They Fired Me At 50 By Email After 18 Years ‘pack Your Desk. You’re Dead Weight’ That Night The Deal

Patent number 8532991. My name, my invention, not Nexcore’s. The adaptive load distribution system wasn’t some minor feature you could rip out and replace.

It was the entire backbone of their platform. Without it, Nexcore’s software couldn’t handle more than a few hundred concurrent users before the whole system started timing out and crashing. With it, they’d scaled to hundreds of thousands of users across multiple industries.

It was the reason Vortex wanted to buy them in the first place, and I owned it. Not Ethan, not Nexcore’s investors, not the board of directors. Me. I called my attorney Monday morning.

She was an IP attorney I’d worked with years ago when Nexcore tried to patent one of my database optimization techniques. She’d helped me navigate that mess and made sure my name stayed on the patent alongside the company’s. She was expensive, but she was thorough.

“Scott,” she said when she answered. “I haven’t heard from you in, what, three years? Four?”

“I need your help again.”

“What’s the situation?”

“I got fired last week. Company’s trying to complete a merger. I own a patent they think they can sell. They can’t.”

“Tell me more.”

I explained the whole situation: the firing, the merger, the patent I’d filed 18 years ago. My attorney listened without interrupting, which I appreciated. When I finished, she was quiet for a moment.

“Scott, do you understand what you’re sitting on? Patent leverage. Serious leverage. If this adaptive load distribution system is as critical as you say, then Nexcore can’t complete this acquisition without your permission. And Vortex can’t acquire what Nexcore doesn’t own.”

“So what do I do?”

“Nothing yet. Let me review the patent, your employment contracts, and the acquisition timeline. Don’t contact anyone at Nexcore. Don’t respond to any emails or calls. Let me handle this.”

“How long will it take?”

“Give me 48 hours.”

My attorney called back Wednesday afternoon. “Scott, this is better than I thought. Your freelance agreement from 2006 explicitly states that any IP created on personal equipment outside billable hours remains contractor property unless formally assigned.”

“You wrote this code three days before your full-time employment began. Nexcore never requested assignment, never paid for it, never even acknowledged the patent existed.”

“So I’m good?”

“You’re bulletproof. I’m going to draft a letter to Nexcore’s legal team and Vortex’s counsel. Polite but firm. You own patent 8532991. Any use or transfer requires your explicit permission. And right now, you’re not giving permission.”

“What happens next?”

“They panic. Then they call me. Then we negotiate.”

The panic came faster than expected. Friday morning, my phone rang with an unknown number. I answered because I wanted to hear how they’d spin this.

“Mr. Walsh?” A male voice, professional, but stressed like a man watching his career implode in real time. “This is Nexcore’s general counsel. I need to speak with you urgently about patent 8532991.”

“You can speak with my attorney.”

“Mr. Walsh, I understand you’re upset about your termination, but this is a separate matter. We need to resolve this quickly.”

“The Vortex acquisition is between Nexcore and Vortex, not me.”

“You’re being difficult.”

“I’m being represented by counsel. Talk to my attorney.”

I hung up. My attorney called 10 minutes later, laughing. “They’re freaking out. He just called me screaming about interference with contract and threatened litigation. I told him to go ahead and sue. He backed down immediately.”

“What now?”

“Now we wait. They’ll try Ethan next.”

She was right. Ethan called Saturday morning. I was drinking coffee and watching reruns when his name popped up on my phone.

Part of me wanted to ignore it, but another part—the petty, vindictive part—wanted to hear what he’d say. I answered. “Ethan.”

“Scott.” His voice had that fake friendly tone he used with clients. “Hey, I know things ended badly last week. I want to apologize for that. It was a business decision. Nothing personal.”

“Okay.”

“Look, I’m calling about the patent situation. Their lawyer mentioned you have some concerns about IP ownership. I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“No misunderstanding. I own patent 8532991. You don’t. That’s pretty clear.”

“Scott, come on. You wrote that code while working for Nexcore. You used our resources, our infrastructure.”

“I wrote it on my personal laptop during a weekend before I was even a full-time employee. On my own time. An old mentor told me to file the patent and I did. Nexcore never asked for it.”

“This is going to kill the merger.”

“That’s your problem, not mine.”

“Forty-seven people are going to lose their jobs because you’re being vindictive.”

That stung, but I kept my voice level. “Forty-seven people are going to lose their jobs because you tried to sell assets you don’t own. I’m just the guy who noticed.”

“Scott, please. We can work something out. Name your price.”

“I’m not interested in working with you, Ethan. Talk to my attorney.”

I hung up before he could respond. Then I did something I hadn’t planned on doing, something that would change how this whole thing played out. I texted Dylan.

“I’m not trying to screw you. I’m trying to keep you employed. Tell people to stop calling me and tell them to document everything Ethan says.”

Dylan responded 20 minutes later. “What’s happening?”

“Can’t discuss details. Just know I’m working to protect engineering. Don’t sign anything new without reading it. Back up your personal stuff. Update resumes.”

“Are we getting laid off?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Then I sent an email to the engineering team distribution list. Not to executives, just engineers. It was short and calm.

“Team, I can’t discuss details about what’s happening with the merger, but I want you to know I’m working to protect engineering jobs. Don’t sign anything new without reading it carefully. Back up personal files. Keep your resumes current. Document everything management tells you about the situation. Scott.”

Within an hour, I started getting responses. They weren’t angry or accusing; they were confused, concerned, but supportive. One engineer wrote: “Whatever you’re doing, thank you for thinking of us.”

Another wrote: “Ethan tried blaming you in the all-hands yesterday. Nobody’s buying it. We know this is on him.” Dylan added: “People are asking what they should do. Ethan won’t answer basic questions.”

That was important. Ethan was losing the room. He tried to turn them against me, but engineers aren’t stupid. They see patterns, they ask questions, and when leadership can’t answer those questions, they start recording.