The Board Opened My Student File and Found His Signature

On Monday, Quentin brought a folder thicker than mine.

He laid it before Nora with both hands.

"Before we hand control to a junior employee," he said, "we should ask whether she owns anything at all."

I had paid an attorney named Dana Pike $1,200 to review my records over the weekend. She sat beside me at the conference table. That payment had left me checking my grocery total on my phone.

Quentin turned to the second board member, Felix Ward.

"University lab. University tools. A professor supervising. This is school property. Her little LLC is a shell."

My face grew hot. I could take a question about title. The little was harder.

Dana put her pen down.

"We asked the university for its records on Friday," she said. "With Paloma's written permission. Their venture officer is available by video."

Nora switched on the screen.

Dr. June Mercer appeared against a wall of student business posters. She had run Glasswater's venture program when I was there.

"Did your school own this process?" Nora asked.

"No. Paloma developed it as a student, using the open student workshop. She wasn't a university employee or working under a sponsored research contract. Our policy left those rights with her."

She sent a dated rights letter. It had been issued before Stillspan existed.

Quentin tapped his folder.

"A faculty member helped."

"We offered advice," Dr. Mercer said. "Advice did not give us ownership. We also helped her form Cabrera Quiet Lab and review its first license."

"Was Mr. Hale involved in those talks?" Dana asked.

"Yes. We kept the meeting notes."

The next document held his signature.

It was a receipt for the first version of the process manual, delivered under the license. The date was five weeks before my first day as an employee.

Under Purpose, Quentin had written: Scale licensed tile process for commercial orders.

He looked at it for a long time.

I remembered that afternoon. He had brought warm cookies to the venture office and called me a founder like himself. I had carried the box back to the workshop, pleased enough to save the ribbon.

I wished that memory had hurt less than it did.

"We improved it here," he said.

"We did," I said. "The stacking rack, the cutting guide, and the packaging plan. Those belong to Stillspan. I listed them in my reply."

Felix looked up.

"You're not claiming those?"

"I didn't bring them in. Other people worked on them."

Luis's cutting guide had saved us hours. I would not erase him to make my own case cleaner.

Nora turned to Quentin.

"Why did your ownership statement say there were no outside licenses?"

"I assumed the job papers replaced the old arrangement."

Dana opened the employment schedule. Beneath the list of excluded work, it said the separate license remained in force.

Quentin had initialed that line too.

The heater clicked on. The conference light buzzed above us.

Nobody moved to fix it.

Bea presented her early findings next. The sixteen pilot contracts were sales of tiles. The $416,000 had been put under the wrong heading for royalty reports. She calculated $12,480 owed to my company for the two missed quarters.

She also showed the email directing Ellen to use that heading.

Quentin said he had followed advice. Asked whose advice, he named no one.

Nora closed her notebook.

She and Felix voted to place him on paid leave while the review continued. He opposed the motion. Two votes carried it.

Ellen would handle operations. No tile lot could ship without my written quality release and a second check by Luis.

"This isn't a vote on Paloma's consent," Nora said. "That's hers to consider through her company. This is a vote on how ours operates."

Quentin stood so fast his chair struck the wall.

"You all think a piece of paper makes a product."

I looked at the split green-dot tile beside Mireya's report.

"No," I said. "That's why we keep the test records."

He left his thick folder behind.

After the meeting, Nora asked me to stay.

"Can the process run without him?"

"It already did. Can the company pay the crew without the sale?"

She did not pretend the answer was easy.

"Five weeks," she said. "Perhaps six."

That night, Dana called as I counted the meals left in my freezer.

Quentin's new lawyer had sent a demand for $600,000, claiming I had harmed the merger on purpose.

At the bottom was a deadline: sign the consent by Friday, or face suit.