Stolen Thoughts

by Tim Tigner

  “Thank you,” Pascal said, using his lips for the first time. “And thank you for coming. I trust it’s now clear why I wanted you all here. I hope you can take comfort in the fact that we’re alone.”

  Scarlett said nothing. Her partners said nothing. They were all too shocked. For the first time in twenty years, the lofty lawyers of Resseque Rogers Sackler & Slate were speechless.

  “I’ve got good news, and I’ve got bad news,” Pascal continued. “We’ll start with the bad, shall we?”

  The four stayed silent but managed nods.

  “Obviously, I know your secret. And I must say my hat’s off to you—and not just for the invention itself. Concealing something so big for so long is an amazing accomplishment in and of itself. You’ve had a remarkable run—but it’s coming to an end.”

  Pascal paused there to let them process. “Who wants an espresso?”

  Scarlett didn’t need any additional stimulant, but she could certainly use the comfort of a warm cup, so she raised her hand along with the others.

  While the tech CEO went to work brewing, she reflected on what was happening. Pascal’s tactic wasn’t unlike the one most prosecutors favored. Shock the subject with a sudden and unexpected threat to their lifestyle. Get them imagining how bad their future might be—then present an offer. A proposition. A preposterous proposal that suddenly looks like a lifeline.

  But what could Pascal want from them that he couldn’t buy with a small fraction of his billions? Did he simply want to ensure that they took his case? Did he want them to go to work for him, exclusively? Become his in-house counsel? His negotiators? His corporate spies?

  And what was the so-called good news?

  Pascal dealt the espressos and then began playing his cards. “I’ve known about your technology for quite some time now. In fact, I’ve been trying to replicate it for eighteen months—without success.”

  Pascal left his still-stunned audience hanging while he savored a sip. “Before you ask, I’m the only person who knows your secret. My bioengineering operation is overseas. It is anonymously directed and funded. I’m forced to do most of my research that way—given the gaggle of corporate spies targeting my every move.”

  “What, exactly, did you tell your researchers?” Colton asked, breaking the RRS&S silence with seven cool, crisp words.

  “I gave them the objective of electronically intercepting human thought. I told them that it had to be possible, given the scores of other signals we routinely capture with everything from our phones to our televisions, radios, and garage doors. Why should neural transmissions be any different? It’s just a question of sensor type, calibration, and focus, right?”

  Nobody replied.

  Pascal shifted gears. “It’s always only a matter of time before the secret gets out and the crushing competition descends. In my businesses, we embark knowing that our breakthroughs may only enjoy a few months of exclusivity. If we don’t grab enough market share to establish dominance during that brief window, if we don’t keep our feature set on par with or superior to the rest, we’ll end up dazed and confused in history’s dustbin, alongside Myspace and Blockbuster.

  “You, by contrast, have enjoyed a market monopoly for twenty years. While secrecy is surely the driver of that remarkable record, the technology also plays a significant role. It’s nearly impossible to crack. My guys are the best, and they got nowhere. Nonetheless, the clock is ticking.

  “Sooner or later, someone else will figure it out. Or do what I did and decipher how you do what you do. In either case, you’ll fall from grace. Hard, fast, and far.

  “But don’t worry,” Pascal continued with a flash of his eyebrows. “I didn’t bring you here to blackmail you. I’m not going to interrogate you or attempt to pry secrets from your flesh. That’s not the way I operate. I’m a nice guy. Driven, demanding, and intense—but nice.”

  Resseque spread his hands. “So why are we here, Archie?”

  “So glad you asked, Colton. I brought you here to make you an offer. One that will undoubtedly be the best of your lives.”

  32

  Mailbox Money

  PASCAL WAS PLEASED with the way his big meeting was progressing. The key had been his creative kickoff. It had simultaneously disarmed and shocked the lawyers. Now that the dominoes were falling as arranged, the sequence should flow smoothly toward his desired result—if he could avoid triggering the diversionary forces of fear, stubbornness, and pride.

