Jaime blinked. “Wait. Two thousand?” Derek paused. “You wanted a thousand. I’m doubling it. Call it a bonus.” Jaime looked at the whiteboard. She looked at the efficiency rating. That algorithm was worth hundreds of millions, maybe billions. It was the key to autonomous delivery. “Derek,” Jaime said, her voice steady. “That isn’t just a patch. That’s a proprietary algorithm. I wrote it. That’s my intellectual property.”
The room went quiet again. The celebration died. Derek’s smile did not fade, but it changed. It became rigid. He exchanged a glance with Jessica. “Jaime,” Derek said, his voice taking on a patronizing tone. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You gave us a tip. A very good tip. But my team did the integration. They built the hardware. They wrote the actual code. You just pointed out a direction.” “I gave you the mathematical foundation that makes your hardware work,” Jaime said, stepping closer. “Without that math, you have paperweights. I want a contract. I want a consultant fee and a percentage of the efficiency royalties.”
Gavin Reed walked in. He had evidently been called back when the simulation worked. He was wearing a fresh suit. He looked at Jaime like she was a bug on his windshield. “Royalties.” Gavin laughed. He walked over to the whiteboard. He pulled out his phone and took a picture of Jaime’s equations. Then he picked up the eraser. “What are you doing?” Jaime asked. “Cleaning up,” Gavin said. He wiped the board clean. One swipe. Two swipes. Jaime’s work vanished into white dust. “Here’s the reality, sweetheart,” Gavin said, turning to face her. “You are an employee of the Grind and Circuit. You have no degree. You have no patents. You came here. You scribbled on a board, and we appreciate it. But if you think you’re getting equity in a billion-dollar company because you remember some high-school calculus, you are delusional.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a checkbook. He scribbled something and tore it out. “Five thousand,” Gavin said, holding it out. “Take it. Sign a standard NDA saying you were a beta tester, and go home. That pays your rent for a few months, right? Don’t be greedy.” Jaime looked at the check. Then she looked at Derek. Derek looked away. He would not meet her eyes. He was a coward. He was happy to be saved, but not brave enough to pay the savior. “This is theft,” Jaime whispered. “This is business,” Gavin corrected. “And in business, leverage is everything. You have none. We have an army of lawyers who will bury you in litigation for the next ten years if you even whisper the word algorithm to the press. Who are they going to believe? The CEO of Aerologics, or the girl who pours coffee?”
Jaime trembled, not from fear, but from a rage so hot it felt like it would burn a hole through her chest. She reached out and took the check. Gavin smirked. “Smart girl.” Jaime looked at the check. Then, slowly, she ripped it in half. Then in quarters. She let the confetti fall onto the polished concrete floor. “You’re right, Gavin,” Jaime said. Her voice was terrifyingly calm. “I don’t have leverage yet.” She turned to Derek. “You erased the board. But you didn’t erase the variable. Do you remember what I said about the sigma variable? The chaos variable?” “Yes,” Derek said, frowning. “It accounts for wind shear.” “That’s what I told you,” Jaime said. A small, cold smile touched her lips. “But that’s not what it does.” “What?” Derek stepped forward. “Good luck with the launch on Friday,” Jaime said. She turned on her heel and walked out of the glass monolith into the rain. Behind her, she heard Gavin laughing. “She’s bluffing. It’s ninety-eight percent efficient. She’s just trying to scare us.”