“Sorry,” I say. “Could you repeat that?”
“Of course,” Tom says curtly. “Miss Fitzgerald, we’ve asked you here today to facilitate a transfer of intellectual property rights.”
He grimaces and exchanges a look with the other lawyers.
I’m so confused. Probably exhaustion. “Rights to what?” I ask suspiciously.
Tom slides a document across the table like it physically pains him. His fingers actually seem to resist letting go of the paper. “Full ownership of the IRIS hotel management system, including all associated code, documentation, design specifications, and derivative works is being transferred from the McLaren Hotel Group to you.”
The lawyer to his left makes a small choking sound.
“What?” I stare at him, then at the document, then back at him. “I don’t... what do you mean? Why would you...?”
“The terms we’re proposing would grant you complete ownership of the IRIS system,” Tom explains patiently, like he’s talking to someone in shock, which I suppose he is. “This includes the right to license it back to McLaren Hotels, license it to competing chains, develop it independently, or cease its use entirely. The choice would be entirely yours.”
I’m sorry, what? Did he just say I could license it to their competitors?
“But…” I stare at the document, words swimming. “I don’t… this doesn’t make sense.”
“We’ve also included”—Tom’s eye twitches—“a retroactive compensation package for the intellectual property you’ve already developed. Page seventeen outlines the financial terms.”
Jake grabs the document, flipping through. His eyebrows shoot up at whatever number he sees.
“Additionally,” Tom continues, looking like he might need medical attention, “McLaren Hotels would like to propose a licensing arrangement, should you choose to allow us continued use of the system. The terms are outlined in Appendix B.”
“But I built it on a company laptop,” I blurt out, because my brain’s completely short-circuited. This is not the conversation I prepared for. I practiced my “you can’t intimidate me” speech in the mirror. Is this a trick? “Under employment contract. I was just doing my job. This doesn’t make sense.”
Jake steps on my foot under the table. Hard.
“It should belong to you,” Patrick says in a low voice. “You were employed as a junior coder, but the work you did, the responsibilities you carried—you basically did the work of an entire senior team. This is simply righting a wrong.”
Oh no. My eyes are getting hot and prickly. Do NOT cry, Georgie. You’ve done so well. Don’t ruin it by ugly crying.
“This is insane,” Jake mutters, still reading. He turns to me with wide eyes, and I know why. This is life-changing money they are proposing. It blows my severance package suggestion out of the water.
“You’ll want your own legal representation to review the documents,” Tom says. “We’ve taken the liberty of providing a list of independent IP lawyers—” he slides another paper across, “—whose fees McLaren Hotels will cover.”
At this point, they might as well throw in a pony.
“Take your time,” Patrick says, standing so abruptly his chair screeches. “Read everything. Make sure you understand what you’re being offered.”
He pauses at the door. “You’ll never have to work for someone like Craig again.” His frown deepens. “Or me.”
Then he’s gone, leaving me sitting there with documents that could change my entire life spread across the table.
Jake whistles low. “Georgie, this is… they’re giving you everything.”
I can barely hear him over the roaring in my ears. Patrick’s just handed me my freedom, my future, everything—except himself.
FORTY-ONE
You’re not Anita
Georgie
The doorbell rings, andI bolt toward it, then freeze halfway down the hall.
Wait. I should check my appearance first.
