I started my legal career at a law firm that focused primarily on patent litigation, prosecution, and counseling. One of my first assignments—given to me by a partner—was a patent infringement analysis, which included comparing a client's patented claims with a competitor's product. This task was given to me with nominal information or direction—the partner gave me the patent, explained his client was a small company that designed and made widgets, and the client was concerned about a competitor's rival knock-off widget. The partner wanted my input that week and we would then report back to the client.

I reviewed the widget patent, analyzed the patent's file history and digested the cited art in the widget field. I spoke with the client's design team to learn more about the client's widget and the rival's widget, and then looked at product specifications and photos of the widgets in various states of disassembly. I prepared a claim chart detailing how each and every element of the client's widget claim was found in the rival's widget. We had the rival dead to rights: infringement was rock solid and I saw no meaningful avenues of attack on the patent's validity.

I presented the results of my investigation to the partner in his office. He silently reviewed my work product. After several nerve-wracking minutes, he brought me to a conference room where we called the client. The partner methodically explained his conclusion (my conclusion) that the client's patent was squarely infringed. Then the partner explained that it would cost the client about $2 million for us to handle the litigation and then he asked the owner of the company, "If you had $2 million right now, how would you put it to good use?" The owner didn't hesitate: "I would upgrade the machines on the factory floor and buy myself a sailboat."