Chương 7 - the truth of the design
By eleven o'clock the following morning, the atmosphere inside Kane Enterprises had transformed completely.
Julian Sterling's corrupt faction had been purged from the board, the autumn marketing campaign had been officially launched under Claire's sole creative direction, and peace had returned to the company.
Inside Claire's spacious creative suite on the top floor, four-year-old Mia sat at a small round table, happily drawing pictures with a brand-new set of fine oil pastels that Adrian had bought for her studio.
Claire stood before her large drafting table, reviewing the final color proofs for the global autumn launch.
Adrian walked into the room, having removed his suit jacket, wearing his white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his muscular forearms. He carried a heavy leather folder stamped with the official seal of the United States Patent and Trademark Office.
He set the folder down on Claire's drafting table.
"What is this, Adrian?" Claire asked, looking up from her proofs.
"Ten years ago, when you were a junior intern at my father's firm," Adrian explained softly, his gray-blue eyes fixed on her face, "you submitted a revolutionary concept for the Kane Global branding framework."
Claire's eyes widened in surprise. "My original portfolio? Your father told me it was rejected by the review board."
"My father lied to you, Claire," Adrian revealed, opening the folder. "He stole your portfolio, registered the intellectual property under a corporate shell firm, and used your designs to build the core foundation of our international branding."
Claire stared at the legal documents inside the folder in total disbelief.
"As of nine o'clock this morning," Adrian continued, reaching out to gently take her fair hand in his broad palm, "the trademark board has formally restored full intellectual property ownership directly to you. You are now the sole owner of a forty-million-dollar design patent portfolio."
Claire covered her mouth, tears of pure shock spilling down her fair cheeks. "Adrian... I don't know what to say..."
"You don't have to say anything, Claire," Adrian murmured gently, his thumb stroking her knuckles. "It was always yours."
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Mia ran over from her drawing table, throwing her small arms around Adrian's leg, looking up with a wide smile. "Mr. Adrian, can we get pizza now?"
Adrian let out a rich, handsome laugh, lifting his six-year-old daughter into his broad arms, holding both Claire and Mia close against his chest.
