“How’d it go with the attorney?” he called out as he entered the house. He could hear her crashing around and talking to herself. Only when he entered the office, saw the chaos, and approached her could he see that she was crying.
“That asshole is turning it around! Saying I got the idea for the show from his novel!”
“Which asshole?” he asked. “Not your attorney.”
“No! That plagiarizing, pseudo-writer asshole!” She began digging through papers randomly, not even really looking at them.
“What are you looking for, honey?”
“The first draft of the script. From four years ago. The one I printed out and marked up all over in blue pen. It’s dated and it’s written on with ink, maybe they can CSI it and show the ink is four years old…”
He stopped her and gave her a hug. He held her for a long time.
“We’ll find it. Okay? Just stop crying, that’ll help, yes?”
“Okay,” she said, and wiped her eyes. Then she lunged to the floor, startling him. She stood up with a bunch of papers triumphantly clenched in her fist. “Intellectual property, bitches!”