The Missing Royalties

At 2 p.m., I stood at the bank counter to report a lost debit card. I'd lost it the week before and hadn't gotten around to replacing it.

Evie Reynolds, the teller, took my ID, pulled up my information, and suddenly paused.

"Sir, there's a recurring patent royalty payment under your name. Would you like to link it to your new card?"

I froze. "What patent royalty payment?"

She turned the screen toward me.

I squinted at it for three seconds, my mind going blank.

The screen clearly showed a recurring quarterly deposit of $300 thousand, paid into a bank account under my name that I'd never seen before.

The deposits had started five years ago and continued without interruption to this day.

Five years.

Twenty quarters.

$6 million.

My fingers began to tremble.

Five years ago, I was still spending my days and nights in the lab, completely immersed in research and development.

My wife, Danica Pearson, brought me a stack of documents and asked me to sign them. She said our company, Eveningstar Technologies, was being registered and needed my signature as the company's "technical partner". I was so busy at the time that I didn't even look up. I grabbed a pen and signed where she told me to.

Smiling, she said, "Honey, just focus on the technology. I'll handle the business side. You're great with tech, but you don't understand management."

From that point on, I was pushed aside and reduced to a consultant in name only.

She never discussed company matters with me. Whenever I asked, she'd brush it off. "Don't worry about it. It barely makes any money."

Now, this account was receiving $2.17 million every quarter.

So this was what she meant by "barely makes any money".

I took a deep breath. My hands stopped trembling, and my mind had never been clearer.

"Please link the new card." My voice was so calm it surprised even me. "From now on, transfer every payment directly into my personal account."

Evie glanced at me but didn't ask any questions. She simply started processing the request.

Five minutes later, the transaction was complete.

At 7 p.m., I returned home.

The house was empty. Danica was still abroad on a business trip.

Over the past two years, she'd become busier and busier. At least once a month, she flew abroad, always claiming she was meeting clients and negotiating business deals.

I used to believe her.

Now that I thought about it, what exactly had she been so busy doing?

I walked into the study and turned on her computer. The password worked on my third attempt; it was her birthday.

Once I got into her email, I started going through her correspondence. The more I read, the colder my hands became.

Over the past five years, Eveningstar Technologies had signed seven patent licensing agreements. Every single one licensed my patents, yet every signature line bore Danica's name.

My patents and my technology… She'd been making money from them all along.

Every month, she gave me only $8,000 in "living expenses", claiming, "The company's not doing well. We need to watch our spending for now."

$8,000.

I kept scrolling.

Then I found a contact named Kevin. Their email history went back two years.

What started as "Great working with you" had gradually turned into "Miss you" and "Can't wait for you to come back".

There were photos too. In them, Danica was leaning against a man in a suit, smiling brightly.

The Eiffel Tower stood in the background. That was the same trip where she'd told me she was flying to France for an industry summit.

I stared at the photo, my knuckles turning white.

Five years.

She'd been lying to me for five years.

I closed the computer and leaned back in the chair.

Outside the window, the night stretched deep and dark.