy Fullton?”

  I clench my hands into fists, forgetting momentarily about the spearmint gum. I drop the squished mess into the trashcan. “J.F. Holdings.” I swear under my breath. “I should have thought of that.”

  “It's hard to take an acronym and figure out what the letters stand for,” Gerty says. “Like SITB for example. No one has any idea what it stands for.”

  I'm barely listening to her. I reach for my phone, ready to call that vindictive, lazy freeloader and tell him what I think. But my hand stops before I pick up the receiver. What good would calling him do? He'd probably be delighted to hear from me. He obviously didn't do this for the money.

  This was straight up revenge.

  Calling him would tip my hand. For the same reasons that I kept that key logger, I'm better off not letting on that I know what he did. He'll know I made Cynthia, and he'll know I beat him this round, but he may think he covered his tracks well enough that I haven’t figured it out yet.

  “How hard was it to figure this out?” I ask.

  Gerty sighs. “I guess that depends. I didn't obtain the information legally. J.F. Holdings is set up in Switzerland. He clearly spent a lot more creating this company than he earned from the two sales, assuming they were both for under ten thousand.”

  “How did you get any information from a Swiss company?” I ask.

  “My ex has an old friend who... never mind. The point is, it took some real digging and a little bit of pressure. But if I could find it in two days, I'm sure someone else could too. I'm not a private investigator or anything. I just happen to have a few friends in low places. I figured you wanted to know the answer more than you wanted a well-documented paper trail. I hope that was right.”

  “That’s absolutely right. You did a tremendous job. I really appreciate it. I hope you didn’t put yourself in danger or call in any favors.”

  “Nothing that will put me in a bind.” She stands up and sets the folder on my desk. “You seem upset. I'm really sorry if I had anything to do with that. I totally understand if you're not able to do the picnic tonight after all.”

  I close my eyes. I'm an idiot. Gerty did an amazing thing here, and crossed some lines to get what I needed. She worked hard on this, and instead of paying attention to how she's feeling, I got caught up in my own garbage. I jump from my chair and stride over to the doorway, swinging the door closed. I open my arms to her and she rushes toward me. I kiss her until I'm sure my face is covered in her cute pink lipgloss.

  “I don't want to reschedule,” I say softly. “I was surprised at your discovery, but thinking about our plans has kept me going all week. I'm certainly not going to let James ruin another minute of my life if I can help it.”

  She ducks her head against my shoulder and I breathe in deeply. I love the smell of her shampoo. It's floral, but not rose or lavender. I don't know what it is exactly, but I know I can't get enough of it.

  “If it makes a difference,” I say, “weather reports indicate it should be a perfect day. Sixty degrees.”

  “You looked it up?” The corners of her mouth turn up, but it’s not quite a smile. “I'd probably hesitate to cancel even if it was predicting a downpour. I may have stuck a raincoat and galoshes in my trunk just in case.” She glances up at me, her eyes sparkling like clear ocean water from beneath thick eyelashes.

  “You are breathtaking,” I say.

  “You're not so bad looking yourself.”

  I kiss her again, only pulling away when a knock at the door startles me. Gerty leaps back so far she nearly crashes through my office window. It's only Ish with a pile of messages, but Gerty shoots out the door like a cat whose tail was stepped on.

  I sit back down to try and compare the offers. My eyes start to cross, and with the varying structures, I can't quite puzzle out the tax impacts. If Luke knew about this, I'd run it past Mary for sure. I curse under my breath. I want to do this alone, but I didn't really give enough credit for our success to the support team we assembled.

  I pick up my phone to call Luke, but then I put it back down. I’m so close to closing this. I want to tell Luke when I can say, “Look what I did. All alone.” I don't want to call him on the ten yard line and ask him to help me keep from fumbling the ball.

  I dial another number instead. I don't even realize until I hear his voice how much I needed to talk to someone else who knows James.

  “What's up Paul?” Trig asks. “You engaged yet? I hear everyone cool is doing it.”

  Why did I call him? He's such an idiot. But he’s a genius with numbers, and he’s discreet. “I need some advice.”

  “I think my reception is failing. It sounded for a second like the great and mighty Paul was asking for my help.”

  I grit my teeth. “This was a bad idea.”

  “Oh come on. I've earned the right to give you a hard time.”

  He probably has. “Fine, you heard me right. I've sort of been keeping a secret.” He doesn't interrupt me a single time while I explain what I've been up to with SITB.

  “No wonder you didn't have time to act as best man for Luke. You were too busy being Super Man.” Trig whistles. “Two launches at the same time? And Luke doesn't even know about one of them?”

  “I'm not launching this product yet. I just finished the prototype. The tech is done, but as you know, that's a far cry from ready for market.”

  “Still,” Trig says. “I'm impressed and not much impresses me.”

  That's true enough. I walk him through my offers and options and he points out several things that hadn’t occurred to me.

  “I've got one question,” he says.

  “What?”

  “Why didn’t you do all this at LitUp? You've already got a team. Why keep it from Luke?”

  There's no way Trig will understand this. I’ve watched him share a toothbrush with Brekka. Gosh, I hope they never shared underwear. But if I don't try and explain this, at least in some small way, he'll never keep his mouth shut until I'm ready to tell Luke myself. “I've always been second place around him.”

  “You're partners, you and Luke. I remember, I worked on that first deal,” Trig says.

  “Not fifty-fifty,” I say. “Forty-nine, fifty-one.”

  “But he treats you like you're even,” Trig points out.

  “He does. But Luke's older and everyone always looks to him. My parents always congratulated him, and then would sort of tack on, 'oh, you too, Paul.’”

  “Isn't your mom dead?” Trig's blunt, and I actually appreciate that.

  “It's not about my parents,” I say. “I'm sick of always following him around.”

  “Did
n't he follow you to Boston?”

  I knew he wouldn't understand. “Yeah, I got perfect grades. I was the smart one. That was my thing. Mom and Dad were poor, which I’m sure you know. We grew up in a two-bedroom apartment. I worked hard on school, while Luke worked part time after school to help put food on the table. Everyone said I'd make it, that I'd be the first college grad. Luke, on the other hand, became an electrician right out of high school.”

  “Whereas you got a scholarship to Harvard.”

  “And Oxford. I could have gone anywhere, but it's expensive to live in America, and I'd have graduated with a ton of debt.”

  “Which you'd have easily repaid,” Trig says.

  “I was scared to leave Australia. That's what it came down to, until my brother agreed to move here with me.”

  “I didn't remember that. I thought you came out and he followed.”

  “That's how he tells it, because Harvard was my thing. Luke paid for our apartment and food and I had my tuition covered by the school, more or less. But after being here six months and meeting some of my professors and classmates, my Chemistry professor had a problem with his home wiring. He had this old house and nothing worked. Luke helped him every day after work for a month and wouldn’t let Professor Burrell pay him. My professor was so impressed he convinced Luke to take the SAT. He wrote him a recommendation that got Luke a scholarship. And a year after I started, my older brother enrolled as a freshman.”

  “I know,” Trig says. “We had Chem together. He told me he got in because Harvard was looking for diverse applicants. Made it sound like it was his career as a full time electrician that attracted them, or maybe being from Australia.”

  “That's Luke for you. Always humble.”

  Trig sighs. “And suddenly the one thing you had on Luke, poof. It was gone.” Maybe he sort of gets what I'm saying.

  “It's been like that ever since. Luke casts a wide shadow.”

  “That he does,” Trig says. “Look, if you send me the documents, I swear I'll keep my mouth shut. I'm leaving for Atlanta in thirty minutes. I can go over them on the flight and make my recommendation.”