George M. Hamlin felt the kind of professional anxiety that only comes from handling explosive assets. His office, typically a sanctuary of rational, predictable corporate law, felt charged. It was June 10, 1977, and he was staring at a briefcase containing $30,000 in laundered assets—his retainer—and the client who paid it: a three-year-old boy.
Hamlin, a rising partner at Cravath, Swaine & Moore, had never encountered anything like it. He looked across the conference table at Eli Rivera, who was coloring quietly, his small hands working a set of high-grade Prismacolor pencils. Beside Eli sat the stiff, nervous figure of Andrey Lukanov, the powerful Bulgarian political operative, and Vladimir Todorov, the senior state security officer, who exuded the cheap cologne and expensive menace of pure corruption.
The room was set for a Tetris-style negotiation over the North American rights to Ernő Rubik's cube.
"Mr. Lukanov," Hamlin began, his voice perfectly modulated, "we are here to finalize the transfer of North American licensing rights to my client, Mr. Rivera. We have secured the necessary capital and are prepared to pay the political and licensing fees as outlined in our previous communication."
Lukanov sighed, a theatrical sound of fatigue. "Mr. Hamlin, there are... complications. The state must ensure fair value. We have received new bids. Very aggressive bids, I might add."
Hamlin knew this was the signal for the rivals. The door opened, and three people walked in, transforming the negotiation into a corporate battlefield.
First came Tom Kremer, representing Ideal Toy Co., the ultimate buyer. Kremer was nervous but determined, knowing the cube's potential.
Next was Louis Marx, the American toy legend, his eyes bright with childlike enthusiasm that only masked his desperate, paper-thin financial position. He promised factories, volume, and American ingenuity—all of it built on a crumbling foundation.
Last was Linda Wachner, representing FAO Schwarz. She was utterly ruthless, wearing a suit that cost more than Marx's entire company. She didn't bother to sit down.
"Mr. Hamlin, Mr. Lukanov," Wachner began, her voice cutting through the tension. "I will offer a five percent premium on any royalty rate presented today, provided we secure exclusive retail distribution through FAO Schwarz. I understand the inventor is seeking freedom. We can facilitate that."
Todorov, the corrupt state security officer, leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Hamlin. "A direct license is not efficient. A... facilitation fee is required for the state's time and effort. Twenty thousand U.S. cash, immediately."
Hamlin was running three different negotiations at once: managing the rivals, countering the corruption, and, most importantly, listening to the small voice of his three-year-old client.
Eli looked up from his coloring, catching Hamlin's eye. He was coloring the cube's mechanism, shading the internal pieces with dark precision.
Hamlin subtly cleared his throat, addressing Todorov. "Mr. Todorov, the firm is prepared to pay legitimate costs. However, our due diligence is comprehensive. We have proof of funds, and we have... intelligence regarding the true destination of those fees."
Hamlin glanced at the quiet assistant in the corner, Stefan Svirdlev, the CIA asset. Svirdlev gave a barely perceptible nod.
"We have reason to believe the current political hurdles are artificial," Hamlin continued, his voice now a low, dangerous threat. "We suggest you review the current state of your superiors' finances before proceeding with extortion."
Todorov paled. The pressure from a firm like Cravath, coupled with the threat of exposed financial data from a trusted source, broke him instantly. He slumped back, silent. The political threat was neutralized.
Linda Wachner realized the game was lost. She paused, looking at the complex, dual-layered genius of the deal—Eli buying the rights, then selling them immediately.
"You're not buying the rights, Mr. Hamlin," Wachner stated, her voice full of cynical admiration. "Your client is buying the royalty stream. He secures the IP, and he immediately flips it to Ideal Toy Co. for a passive ten percent. He gets rich without ever having to make a product."
She looked directly at Eli. "You pay the street money for the corporate seat, and you leave the manufacturing nightmare to Ideal. That is a brilliant piece of business."
Wachner smiled, a cold, shark-like smile. "But Ideal will cut manufacturing costs and turn this puzzle into a quality control disaster. That I guarantee you." She picked up her bag. "Good luck with the defective plastic." She walked out, followed quickly by the deflated Louis Marx.
The room cleared. Only Lukanov, Ernő Rubik, Eli, and Hamlin remained.
Rubik, the silent inventor, watched the whole transaction with sad, knowing eyes. Lukanov, defeated, signed the North American rights over to Eli.
Hamlin then executed the final, planned move: he signed the Ideal Toy Co. licensing agreement, securing the 10% royalty and the clean $45,000 advance for his client.
"It is done, Mr. Rivera," Hamlin said, handing the client—the three-year-old—the final signed contract. "We won the legal war."
Eli took the contract, tucking it neatly into his briefcase. He had traded the chaos of the Powder for the clean structure of the Royalty Stream.