Chapter 5
After Richard finished his call, he sat across from me, silent and brooding.
He didn't say a word, his brow furrowed, fingers drumming the tabletop without even realizing it.
The whole coffee shop fell into a strange, uneasy quiet.
After what felt like ages, it was as if something suddenly dawned on him. He jerked his head up, eyes blazing as he locked onto my laptop.
"Charles, about the Brighton Corp Elite Sales Force Training Program 2.0..." There was a barely noticeable tension in his voice. "You..."
He looked like he didn't even know how to finish the question.
I knew what he meant.
I gently turned my laptop so the screen faced him.
My personal email inbox was open on the screen.
The top unread email stood out with its subject line: Brighton Corp Elite Sales Force Training Program 2.0.
It was sent from my work email thirty minutes ago.
Richard's eyes narrowed. He instantly realized what this meant.
It meant that the core technology, forged from eighteen years of my dedication, the very thing he called Brighton Corporation's engine, was no longer on their servers.
Or, if it was still there, it was a copy, one I could use to press charges for trade secret theft whenever I wanted.
From the moment I signed, it was legally mine. And I had moved it, by the book, into my own possession.
Richard's lips moved, but he said nothing.
He looked at me with a mix of emotions, his gaze deeper and more conflicted than ever.
For a split second, I even caught a flicker of relief in his eyes.
Maybe he was glad I'd only sent it to myself, not to a competitor.
Time ticked by.
Richard's phone buzzed on the table.
He picked it up and checked. There was a message: [Mr. Lane, we're downstairs.]
He set it down on the table with a soft thud.
He lifted his eyes, letting his gaze drift past me and settle on the coffee shop's glass door.
I followed his gaze.
Two minutes later, two men in suits stormed in, practically running.
Leading the charge was David, CEO of Brighton Corporation.
Right behind him was Samuel Quinn, the HR director I'd met this morning.
David, usually looking sharp for a man in his fifties, had sweat streaming down his forehead, and his hair was a mess. Gone was his usual air of control.
Samuel, following close behind, looked even worse. His face was pale as a sheet, and the collar of his shirt was drenched in sweat.
They pushed open the door and immediately spotted Richard sitting by the window. And there I was, sitting composed and unfazed right across from him.
At that moment, David and Samuel looked like they'd seen a ghost.
They froze at the entrance. The color drained from their faces in an instant.
Samuel, in particular, couldn't stop his leg from shaking when our eyes met.
He'd never wrapped his head around it. How could a department director he'd fired that morning be sitting down for coffee with Brighton Corporation's chairman, looking like old friends?
The sight hit him like a truck. It was enough to shatter his whole career.
David, being the CEO, had more mental resilience than Samuel.
He only froze for a few seconds before snapping back to reality.
He hurried over to our table, not even bothering to wipe the sweat from his forehead, and gave Richard a deep bow.
"Mr. Lane, I..." His voice was hoarse, panic clear in every word.
Richard didn't look at him and didn't let him finish.
He jerked his chin toward the empty chair beside him. "Sit." One word, cold and emotionless.
David straightened up, carefully pulled out the chair, and sat down.
Samuel, standing behind him, was still stuck there like a block of wood.
"You too," Richard said, turning his gaze to Samuel.