Chapter 41
When he arrived at City Club the next day, Colin still bore the remnants of his father’s invading force. Instead of launching into the topic at hand, he found himself trying to describe what it was like being assaulted as much by the crowd’s reaction as seeing his father raging at the podium.
“Roger Eames has become one of Donald Trump’s champions,” Aaron said. “I must say the two seem made for each other.”
“It is exactly what I saw.” The crowd’s excitement and fervor and anger reverberated through him and the room both. “I don’t understand it.”
“So many feel the same way.” Roland was as somber as Colin had ever seen. “If Trump wins—”
“God forbid,” Aaron said.
“If he does, and I think there is a very real likelihood that he will—”
“The polls say otherwise,” Aaron said.
“The polls, the polls. I see so many people taking comfort from the polls,” Roland replied. “And you know what I say to them? You are not looking at these crowds. The way they stand in line for hours, waiting for a chance to be in the same room with this man.”
Aaron turned and looked out the window. Old Town Wilmington moved to a quiet and stately pace. The wind remained strong, the day reluctant to warm up despite the midday sun.
Roland went on, “And who are the people taking these polls? Do they come from among Trump’s supporters? Hardly. They are young, multiracial, intelligent. They are from a different strata of society. A different universe.”
Aaron sighed and remained silent.
“These pollsters, they claim to interview a diverse population. But do they ask what these people think of the pollsters themselves? Of course not. And what happens? The people who are being asked, the ones who know what these young intelligentsia think of their candidate? They lie. That’s what. They lie.”
“You don’t know that,” Aaron said, worried now.
“You wait. Two and a half weeks from now, we’ll see how much I know.”
Aaron shook his head. “I did not come to lunch for you to feed me nightmares.”
“You wait,” Roland repeated. “We may soon be talking a four-year nightmare.”
Their conversation only heightened the clarity of Colin’s recollection. “The way the crowd reacted. It scared me.”
“It frightens me as well,” Roland agreed.
Colin related the conversation from his last meeting with Mira, the schism between her and Lucas. “The way she said that congresswoman’s name. Pelosi. Like it was poison.”
Aaron asked, “Ethan and his family are pro-Trump?”
“I have avoided asking,” Roland replied. “But I think, probably.” He shook his head. “Lucas is heartbroken.”
Colin asked, “Their relationship is over?”
“I fear so.” He continued shaking his head. “They’ve been close since kindergarten. Now this.”
“But why?”
“Ask a hundred people, get a hundred different reasons,” Roland replied.
Colin knew he had to push that aside. “There’s something important we need to discuss.”
Roland attempted a smile. “More important than who will become our next president?”
“Business,” Colin replied. “It can’t wait.”
The table’s atmosphere brightened before he was more than a couple of sentences into his pitch.
That was how he had viewed this lunch. He was pitching an idea and a vision both.
He liked how they responded, the excitement his concept generated.
It made the entire project seem more real, actually something he might achieve.
He relished the way they drew him in, filling him with their enthusiasm as they ate and talked and planned.
For a moment at least, a single brief interlude there in the antebellum house in historic Wilmington, Colin found himself able to step away from the old shadows. And talk about a future he might actually claim as his own.
Finally, at long last, on the eighth of November, he was ready.
There was an exquisite sense of scaling new heights as he entered Dean Sykes’s office with Roland and Aaron.
Colin did not even try to tell himself it was just another meeting, a minuscule step along the way.
For the first time, he felt as though the summit was visible.
Far in the distance, along a rocky path with a steep climb up ahead.
But the fact that he could catch the smallest glimpse, name his objective, gave him chills.
The receptionist apologized that Dr. Sykes was running a few minutes late. She ushered them into the conference room and asked if they wanted coffee. When the door closed, Aaron told Colin, “My esteemed partner should not even be here.”
“Nonsense,” Roland replied. “I have every right.”
“Tell him to leave,” Aaron said. “He will only muddy the waters.”
“I am trapped inside the case of the century,” Roland said, studying a pair of shoji screens adorning the side wall, displaying a lake and a fisherman casting a net. “I need a break. Court is adjourned for the day. The halls of justice are too burdened with election day fever to get any work done.”
“Hardly a proper reason for him invading my legal space,” Aaron said. He thunked his briefcase on the table, popped the catches, and drew out a pair of files. “As your legal adviser, I must insist you kick out the interloper while there’s still time.”
Colin swiveled his chair in tight quarter-circles, infected by the same excitement as the attorneys. “The appointment with Electronic Arts is set?”
“Ten o’clock tomorrow,” Roland said.
Aaron looked horrified. “Don’t you dare suggest you intend to show up there as well.”
“Can’t,” Roland said. “Depositions.”
Aaron gave a mock sigh of relief. “Remind me to send the judge flowers.”
Colin asked, “And the patents? The incorporation?”
“Everything will be in place by close of business today, or heads will roll among my firm’s junior staff,” Aaron assured him.
