Lucy had always believed legalese was the most boring language known to humankind—until she saw her name on a term sheet that felt more like a ransom note than an investment offer. It wasn't just complex; it felt sinister, each clause a carefully laid trap.
"Clause 12B: Founder agrees to relinquish majority control if profitability thresholds are not met within three fiscal quarters."
"Is it just me," she muttered, rereading it for the fifth time, her fingers tracing the harsh, technical jargon on the page, "or does that sound like a polite way of saying 'we'll steal your baby if it doesn't start walking fast enough'?" The acidic taste of her coffee was a fitting companion to the sour feeling in her gut.
