The patent lawyer’s office smelled of stale air and expensive cologne, a combination that grated on Elias. He slammed his portfolio onto the polished mahogany desk, the sound echoing in the sterile room. “He stole my idea,” he snarled, his voice tight. “He took *my* design, tweaked it slightly, and now he’s getting rich!” He shoved a stack of blueprints forward, the corners bent from being clutched so tightly. His knuckles were white.
Elias paced the small space, his boots thudding against the carpet. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, leaving it standing on end. The lawyer, a man with a perpetually neutral expression, just raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. He'd heard this before, Elias knew. He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his neck bulging. The injustice of it all burned like a slow fire in his gut.
He wanted to scream, to smash something. He imagined the other man, the one who’d taken everything, the smug grin wiped from his face. He wished he could be the one to do it. The lawyer finally cleared his throat. “Mr. Thorne, we’ve been over this. The patent office…” Elias cut him off with a wave of his hand, the gesture jerky and impatient. He had heard enough.