  He put on a smile and continued with his pitch. “It was a smart move, choosing the law. Given your quick minds and charismatic demeanor, your rise to the top was virtually foreordained. And here you are, working when you want, for the clients you want, and billing out at around $7 million a year—each.”

  The four attorneys all replied with a single nod as if pulled by the same string. Years of working shoulder to shoulder had synchronized them. They were like a married quartet—who could literally read each other’s minds.

  With his ducks in a row, Pascal threw his first curveball. “But the law is not the highest and best use of your technology. There’s a much more lucrative one.”

  “Not one that keeps the technology secret,” Scarlett said with the authority of a Harvard lawyer who’d spent twenty years contemplating that question. “And it must be kept secret. Society wouldn’t survive its widespread release.”

  “We wouldn’t agree to consumerizing mind-reading at any price,” Sackler added. “We’re doing just fine.”

  “We’re doing just fine for now,” Resseque said. “Archie has a point. The ride will eventually come to an end. Whether that’s a day, a decade, or a century from now remains to be seen.” He turned to the tech CEO. “Does your higher and better use keep the technology secret?”

  “It does. I wouldn’t push it otherwise.” Pascal nodded to Scarlett before addressing the group as a whole. “I agree with your assessment. That said, I’m here to propose a partnership. A fifty-fifty ownership deal on a new corporation that leverages your technology’s highest and best use.”

  “What does highest and best equate to, in dollar terms?” Resseque asked.

  Pascal let the question hang for a few seconds, filling the air with electricity. “Annual profits in the billions.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Rogers said, speaking for the first time. “You can’t make billions without exposing the technology.”

  Pascal didn’t flinch. He’d become adept at ignoring skeptical swipes from intellectual inferiors. “I can and I will. There’s plenty of precedent. Trade secrets have supported businesses for millennia. Everything from porcelain and silk to Coca-Cola, Kentucky Fried Chicken, and Google’s search algorithm.”

  “The whole point of patents is to get companies to disclose their secrets,” Resseque added with a nod.

  “It gets better,” Pascal said, capitalizing on the positive momentum. “You get your share of the business with that one single act. No further work required. No client meetings. No courtroom appearances. No cranky judges or cantankerous clients. I’m offering you billions in mailbox money.”

  Scarlett leaned in. “Mailbox money?”

  “The checks come in the mail, no work required,” Sackler said.

  “In exchange for sharing our technology with you?” Resseque asked.

  “Exclusively,” Pascal clarified.

  “Meaning even we couldn’t use it?” Scarlett asked.

  “That’s right. It’s going to take billions to get the company going. I won’t risk that money knowing that it’s exposed to a single screw-up on your part. I mean no disrespect, and I recognize that you’ve kept things completely confidential for decades. But nonetheless, here I am, knowing what I know because you’re doing what you do.”

  “So we have to retire?” Sackler said.

  “You get the rare and coveted honor of going out on top—while you’re young and healthy. You’ll be the envy of the bar.”

  “Then we just wait by our mailbox for the billions to
roll in?”

  “At your beachfront estates or mountain chalets,” Pascal confirmed with a nod.

  The four partners all looked at each other. Pascal was pleased to note that they were clearly excited. What trial attorney wouldn’t be? Personally, he wouldn’t just walk away, he’d run. These guys lived lives of high stress operating within an extremely slow-moving bureaucratic system on behalf of clients who were largely criminals. Winning cases usually meant inflicting a loss on society. Cheating justice. While incurring the resentment of the law enforcement officers and judicial system employees they’d just outmaneuvered.

  Resseque cleared his throat, turning all eyes in his direction. “So, what is the highest and best use of our technology?”

  Pascal opened the drawer of the credenza behind him and pulled out four legal folders. He slid one across the table to each partner.

