Gavin turned toward him.
“We have a deal.”
“We had a discussion based on your claim of ownership.”
“I own it.”
The receiver opened one of the development agreements.
“Everly Capital owns the work product. Northline received a limited operating license that ended when the vendor agreement was terminated.”
The broker stood.
“I’m not purchasing disputed property.”
He walked out without another word.
Gavin lowered himself back into the booth.
For the first time since he sent the divorce message, he looked more exhausted than angry.
“You planned all of this.”
“No.”
I sat across from him.
“You planned the divorce. You planned the bracelet. You planned to use your mother’s house. You planned to replace my funding with Edward’s money. Then you planned to sell an asset after a court ordered you not to.”
I placed the vendor agreement in front of him.
“I responded to the documents you created.”
His eyes moved to the ownership provision.
He read it twice.
“This can’t be right.”
“You signed the agreement.”
“I thought it was a funding form.”
“You spent five years telling investors that details were your strength.”
His shoulders sagged.
“How much is the code worth?”
“More than the broker offered.”
He looked up.
“You already have a buyer.”
I did.
A legitimate technology company in California had reviewed the platform through the receiver.
Its acquisitions director believed the processing engine could be integrated into a larger commercial product.
The valuation was twenty million dollars.
The sale could proceed only after the court confirmed ownership and approved the distribution of proceeds.
Gavin assumed he would receive half.
The prenuptial agreement and development contracts said otherwise.
Everly Capital owned the code.
Northline had held only a limited license that was now terminated.
Gavin owned no equity in Everly Capital and had contributed no personal funds toward development.
He had built his public identity around an asset owned by the company he betrayed.
Fifteen minutes later, the acquisitions director entered the steakhouse with her attorney.
She placed the purchase agreement on the table.
Gavin recognized her immediately.
He had emailed her office for years without securing a meeting.
She greeted Rebecca and me.
She did not greet Gavin.
The agreement listed the price.
Twenty million dollars.
Gavin stared at the number.
“You would never have found that buyer without me,” he said.
“That will be considered in the receiver’s compensation analysis,” Rebecca replied.
“What does that mean?”
“If you provided legitimate, documented services, the court may determine whether Northline owes you reasonable compensation. It does not give you ownership.”
“I spent five years on this.”
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