فصل سی و سوم

chapter-33

“Very sorry you kids had to visit on such a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day,” said Mr. Nix.

It made Kyle smile.

Because suddenly Vader Nix sounded like Mr. Lemoncello.

“Who do you think we should talk to?” he asked.

“Max Khatchadourian, our corporate lawyer,” replied Mr. Nix. “He’s been with Mr. Lemoncello since day one. If anyone’s ever heard of this Irma Hirschman or her allegations, it’d be Max.” He glanced at his watch. “Max should just be getting to his desk.” “Really?” said Akimi. “It’s like eleven o’clock.”

“Mr. L lets Max set his own hours.”

“He likes to sleep in?” asked Angus.

“Exactly.”

“I can relate.”

“If we hurry,” said Mr. Nix, “we can catch Max before he starts returning all the calls that have been coming in all morning. Everybody wants to talk to Mr. Lemoncello’s lawyer!” Mr. Nix led the kids onto an elevator.

As it rocketed from the lobby to the fifth floor, Kyle barely noticed the chirping flock of holographic bluebirds swirling around the car’s glass exterior. Or the caped superhero propelling the express elevator that passed them on the left. He was too focused on Mr. Lemoncello. He had to protect his hero!

The doors slid open, and Mr. Nix led the way down a cramped corridor cluttered with musty boxes.

They came to a frosted glass door filled with hand-painted writing: “Max Khatchadourian, Chief Corporate Counsel (Except for Nitpicky Legal Matters Regarding Dotted i’s and Crossed t’s That He’s Far Too Old to Be Bothered With).” Kyle could hear a phone ringing on the other side of the door. Somebody picked it up. And slammed it back down.

Mr. Nix rapped his knuckles on the glass.

“Come in, come in,” cried a chipper, creaky voice.

Mr. Nix pushed open the door. He had to shove it hard because there was a mountain of cardboard boxes stacked behind it on the floor. In fact, Kyle couldn’t even see Mr. Lemoncello’s top lawyer until they found a clear alleyway between all the boxes and stacks of papers.

“Hello, Max,” said Mr. Nix. “These are some members of Luigi’s board of trustees out in Ohio.” Max Khatchadourian looked like a withered elf in a robin’s-egg-blue business suit. His shirt collar was two sizes too big for his skinny neck, and his striped tie was three times wider than the ones most people wore. He was unplugging the wire on the back of his telephone. Probably so it would stop ringing.

“Ah, Ohio,” said Mr. Khatchadourian, his ancient eyes brightening. “The Buckeye State, where in 1869, W. F. Semple patented chewing gum and in 1974 a brilliant young lad with a quick wit and a wild sense of humor named Luigi Libretto Lemoncello patented a board game titled Family Frenzy. Given its historical significance to this company and the fun-loving world, that first patent, and all the supporting materials related to it, is presently enshrined in the archives of Mr. Lemoncello’s Library. I rest my case.” Mr. Khatchadourian folded his hands over his lap, leaned back in his padded office chair, and smiled contentedly.

“Um, that’s sort of why we are here,” said Kyle.

“I see,” said Mr. Khatchadourian. “Do you have a board game you want me to patent for you, too? If so, I must say I am quite impressed. You are even younger than Luigi was when he first traipsed into my office with a battered shoebox filled with trinkets, taped-together cardboard sheets, dice, and dreams. I remember he had one of Barbie’s go-go boots in that box. That turned into the boot token, of course. Then there were the tiny buildings he carved out of balsa wood….” “We’re here to talk about the woman who claims Mr. Lemoncello stole his idea from her,” said Angus.

“Have you ever seen this, sir?” asked Abia, handing the lawyer the Family Frolic board game.

“No, I have not. But who, may I ask, is this fetching young woman with the bobbed blond hair on the box top?” “That’s Irma Hirschman,” said Angus. “She’s the one claiming she invented Family Frolic back in 1969—five years before Mr. Lemoncello created Family Frenzy.” “In 1969, eh? That would explain the hairdo.”

“But,” said Abia, “there is no record of Ms. Hirschman ever filing for a patent.” Mr. Khatchadourian examined the Family Frolic box top.

“We suspect she is fabricating her charges against Mr. Lemoncello,” Abia continued. “We also suspect that someone fabricated this board game.” “And I suspect that you are correct,” said the lawyer. “I have been with Mr. Lemoncello for a very long time. No one named Irma Hirschman has ever claimed that we stole her idea or dragged us into a court of law….” “True,” said Mr. Nix. “But right now she’s giving us a good thrashing in the court of public opinion.” “As might be expected,” said Mr. Khatchadourian. “Public opinion can often be swayed by emotion with little regard for facts. If the story is fascinating enough, facts may not matter to those hearing it. However, if Ms. Hirschman really had a case, she would’ve sued Luigi years ago. Besides, her hair is far too blond.” “Excuse me?” said Mr. Nix.

Mr. Khatchadourian opened a desk drawer and pulled out a framed, if faded, photograph.

“This is me in 1970. My college formal. My date for the evening, a lovely young gal named Heather Newton, had the most gorgeous golden ringlets. Unfortunately that color has faded from this photograph, if not my memory.” Everybody in the room was staring and nodding.

Mr. Khatchadourian sounded kind of kooky.

“Um, that’s very interesting, Max,” said Mr. Nix. “But I’m not really clear how it’s relevant.” Mr. Khatchadourian smiled. “If my cherished photograph, printed in 1970, has lost so much of its color, why is Ms. Hirschman’s golden hair so bright and vibrant on this box top? Why, the colors are so rich and crisp, it looks like it was printed last week. Perhaps because it was.” “I knew it!” said Kyle. “That game board is a fake. Somebody made it to ruin Mr. Lemoncello’s good name.” Mr. Khatchadourian smiled, leaned back in his chair, and folded his hands in his lap again.

“I rest my case.”