The dean knocked and entered, wearing what Colin thought was the same silver-grey outfit as the first time they had met. The only change was a string of pearls one shade darker than her jacket. “What is this?”
“Aaron Weisfeld and Roland Perez,” Aaron said. “Attorneys representing our client, Colin Eames. A pleasure, Dr. Sykes.”
Her crystal gaze shifted from one to the next as she seated herself. “And the reason for this meeting is …”
“Our client has begun work on a new process, one with unique ramifications. We need to clarify his situation in regard to the university.”
“I don’t follow.”
“He is a student. He is in the process of developing something with, how shall I put it …”
“Far-reaching potential,” Roland offered from Colin’s other side.
“Quite so. Because he is matriculated here, we thought it best to advise you of this situation in advance of our moving forward.”
Colin endured another moment of the woman’s laser-tight gaze. Strong as his father’s, but even here in this room with its gathering tension, there was no threat. No danger. The only emotion he felt was …
Exhilaration.
The dean rose to her feet. “Just one moment.”
Dr. Sykes left the room. They waited. Five minutes later, the receptionist returned to ask a second time if they wanted coffee, water, anything.
Five more minutes became ten, then fifteen.
Aaron answered e-mails and texts on his phone.
Roland received a call and slipped to the room’s far corner.
Colin took out his leather-bound notebook and studied his notes.
The last five pages contained a list of everything he needed to have in place before tomorrow’s meeting.
He had gone over the points so often he read them in his sleep.
Those dreams always ended the same, with him discovering a sixth page filled with everything he had forgotten to do.
Colin never slept after that dream. He flipped the notebook’s pages back to the algorithms that formed his breakthrough.
His project felt alive, as if he held something pulsing in his hands.
Each shift of the page caused another silent bolt of power to course through him.
When Sykes finally returned, she was accompanied by a technician who managed to cross the room without glancing up from his texting. “Okay, they’re ready in Chapel Hill. Where are the controls?”
“On the credenza’s top shelf, last time I checked.”
The techie slid open the shoji screens, revealing a wall-size monitor.
He fiddled with the console until it came to life, revealing an African American man with the rumpled air of a professor facing severe time pressure.
He eyed the trio seated at the table’s far end as Sykes said, “This is Dr. Lassiter, dean of Chapel Hill’s law school.
” She took the same chair as before, then said, “You may proceed.”
“As I was saying, my esteemed colleague has developed a new process—”
“Based upon his studies here at UNC Wilmington and Chapel Hill,” Sykes interjected.
“Partly, madam. That is most certainly partly the case. Which is why we are meeting.”
Lassiter spoke for the first time. “What is the nature of the student’s invention?”
Roland said, “Nothing has been said about an invention.”
He used his chin as a pointer. “Aaron Weisfeld I know. You are?”
Aaron replied, “Roland Perez has been serving as my client’s principal attorney for a number of years.”
Lassiter switched his angry gaze to Colin. “How old are you?”
“That is beside the point,” Roland replied.
“Our client turned sixteen in September,” Aaron replied.
“And he has been a student with us since …”
Sykes replied, “Three years and counting.”
Colin said, “Actually I took my first classes when I was still twelve.”
Lassiter blinked but did not respond.
Aaron went on, “We are here simply to clarify one point, and then we will take no more of your valuable time.”
“And that is?”
“The University of North Carolina system holds no claim to anything my client has developed,” Aaron said. “Now or at any point in the future.”
Sykes said, “That is an extremely complicated issue.”
“Only if you choose to make it so,” Aaron replied.
Roland said, “You have students graduate from here and go on to make their marks in any number of disciplines. Do you seek to retain a segment of their future earnings?”
“This is different in the extreme,” Sykes said.
“How so?”
“Colin Eames has been researching and designing this project while still a student,” Lassiter said.
“Again, Counselor, there are any number of precedents to counter that argument.”
“He used university labs—”
“Correction. All his work on this specific project was accomplished off campus.”
“No labs,” Colin said. “Not ever.”
Roland added, “In any case, our client has signed no agreement regarding ownership of research he might have conducted while here.”
“It is implied,” Lassiter said.
“Courts of law frown upon implied ownership,” Aaron countered. “Again, the precedents go back years.”
“Decades,” Roland agreed.
“We need time to discuss the implications,” Lassiter said.
Aaron nodded. “Very well. In that case, my client hereby resigns from the university.”
Sykes blanched. She asked Colin, “You would just walk away?”
Roland answered for him. “Only if you force him to do so.”
Sykes continued to glare at Colin. “You feel no loyalty toward the institution that has granted you so much?”
“On the contrary,” Roland said. “Our client has established a trust. One that will act in conjunction with the group that has financed his time here. If his project proves as successful as we anticipate, ten percent of all earnings from this project will go toward future scholarships.”
Sykes leaned back. Lifted her gaze to the ceiling. Then, “Give us a moment.”
“Most certainly.” Aaron opened his file, drew out several sets of documents. “In case you might find this helpful, we have drawn up the agreement covering today’s conversation.”