  33

  MOU

  SCARLETT OPENED the manila folder to find a Memorandum of Understanding granting RRS&S LLP 49.9 percent ownership in LEXI, Inc., in exchange for assigning LEXI, Inc., exclusive rights to the Intellectual Property referred to as MRT. It gave RRS&S LLP the option to reclaim their IP in exchange for their ownership stake if LEXI, Inc., did not have revenues exceeding $1 billion within five years of signing the agreement. And LEXI, Inc. agreed to pay RRS&S $4 million each year for consultation services until revenues reached $1 billion.

  MOUs were not contracts. The ability to enforce them was very limited. But then, given the extreme secrecy of the subject matter, the courts could not be utilized in any case. This agreement was literally designed to put them on the same page, nothing more.

  The 49.9 percent equity was standard enough. It essentially gave them half the profit while preventing 50/50 voting gridlock. That too was all right with Scarlett.

  The billion dollars in five years didn’t sound as grand as Pascal’s promises from a few minutes earlier, but it was still an impressive number, and intended to be a worst-case scenario. She, Colton, Walter, Jim and Trent would each own a ten percent stake in a billion-dollar business. That sounded awfully good to her. So did the annual consultation payment, assuming that the workload was on par with a typical board seat.

  Scarlett was more concerned with what was missing. “What does L-E-X-I stand for and what will LEXI, Inc., be selling?” she asked as her partners also looked up.

  Pascal tented his fingers. “I will be keeping that confidential until it’s clear that the company can be launched.”

  “And when will that be clear?”

  Colton answered for the CEO. “When Pascal knows he’s not going to jail.”

  “The sexual assault charges,” Scarlett said. In her excitement, she’d forgotten the presumed reason for the meeting.

  “Precisely,” Pascal said. “If you get me off, you won’t ever have to work again.”

  “I heard Christine Flack was handling your case,” Sackler said. “And that the trial’s scheduled to start next month.”

  “She is and it is. But recent developments have led me to believe that I need to up my game.”

  Christine Flack was a nationally renowned attorney. They were the only step above her. The fact that Pascal needed that extra bit of lift didn’t speak well for his case.

  Rather than step in that turd, Sackler shifted gears. “RRS&S actually has five partners. The fifth operates behind the scenes.”

  “Interesting,” Pascal said, drumming his fingertips. “You’re referencing the $4 million clause. I’ll agree to $5 million and look forward to meeting—?”

  “Our silent partner,” Sackler said, giving Pascal a taste of his own tactic before turning Scarlett’s way with a question in his eyes.

  Scarlett nodded slightly.

  “As you may know,” Sackler continued, “Resseque and Rogers specialize in civil law, whereas Scarlett and I are criminal attorneys. We’ll be happy to handle your sexual assault case if there’s no smoking gun. As for the partnership, we’ll need a few days to come to a decision.”

  Pascal stood and the others followed suit. “I’m no angel, but I can assure you that there is no smoking gun. It’s a he-said-she-said times four, with some circumstantial evidence. Shall we plan to meet Saturday in San Jose? You can give me your decision on the partnership, and present your defense strategy.”

  Times four. Scarlett was certain that there had been only three witnesses on record as of that morning. The fourth must be the “recent development” Pascal referenced. Her partners’ expressions indicated both that they’d picked up on that discrepancy and that it wasn’t a deal breaker.

  Sackler met her eye, then replied, “That works.”

  They didn’t return to the office, choosing to go home instead. The five partners owned the top three floors of an apartment building just a block from the office. Each floor of the Central Park West building had just two apartments, with Trent and the bodyguards on the tenth, Rogers and Sackler on the eleventh, and Resseque and Slate on the twelfth.

  The location was perfect, and since they’d done well as roommates during college, it seemed sensible. Their security consultant had pushed the idea. It allowed for their individual bodyguards to double up in the spacious common areas outside their doors at night, covering for one another during bathroom breaks. Having the top floors with restricted elevator access was also a big plus, improving both privacy and security.

  The partners went to Scarlett’s terrace, which had a magnificent view of Central Park and a well-stocked bar.

