by E L Russell
Once again, her grandfather refused to release her trust fund. Dammit. She’d had little hope he would. She took the scrunchy from her mouth. “Sir, ah, grandfather, the three percent was barely adequate ten years ago and with the cost of living here in California versus Houston—”
He stopped her like an armed crossing guide. "The funds have been wisely invested in the ten years since your mother and father died in that horrible car crash. It has grown beyond mere compensation for inflation. Besides, you know quite well the written directions of your parents' explicitly required that you to take over one of the family companies before the trust would be released."
Meret pulled her hair through the scrunchy. She knew what he wanted her to say, but couldn't understand why her parents had felt so strongly about her getting involved in the family business. Why was being a CEO so damn freaking important to them? Why did her rule-bound, former-Marine Colonel of a grandfather care so much? She wanted to scream. Her decision head a biochemical consulting business should qualify her for inclusion in the family empire. She stepped away from the phone as if it were poison and stepped on something that yowled.
"Oh." She scooped up the neighbor's cat. "Growltigger. I'm sorry. Poor kitty. Are you all right?" The thirty pound monster of a cat butted his chin in forgiveness and Meret scratched behind his ears as a soothing purr washed over her.
Her grandfather's voice intruded from the phone on the side table. "Meret, what's that noise? Are you still there?"
"Yes, I'm here."
“We need to discuss the status of this counseling business,”
“It is a consulting company.” Hoping he might soften his reaction, she quickly dropped the cat on the nearby couch and pulled on her shorts and speed-tied her favorite running shoes. They were probably the only pair of running shoes ever seen on the run around Rice University with an eighty percent level of shoe glue repairs. She stood near the phone and steadied her voice. “With cousin Arthur’s help, I put together a business plan. He sent it to you yesterday.”
“I did not see it.”
His tone said, and if he had, he wouldn't have liked it. She took a deep breath, smothered what she really wanted to say and picked up the phone. “Following my parents’ wishes, I am going into business. A sound business." In anger, she wiped a tear off her cheek. God damn it to hell. Why did she always get so emotional when she got angry? Steadying her voice, she asked again, “Can you help me cover my start-up expenses?”
“When did you send the business plan? It is not here.”
She exhaled in frustration. “Arthur said he would overnight the papers yesterday.” She glanced in the small tabletop mirror at the mess she’d made of her mascara. “Shit.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
"Well then, I'll have my man Harold look for it." After a short pause, he gave her another directive. "Come to Houston and discuss the details with me. Meanwhile, I'll study your proposal and consult with a few of my men from the company so I can go over it with you. We need to talk."
She checked the calendar on her watch. “I can be there the day after tomorrow.”
“I’ll tell Harold to expect you. Don’t be too optimistic, Meret. From what you told me I can not see how your proposal will comply with your parent’s conditions.”
She clicked off and picked up Growltigger, returning to the balcony. "This is goodbye, puss. I won't be babysitting you anymore. Whatever happens in Houston, I'll be staying there."
* * *
Meret’s flight approached Houston’s Hobby International flying low over the curving concrete-lined bayous framed by wide strips of green grass, trees, and running trails. With her Grandfather's words rattling in repetitive circles in her brain, the rain-streaked window echoing her mood.
"I don't believe your proposal will comply with your parent's guidelines."
Even though he had relented somewhat saying they could discuss the details when she arrived, his tone told her he would dismiss it. Nevertheless, she had promised Elias she would be there in two days and now that the deadline had arrived.
* * *
The harrowing drive to River Oaks in the torrential rains set Meret's teeth on edge. It brought memories of another rainy day when a fool drunken driver had mindlessly hurtled into her parent's limousine and snuffed out their lives in an instant. She swallowed hard and tried to push away the gripping sadness that still crushed her when she let it in. Like a squeezed orange, her spirit had been pressed from her. Being taken in by her cold grandfather had not done much to soothe her misery, and it was a long time until she came out of her hole and looked around. She took a deep breath, forcing her mind to the present.
Following British tradition, her grandfather's man, Harold, met her at the door. “You’re looking well, Dr. Mather. Still keeping fit I see.”
"Thank you, Harold. It's good to see you again."
He silently lifted a finger to a staff member and her travel bag disappeared to her room. Herald led her directly to Colonel Mather's private office where he stopped at the door. "Your appointment with the Colonel is scheduled for two o'clock. My I bring some hot tea while you wait?"
“Thank you, Harold.” When would she learn? She always made a point of being early so she wouldn’t anger him and he always made her wait until the precise minute of the designated time. Obsessive compulsive genes.
She reviewed her pitch to him. She’d replayed it so often in her brain, there was no way she’d forget it, no matter how he rattled he made her. And he would rattle her.
As she entered his personal office, the memory of his last words echoed in her head. "From what you told me, I cannot see how your proposal will comply with your parent's conditions."
