The day before final submission for the eight-figure project I had spent six months chasing, my boss forced his niece onto the team. "You only graduated high school. What makes you think you can present to the review panel? I graduated from Hawthorne University. This project belongs in my hands." Chloe Whitman was dressed head to toe in designer couture when she slapped a change confirmation form onto my desk. Beside her, Victor Whitman tapped his knuckles against the tabletop. "Hand over the project. You can keep a 10% share of the commission. Young people need to learn how to be team players." I stared at the words "10% share of the commission" on the form. Under the desk, my fingers dug hard into my palm. This proposal had cost me two straight months of sleepless nights. But I didn't say a word. There was no point arguing with shameless people. It was better to teach them the law. I signed the change confirmation form and handed her the data drive loaded with all the project files. Chloe took the drive with a smug smile, then turned and headed back to her desk to prepare for tomorrow's final bid review. What she didn't know was that the core technical requirements specifically called for a Grade-A encryption algorithm. Without it, the bid could be treated as fraudulent, with possible criminal consequences. And I was the sole patent holder for that algorithm. When Chloe took the drive, she wiped her fingertips against the casing in disgust. "You're really using a drive this old to store project files for an eight-figure bid?" She tossed the drive onto the desk. The metal buckle struck the surface with a sharp click.