“Mr. Weston”—I smiled with my eyes—“they’re not claiming they own the ingredients. They’re claiming they partially own what’smadewith those ingredients. When you purchased Horned, you bought one-half of the menu from the existing owner. But she had a codeveloper, and those are my clients. Let me remind you that you bought nothing from them.”
“Because there’s no reason we would.”
I let out an audible breath. “My clients and I believe otherwise.”
Colson looked at his attorneys and said, “We don’t think you have any ground to stand on. We’re not discussing copyrighted material here. There’s no trademark. Hypothetically speaking, if the recipes were yours—and I’m not admitting to that—we could change one ingredient in each, and they would no longer resemble your creations.”
He was flailing. It was cute.
“When two authors cowrite a book, one author doesn’t receive all the royalties. It’s split down the middle,” I explained, my fingers linked in my lap. “When you purchased Horned, there was zero compensation offered to my clients.”
“As I said before, there’s no reason wewould give them anything.” He ran his hand over the top of his head. The strands were gelled and didn’t budge. “We bought Horned as is. There wasn’t a lien on the business. Once the paperwork was signed, every bit of it became ours.”
“Except the Gordons had financial and creative investment in the restaurant,” I told him.
Colson leaned into the table. “Which was dissolved the moment we took ownership.”
I let him think he’d won, allowing the seconds of silence to stir within him before I replied, “What you purchased was the name. The real estate. The interior furnishings and equipment. But everyone in this room knows the reason patrons go to a restaurant and return to one is for the food. You bought Horned for their menu and the reputation they had been earning on the food scene.”
“That’s speculation,” Troy countered. His voice could have been much firmer, but it was me he was speaking to—someone he had known for almost all of his life. “You can’t prove why the business was purchased.”
I finally lifted my hands, placing them in front of me, my head tilting down as my thumbs circled before I eventually glanced up. “But I can.”
“How?” Jenner pressed.
“How do you think?” I let a half smile lift from my lips.
When the Westons had taken over the original Horned, the owner they had bought it from was the head chef. After four months of working for them, she quit on bad terms, and the Westons hired a new chef for the restaurant. The previous owner would be the first person I’d subpoena as a witness.
The reason the Westons had wanted Horned wasn’t based on speculation; what I had voiced was fact, straight from the previous owner’s mouth.
As Colson shook his head, his eyes told me he knew exactly what play I had up my sleeve.
“Let’s shift gears for a second.” Jenner opened a folder and read the top sheet inside. “You’ve outlined the changes you want made to each menu, and if our client doesn’t comply, you’re suing. Is there another option?”
I didn’t have to look at the Gordons; what Jenner was asking had already been previously discussed. “My clients will agree to a buyout of the recipes. If that option is pursued, my clients are willing to part with the recipes, and Horned and Charred can continue serving the dishes.”
“How much are we talking?” Troy asked.
I glanced at each of the faces across from me, but settled on Colson’s, taking in that achingly beautiful light-green gaze. “Twenty million.”
Colson slapped the table. “Twenty million dollars?” He laughed. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
I loved the spiciness of mediation as much as the calm.
“You’ve already opened locations in Portsmouth, Charleston, and San Antonio,” I told him. “I assume you’ll be scaling the business to be as large as Charred. If so, my clients deserve their share. Twenty million is nothing when you consider the revenue you’re going to earn from those restaurants as well as any others in the future.” I stood from the table, and my clients did the same. “I’ve presented two fair options. Remove the dishes from your menus or a buyout of the recipes. You have forty-eight hours. I expect an answer in my inbox no later than Wednesday morning at”—I glanced at my watch—“nine thirty-six a.m. Goodbye, gentlemen.”
I went to the door, turned the knob, and walked out, facing my clients as they entered the hallway. “Do you have any questions for me before I head to the office?”
Larry gripped the strap of his briefcase.An accessory no client needed to bring when they did business with me. “I wasn’t sure how today was going to go, but … you were incredible back there.”
Scott looked at his older brother, then at me. “Do you think they’ll comply? Or will we be going to court?”
I addressed Scott. “Whatever option they choose, it’s a win. I expect a counter if they go the financial route, but I can’t predict what avenue they’re going to take. I do believe I’ll hear from them within the time frame I stated.”
Because I knew Troy wouldn’t be petty enough to be late. He would fight much larger points, not time.
Scott nodded. “Okay.”
