Chapter 8 - The Open Source
Summer in Columbus arrived with a humid, golden haze that settled over the asphalt and turned the suburban lawns a brilliant emerald green.
At Revive Tech, my position was officially upgraded to Senior Systems Forensic Analyst. Marcus threw a small, awkward party in the breakroom involving stale grocery-store donuts and a custom mug that read People Lie, Machines Keep Records.
More importantly, Piper’s online fantasy serial—The Lighthouse of the Shattered Isles—had officially crossed ten thousand active weekly subscribers.
Publishing houses in New York had started sending inquiries through her contact page, asking if the twelve-year-old author would be interested in discussing a traditional print deal for young adult fantasy.
When the first formal literary agency email popped into our shared inbox on a sunny Tuesday afternoon, Piper stared at the screen with wide, disbelieving eyes.
"Mom," she whispered, spinning her laptop around so I could read the header. "They want to talk about a book deal. Like... a real book in bookstores."
I leaned over her shoulder, reading the crisp corporate letterhead from a Manhattan agency. A deep, swelling warmth bloomed in my chest—not because of the prestige or the potential advance, but because of the way Piper’s fingers rested steadily on the keyboard, right beside the crescent-shaped dent and the pink holographic axolotl sticker.
"What do you want to say to them, sweetheart?" I asked.
Piper thought for a moment, her dark eyes reflecting the glowing screen.
Then she opened a new document, typed her response with swift, confident keystrokes, and hit send without a moment of hesitation.
"I told them my terms," she said simply.
May you like
"And what are your terms?"
"That I keep the design rights," she grinned, pointing at the pink sticker. "And that nobody else ever gets to edit my chapters."
