Not because she needed his input, she already knew the answer but because it was her way of anchoring the moment. A subtle reminder that while she held the floor, he held the authority to finalize.
It was professional protocol on the surface but underneath?
It was layered.
It was her acknowledging his role without surrendering her own. A quiet trust in his support. A cue for him to confirm what she already made clear, while showing the room they were aligned, even if barely speaking before this deal.
It was also a flex.
Becauseheworked forherright now. Lead counsel or not, this was her company, her terms, her future and by giving him that moment, she reminded everyone—including Corrine—that their past didn’t shake her confidence.
It reinforced it.
“First,” she continued, “Section 3.4: Performance milestones. We’ve agreed on the 12-month minimum user acquisition metrics—25% growth per quarter, retention above 70%. Everything's annotated here.” She flipped to the page with yellow tabs. “Adair, this has been confirmed?”
Adair scanned, fingers brushing the sticky notes while Mr. Wright did the same just to be sure they were all on the same page with the figures.
“Yes. Aderra’s projections are solid, and we built in the buffer we discussed.” He made eye contact with Corrine, who gave a curt nod, her presence a silent reminder of the oversight he’d been insisted upon. “Mr. Wright?” he looked to PG’s attorney.
“We’re good.”
Sabine moved on.
“Section 7.2: IP ownership. Any work produced under our R&D clause remains property of Aderra unless co-developed with your patent team. We want clarity here.”
Adair leaned forward. “Agreed on both ends.” He looked to Mr. Wright who nodded, making a note, then at Corrine, who opened her tablet. “Did you want to weigh in?”
Corrine cleared her throat. “Just that the arbitration clause in 10.1 has been updated to include mediation before litigation. Timeline reduced from 90 days to 45 upon dispute.”
“That’s fair. Keeps it efficient for PG.” Sabine nodded then looked to Harlan who did as well in agreement to the changed terms.
The hum of negotiation settled into finality. Sabine closed her binder with a soft, definitive sound that echoed louder than expected.
“Well…all terms are agreed,” she said, her voice even but weighted. “Unless there are objections, we’ll proceed with signatures.”
No one spoke.
Harlan sat forward slightly, his gaze not on the documents, but on Sabine. Then he nodded. This wasn’t just business. This was a turning point. A birth.
Mr. Wright lifted his pen, adjusted his glasses, and began to sign. Each motion was deliberate, slow, dignified. Next came the representatives from Aderra’s compliance and operations teams, initials and signatures cascading down the printed lines like falling dominoes.
Sabine didn’t move yet. She waited for Adair. He picked up his pen last, flipping to the signature page like he’d done it a thousand times before. Because he had but this one was different. His name meant something on this paper. Not just legally, but personally.
He signed with clean, sharp strokes. Then passed the document across the table without looking up, until he did. Their eyes met again and stayed there.
Sabine reached next, her fingers curling around the pen that had been placed precisely beside her. The weight of it all fighting against her ever-changing emotions.
This was hers.
All of it.
Sabine signed her name slowly, each curve of the letters written with purpose.
It was done.
Aderra was no longer a dream or a pitch deck.
It was real.