3
Pilgrim
March, Southern California, USA - Childhood Memories
Meret paced the dark hardwood floor of Colonel Elias Mather's office for ten long, silent minutes. Her grandfather's unexpected invitation was, in reality, a command performance and she had no stomach for the tea or the scone Harold had so thoughtfully remembered she enjoyed.
She paused to run a finger along the top edge of his desk. More than three times as long as its width and strangely lacking in objects, it appeared more like an unadorned altar. More likely a sarcophagus. Two tall, floor-to-ceiling, arched windows framed the desk and illuminated the room. To complete the image of a sanctimonious sanctuary, dark wooden paneling in an arched recessed wall behind the desk held rows of treasured artifacts. It wasn’t coincidence his high-backed leather chair resembled a throne.
Footsteps echoed from a dark corner of the paneled wall to her left. She was not surprised. In her childhood, her grandfather's approaching footsteps from a hidden stairway leading to his upper chamber had often terrified her when he had mysteriously appeared from that dark corner after summoning her to his inner sanctum. Hell and damnation. She hated these meetings. She hated them then, and she hated them now. The colonel would soon step into the light, and she believed the pearly gates couldn't provide a better venue.
Slightly surprised by his iridescent dark blue silk robe, Meret schooled her face and spoke first, hoping to take control of the conversation.
“Grandfather Elias, thank you—”
“Good day, Doctor."
Doctor? No welcome there.
He walked past her, gesturing with his free hand at the only vacant chair. “Please continue referring to me, as Colonel Mather.”
The Colonel, three times her age and pencil-slim, was considerably taller than her five-foot-eleven and four-quarters. He intimidated her. His bald head, as shiny as the boots he never abandoned after becoming a former Marine and his expression, warm as dry ice, welcomed her as much as the separation of the long desk between them. It was to be a professional meeting. Heaven forbid that anything of a personal nature entered in.
With no pleasantries, he slapped a folder onto the desk and flipped it open. “I have considered your request to release your t
rust, which we both know, goes against your parent’s directions. I have also read and examined the business plan for your new company.”
She waited, not moving or breathing.
“You do understand your trust was never intended to be in effect as a testamentary trust? It was never linked to your parent’s death.”
“Yes, but—”
He flicked his hand to shut her down.
“Their wisdom and extensive global business sense led them to establish your trust using contributions and equity from several of their limited liability companies. It took effect the day they signed it and entailed the distribution of assets to the beneficiary, you, during and after your parents’ lifetime. As you know, it has been used for the expenses of your upkeep and tuition at St. John’s, then at Rice, and now at the University of Southern California. Their death was not necessary to trigger the creation of the trust itself, but its oversight was transferred to me on their death.” Locking his eyes to hers with a steely gaze, he stopped talking.
His way of saying it was her turn to talk. "I understand all that, and I appreciate what you have done for me. Thanks to your good planning, I never felt the need for more money."
He sat back in his chair and folded his hands on the desk. Raising one eyebrow, he said, "However?"
She knew him well enough to know that this was his way of testing her will and her knowledge. "I realize your expectations for me were always high and I can say with confidence I have never failed you. I believe my consulting business addresses the intent of my parent's handwritten codicil and that my company qualifies for inclusion within the family sphere of global enterprises."
Stony-faced, he said nothing. How like him. She had to convince him her new business plan was sound.
“You are aware of my current situation at the University of Southern California?”
Tapping a finger on the desktop, he nodded and leaned toward her. "At the Lentiviral Core Laboratory, your post-doc position puts you at the forefront of managing, manufacturing, and distributing custom strands of DNA to support genomic research around the world. You are in a position to learn a great about the skills and knowledge to become the CEO of a biotech company. I can see this puts you in a most profitable niche of a new industry." He narrowed his eyes. “How is this something I should care about?”
Did his body language say he was open to her plans? She took a deep breath and tried to relax the firm grip of the muscles that ran up the back of her neck and tied a knot around her head. “Yes, grandfather. However—”
He leaned back on his royal throne. "However, you need money to start up this new and risky business."
She tapped her chin. “Ye-e-s-s, but it must be private funding. This company cannot share its leadership with venture capital or public funding. It is private.”
He turned over one hand extending a palm as an offer to reason. "Knowing what you must do to lead a company is not the same as knowing how to do that. We have many companies that you could lead, right now. Think of the experience you'll gain."
“Colonel, the family has a chain of upscale hotels and resorts throughout the world as well as several casinos. Where do I fit in those environments and how does that align with my goals to be the best in my field of research? My goal is to contribute to greater understanding of the human genome?”
"A good CEO is like a field commander. Think of it. Beyond all the knowledge you have for science, what I'm talking about is leadership- getting things done, taking care of those under your command. With skills like that, you could manage anything."
