I turned slowly to look at my father.

Arthur was smiling, a warm, paternal expression that suddenly felt very cold.

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

I pulled the phone from my pocket.

The screen glowed in the dim light of the presentation hall.

An automated notification from the university’s technology transfer office sat on the lock screen.

The patent application for my biochemical synthesis had been updated to a status of ‘Assigned.’

I looked up at Dr. Sterling, who was gathering his papers and sliding them into a black leather briefcase.

“Thank you again, Dr. Sterling,” I said, my voice barely carrying across the empty rows of seats.

“You earned this, Dr. Hayes,” Dr. Sterling said, giving me a polite, professional nod.

He picked up his briefcase, walked down the steps, and exited through the heavy double doors at the back.

The click of the latch sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.

Only my father and I remained.

Arthur stood near the front row, smoothing the lapels of his grey wool suit.

The scent of his expensive sandalwood cologne drifted toward the podium.