Part 23 (1/2)
”You first isolated it at Helixia,” Brad repeated, scribbling this information down. ”Is it patented by them then?”
”Yes,” Prajuk nodded, s.h.i.+fting his weight. ”I removed this gene straight from the vector and I took it to our lab. I understand that we are violating their patent.”
Brad Whitmore shook his head. ”No, I don't see it that way.”
Prajuk glanced at Shane as if to suggest that they should ask someone more experienced.
Shane leaned forward. ”How do you see it?”
”You guys are using this protein in a drug for”-he glanced down at his notes and seemed to suffer a hard time reading them-”alpha-one ant.i.trypsin deficiency. But at Helixia, the protein was used to treat asthma?”
”Yes.”
”How different are these two drugs?”
Prajuk replied, ”Very different. They cause different reactions in the body.”
”Do you think Helixia also patented it as intended for use for alpha-one ant.i.trypsin deficiency?”
”No, most definitely they are not interested in using it for this purpose.”
”How do you know?”
Shane cut in, ”I asked them. Several times.”
”Okay.” Brad folded his hands. ”You can claim a new composition of matter. See, it's like music. You can't copy someone else's melody and claim it as your song, right? But you can change just a note of it, and technically it's a new composition. This happens all the time, it's how commercial music houses work. And then also, you can patent musical notes in a specific sequence, but you can't patent a G note. That belongs to everybody.
”American genetics patent law works the same way. You can patent a gene or protein you've discovered in the specific composition of the drug you're patenting. But you can't patent the gene itself. That's everybody's property. A gene”-he smiled, unfolding his fingers-”is a musical note.”
”Ah,” Shane nodded.
”If you use this patented gene in a drug with a different composition, no matter how slightly different, then well, you're good.”
Shane shot him a sideways glance.
”That is your opinion?” Prajuk asked nervously, ”or this thing, it is legal fact, definitely?”
”Fact.”
Shane smiled, thinking it was very possible that he loved Brad Whitmore. He started to stand. The cost of the attorney's hourly advice was out of the scope of his hundred-thousand-dollar investment, which had already been spent. These were bills he could not pay.
”And,” Brad said, looking to him, ”there's a whole other play here.” He swung around on his chair, produced an impossibly thick pine green book, began turning pages. Shane heard the subtle click of a clock that he had not noticed before was there.
”Could you argue that a Helixia shareholder is being deprived of proper value by the revenue you guys will be taking from them with your drug?”
”What revenue?” Shane asked.
”In their eyes, think of greedy little eyes now, are you stealing something of significant market value from them?”
”Absolutely not. They would lose hundreds of millions on our drug, they said so themselves, all the way up the ladder. That's why they said no to producing it, or even applying for an NIH orphan grant. Our drug will do no financial harm to Helixia, believe me.”
”Because . . .” Brad read to himself, moving his lips, and then looked sharply up at them. ”A company's patent is limited in cases where the benefit to the public outweighs the harm to the inventor.”
He snapped the large book shut and gave them a proud smile. ”There's miles of precedent for this, guys. If I spent a day in a research library I'd find a brief's worth. In fact, a new use for a known protein is fully patentable. You guys can patent this usage, your, you know, drug, yourselves. You could sell it to some big pharmaceutical firm. I'll draw a patent application up for you.”
Prajuk shook his head. ”No. There is definitely to be no record of what we are doing. This was our agreement.”
Brad held both hands up. ”No application. Now, let me be clear. What you're doing is legal. But they will fire you for this.”
”You just said we're doing nothing illegal.”
”They can fire you for bringing the wrong Munchkins to Doughnut Day. California is a Right to Work state. Your jobs are not secure. If they find out you took this vector from their lab, you're both gone. But they can't sue you. Well, they probably would, but they can't win. Just know that the law is on your side.”
”They would send waves of lawyers and appeals until they bankrupted us,” Prajuk said.
Brad looked away from them. ”Yes, well,” he nodded. ”They could do that.”
Outside Prajuk smoked a cigarette, sucking deeply from his compressed fist, held an inch from his lips. Shane slapped his back.
”I should not be gone this long,” Prajuk told him tensely.
”Okay.”
”This whole project is taking significantly more of my time than I had antic.i.p.ated.”
”We're almost done though, right? Should I call my brother?”
Prajuk nodded. ”You should tell him to make arrangements.”
Shane looked quizzically at him. ”What is it?”
”I have to tell you something.”
”What's up?”
”Jon Benatti came by,” Prajuk whispered, his breath full of smoke. ”He never comes to my office.”
Shane smiled, trying to relay a gentle calm.
”He was very curious. How are things going? How is Airifan doing in clinicals? There are people he should ask about this thing, but I am not part of that. Is everything okay? This thing, Benatti, he is very concerned with me.”
”To know you is to love you, Prajuk.”
As they climbed into the car and began driving back to work, Shane continued. ”You work on the most important projects here. You've worked with Steven Poulos. There are rumors about Roche buying us. He doesn't want to lose you to Amgen or somewhere.”