He catches seven typos in the 453-page document, but none that will affect his payout. It’s an acceptable error rate.

When Danny puts the pen down, it’s done. His company no longer belongs to him.

“Congratulations,” the male lawyer says. He grabs the papers and stuffs them in his bag quickly, as if Danny might try to take them back.

“We’ll authorize the release of the signature payment by the end of business,” the female lawyer says, gathering her things, putting her phone away. “It will take another week or so for the rest of your compensation to clear, but you’re going to be a very wealthy man.”

Which is true, Danny thinks, if you’re measuring by mere mortal standards. But he was supposed to be much more than that. He was supposed to be a billionaire: big B, nine zeroes, three commas. Jeff Bezos hit the magic number at thirty-five. Bill Gates became a billionaire at thirty-one. Larry Page was thirty when Google went public. Evan Spiegel, twenty-five. And Mark Zuckerberg, who owns the company that has gobbled his own like an appetizer, made billionaire at twenty-three.

Danny is about to turn thirty-eight. He lost this race years ago. Now he’s sold his life’s work for the equivalent of Facebook’s pocket change.

The lawyers stand, signaling that it’s time for him to leave. He doesn’t work here, after all. That’s the point of the whole deal. They wanted one of his patents, based on work he did on artificial intelligence when he was still a kid. But not him. Definitely not him.

“It’s been great working with you, Danny,” she says.

Dan, he almost corrects her. He decides not to bother. He’ll never see either of these people again.

He drops off his VISITOR badge with the security guard in the lobby. The guard tells him, helpfully, that he has fifteen minutes to leave before the automated security system will flag him as a trespasser.

On his way across the quad to the parking lot, he passes a couple of coders headed in the opposite direction. One of them stops and stares at Danny. He wears a hoodie (of course, like everyone else here) over a T-shirt with the logo of a video game that Danny played when he was in junior high.

The guy calls after him. “Hey. Hey.”

Danny turns back, not really in the mood for a chat. “Yeah?”

The guy is smiling like he’s just won a prize. “This is going to sound weird but…when you were a kid, did you build a jetpack?”

“Yeah,” Danny says. “I did.”

The coder, still grinning, says, “I knew it was you!” He turns to his buddy. “I knew it! That’s Danny Sharp, man.”

The other guy stares blankly. “Who?”

“Dude. You know. He used to be really smart. ‘The Boy With The Computer Brain,’ right? Robots and rockets and shit!”