She’s trying to humiliate me because of a minor scheduling conflict at Teterboro.”

I slid the thirteen faded blue patent folders toward the middle of the table.

“The patents in those blue folders belong to my family trust,” I said.

“You licensed them to build the hardware that runs Clara’s stolen software.

You never owned any of it.”

Thomas opened the first blue folder and read the license agreement.

He turned to the second page.

“The signature here is Robert’s,” Thomas said.