  “Thoughts?” Colton asked, kicking things off once the drinks were poured.

  Rogers was the first to respond. “If it were anyone else, I’d be skeptical. But if Archibald Pascal’s been working on this for a year and a half and he remains ready to dive in with both feet, then I’m not going to second-guess the opportunity.” He turned toward Scarlett and Sackler. “I trust you’d have taken his case regardless?”

  “Assuming he passed the interview,” Scarlett said.

  Normally, they employed mind reading during their pre-engagement interviews, so when they took a case, they knew virtually everything relevant that the client had done. It was a defense counselor’s dream, walking into a case with complete transparency and no fear of surprises.

  “So Pascal didn’t need his extraordinary offer as leverage?” Rogers clarified.

  “Not unless he lied about the absence of a smoking gun—which would be foolish given the circumstances, and he’s no fool.”

  “Good. How do we feel about retiring?”

  All intuitively turned to Colton, who didn’t hesitate. “I’d be happy to move on. We’ve had a fantastic run, but I wouldn’t be practicing the law any longer if it weren’t for the money.”

  “I agree,” Sackler said. “We have nowhere to go but down if we continue to practice.”

  “And to Pascal’s point,” Rogers said, “the clock is ticking. I don’t know about you guys, but I have nightmares resembling the first minute of that meeting. Only in my dreams it’s a judge who’s got our number.”

  Scarlett wasn’t overly concerned in that regard. They kept “clean” pairs of glasses with them at all times in case they were ever challenged. Notes were taken using coded language such as “What if X,”, to make the harvest from their horn-rims appear like insightful speculation. “I’ve got no objection to retiring early.”

  “Excellent,” Colton said. “Then we’re agreed. We fly out to San Jose Saturday and accept the partnership offer. In the meantime, let’s have him sign an engagement letter for the sexual assault case and get copies of everything Christine Flack has. Sound good?”

  Rogers and Sackler both concurred, but Scarlett had another idea. “I don’t disagree with that, but I think we should focus on two higher priorities before things get hot and heavy with Pascal.”

  “And what two things are those?” Colton prompted.

  “One, we should try to figure out what Pascal has in mind for our technology. At the very least, learning his secret
will give us leverage. Who knows, we might even be able to pursue LEXI alone.”

  “Or negotiate a bigger piece of the ownership pie,” Sackler added. “I like it.”

  “What’s the other priority?” Colton asked.

  “Now, more than ever, we need to ensure that Cassandra doesn’t resurface.”

  34

  Hidden Assets

  The Caribbean

  CHASE CONSIDERED HIMSELF to be a disciplined guy. A man driven by conviction and guided by principle. He wanted to be a good person. A standup guy. But as he neared the end of a long introspective swim, he was struggling with temptation.

  His battle wasn’t the one that appeared to concern his wife. He felt no lust for Victoria Pixler. Attractive, intelligent, and vivacious though she might be, Vicky was not for him. Skylar was the love of his life.

  That said, Chase was committed to clandestinely helping Vicky, and by extension his country and humanity. In fact, he wasn’t just dedicated to it, he was excited by it. He was thrilled to be back in the big game, waging the battle of good versus evil. Unfortunately, the operational situation created a threatening combination. Secrecy and excitement paired with the presence of “another woman.” An exotic and attractive woman.

  Since Chase couldn’t tell his wife why he and Vicky were spending so much time together, he was tempted to cheat. To borrow Vicky’s glasses and read Skylar’s mind. That was the dream of every man, right? To know the unfiltered thoughts of the woman he loved? To avoid the arguments that arose from male-female disconnects. But of course, that would be wrong. An intrusion. A violation. A betrayal of trust that would almost certainly do more damage than good.

  Still, temptation tugged every time he sensed Skylar’s pain.

  Upon reaching the boat, Chase tossed his swim goggles onto the rear deck and pulled himself from the warm water. The yachting lifestyle was hard to beat.