Gemotions

The press conference was a disaster. The reporter's questions, sharp and pointed, felt like jabs. "So, Mr. Davies," the first one began, a woman with a perfectly coiffed bob, "you were unaware of the existing patent? Surely, a basic search would have revealed this." Sarah gripped the edge of the podium, her knuckles white. She could feel the stares, the hushed whispers rippling through the room. A bead of sweat traced a path down her temple. The prototypes she’d spent months perfecting, now felt like cheap imitations. Each flash of the camera felt like a betrayal. "It's just… a very similar concept," she stammered, her voice thin and reedy. A man in the front row scoffed. She forced a smile and adjusted her glasses, but the world had already tilted.