Lord. She was beating her head on a brick wall. "I'm ready for that leadership now. USC has provided many excellent learning opportunities. Meanwhile, my own research, my own ideas, and my own interests went begging with the requirement to write grants. I don’t want them second fiddle while I fight over the budget instead of writing journal papers of tackling the unknown.”
He copied her posture and rubbed his chin. Like magnets, his deep-set dark eyes held her, and she wondered what was running through his mind. She remembered how effortlessly he cradled her as a child in his large hands, lifting her to his wide, muscular shoulders. Although that physical strength had diminished, at eighty-one, he still possessed the sharp mind of a thirty-year-old.
“How serious are you about this proposal?”
She cleared her throat. “I terminated my position with Lentiviral Core Laboratory and recruited my first two employees.”
His silence hit her in a tsunami of displeasure. Long moments passed, and Meret forced her fidgeting fingers to stillness. The thumping of her heart and the ticking of a clock vied for domination to fill the vacuum.
After a long moment, he said, “That was foolish of you.” He slid her proposal across the desk. “You seem to be spending money you do not have.”
Meret ground her teeth. She was pissed and had nothing to lose. "Arthur sent you a polished copy of the business plan I've worked on for the last eighteen months. I researched this document you so unceremoniously disregarded, with the best minds in three top MBA schools in the country." She could no longer stand still. She paced on her side of the divide.
"My proposal represents a rational, prepared course of surveillance and action against biochemical disasters and challenges from commercial hackers, terrorists, disgruntled military, and insurgent black hat groups."
She wanted to smack her fist on the desk to get him out his boardroom mentality so he could see the problems the rest of the world faced. "Such acts of terror exist today, grandfather, not the future. I need to be at the forefront of the war against the misuse of our genetic structures. Make no mistake, the danger is real? She slid her papers back at him. How does that fit in a business plan?"
She realized she was breathing hard like she’d just run a race. God. This was so important to her. It was important to the country for god’s sake. "All I need is one and a half million to kick start a lab, staff, facility, branding and marketing. I need another one and a half for salaries and benefits to support staffing for the first two years.” She admitted it sounded like a great deal of money but knew it was peanuts in her trust, which her grandfather was so reluctant to release. “With access to my trust, I can accomplish that without being beholden to shareholders or investors."
She wiped her expression clean. Money was nothing to him. The family foundations gave such amounts away daily. "The thing I fear most, the thing that wakes me in cold sweat, is the possibility of the unspeakable, a major biochemical terrorist attack to our homeland. The real possibility continues to creep closer. After the first attack shows us the dark side of this science, businesses, and governments will provide the money I need, but I don't want to wait until after the fact. It will be too late then. We need to be preventive. We need to be and today."
Elias thrummed the desktop with the fingers of one hand while holding his chin with the other.
Trapped by the silence, Meret steamed within. Leaving the business plan strewn across his large desk, she stomped toward the door hoping she could find Harold and get the hell out of there. "It is my money, and I'm old enough to take the risk. Are you too old to see that?"
4
Katya Kornilova
March, Washington, D.C. USA - Katya launches her plan
Katya Kornilova paced in front of a desk too large and pretentious for the small office. Knowing she gambled her career on the paltry piece of flotsam about to interview her, she promised herself she would never again lower herself to do anything to get or keep another job. Today, during her final interview with PSI Corps, one of the top privately funded INTELligence companies in the world, she'd clear the last hurdle to achieve her goal. She’d spent years training for this position, and even though it required approval from dip-shit Dirk Donahue, she was prepared to do anything to get it.
PSI Corps, pronounced sycor in public and psycho in private, had courted her for the job and she was confident her strong record of success in interrogations with
in the INTELligence community would assure her that position. Her subjects always lived to return to their previous existence with no memory of being taken or interrogated. Actually, they were never the same, but they did live. Katya made her catch and release philosophy pay extra dividends over time. Her mantra, once an informant, always an informant, was based on her ability to remove the guilt and embarrassment of being taken and changed into a slave she euphemistically called an asset.
PSI Corps derived much of their income harvesting INTELligence from subjects using methods most governments had given up due to negative publicity. The company culture didn't believe in or approve of, psychological techniques. Furthermore, she guessed Director Donahue was not alone in an aversion to women who practiced such skills. That assessment was generated by the stench of testosterone laden interrogation rooms filled with assholes that cherished the old ways. She snorted at their use of electrodes, leather slapsticks, and harsh chemical treatments that seldom generated good INTEL and often produced corpses unsuited for scientific research. It was the men who used these methods who resented her hiring.
Katya knew she was the world expert in the deep hypnotic conditioning they often ridiculed as voodoo mind magic, but she would demonstrate the power of her magic in a way that Donahue could understand. She would show him his inner demons.