“I told you.” Bradley’s eyes narrowed. “My dad works at LyfeGen.”
“So you, a snot-nosed kid, are going to get a job because of Daddy.” Cody turned to Paul. “How about you?”
“I’ll find something. I’ve got good grades.”
Cody laughed and beer spilled over the side of his pint glass. The amber liquid dripped into a puddle. “I want to know how that works. Bradley here’s going to get a job because of Daddy. What’s your special connection?”
“Just my grades.”
“How naïve.” Cody smirked. He wagged his finger at Paul, leaning forward, and almost slipped off the barstool. “That won’t get you anywhere. So, kid who dropped out, what do you do for work?”
“Construction.”
“Commercial, residential, roadwork?”
Jeremy shrugged. “Uh, whatever I can work, man.”
“So I take it you aren’t full-time.”
“Uh, no. I’m that—what do you call it? Work when I can with people? I’m a contractor. Yeah, a contractor.”
Cody raised an eyebrow. “Sure, that’s an elegant way of saying you’ll do whatever you can to make some money.”
Jeremy appeared slightly confused. Slumping over the table, he adjusted his Cubs hat. “I work hard.”
Cody held up his hands. “I’m not saying you don’t. No, I’m on your side. Working man’s got it tough today, dealing with bratty kids undeservedly taking the few jobs that might actually be open.”
“It’s capitalism. The strongest survive.” Bradley’s eyes were shadowed by his furrowed brow.
Cody got up and pulled the bar stool closer to them. “I think you’re mixing up your theories there, kid.” A drop of spittle flew out of his mouth toward Bradley.
Bradley wiped his face, disgusted. “Do you have a job, or do you just sit around and drink all day, complaining while other people work their asses off?”
Cody laughed, holding his sides. He had once had a worthwhile job. He had a college degree, too. But it wasn’t enough. “Oh, I worked my ass off.”
He figured he worked harder than all three of those kids combined.
His mother’s words echoed in his head. “Get an education, get a job, and you can have all the nice things you want.” She had said that whenever he asked her why he couldn’t have a comm card like the other kids at school. She had promised him that was all it would take: an education, and a job.
She had been so very wrong.
“Do you even have a job?” Bradley asked.
“In fact, I do.” Cody leaned across the table, the warm taste of beer breath flowing out of his mouth. He grabbed Bradley’s collar. “I’ve worked more than you’ll ever know. And everything was taken from me. And let me tell you, I did everything right. Everything. Only I didn’t have my daddy to hand me a nice job.”
Bradley shoved Cody’s hands off. “That’s not my problem. You have issues.”
“Go screw yourself. And when you’re sucking your dad’s little prick, you can think about this.” Cody dragged his stool away, flipping his middle finger in the air.
Bradley, fuming, stood and stomped toward Cody.
“Leave him alone, man,” Jeremy said. “He’s just a crazy drunk.”
Bradley, a full head taller than Cody, puffed out his chest. Cody hadn’t anticipated the height difference when Bradley was seated in the dark wooden booth. “Do you want to say that to my face?”
“Are you hard of hearing as well? I said you can go suck your dad’s hairy—”
Bradley’s fist slammed into Cody’s cheek. The alcohol cushioned some of it, but he still felt the pain. Adrenaline coursed through him. He swung back, missing, but fell into Bradley and dragged him to the ground.
Cody pummeled the younger man, half of his punches landing, while Bradley deflected the rest. Wriggling out from under Cody, Bradley threw a flurry of punches.
Suddenly, his weight disappeared. Cody saw other bodies struggling to restrain the Northwestern student as another person lifted him to his feet.
Kirk’s face swam into focus over him. “Cody, I’ve got to kick you out for tonight. You really need to go home before someone calls the cops.”
Jeremy and Paul held Bradley back, coaxing him out of the bar.
Bradley stared at Cody as Jeremy and Paul opened the door to usher him out into the cold night air. “Piece of shit.” He spat. “Instead of crying into your beer every night, why don’t you make some goddamn use of your life?”
He had no good answer for that.
Chapter 9
Audrey Cook
October 16, 2063
Audrey kissed Matthew’s cheek. Her face was flushed and warm, and sweat trickled down her back as she lay across his bare chest, sprawled on their bed. The sheets and comforter were twisted around them.
She looked into his deep brown eyes. “That kind of day, huh?”
Matthew smiled and brushed her hair from her face. “You’re the perfect distraction.” His lips moved softly up and down her neck.
She purred and gripped his shoulders. “We’ve got reservations, you know.”
He continued kissing her shoulders.
“We really should get ready,” she protested weakly, then succumbed to more pressing feelings. She fell upon him, her legs entwined around his, all thoughts of the LyfeGen story forgotten.
When they were both spent, she lay panting on the bed, watching the rise and fall of Matthew’s sculpted chest. He was Michelangelo’s statue of David to her. Each of his dilated vessels pulsed around muscles that bulged and rippled. Still, his body wasn’t so bulbous as to suggest genetically enhanced muscle mass.
No, every bit of his physiological and anatomical prowess was the result of real, hard work. And Audrey admired that about him.
She pressed her cheek against his rough five-o’clock shadow. “Should we go get dinner now?”
Matthew nodded and pulled her off the bed with him.
Audrey let herself be swept up into his arms. “It’s been a while since it was that good. I don’t know what got into you, but I approve.”
“Maybe it’s all the excitement going on at work that’s got me all built up.” Matthew smiled and gathered his tossed clothing.
“Keep up the good work. There and here.” Audrey patted the bed.
She put back on the short burgundy dress that Matthew had pulled off her. He knotted his tie as she reapplied her lipstick and brushed her hair.
Out on the street, they entered an automated taxi that Matthew had called on his comm card. Audrey held her dress down as the wind whipped against her bare legs. Goose bumps prickled her skin and she shivered as Matthew held open the cab door for her. She selected a drop-off point from the taxi’s menu before Matthew could get a good look at the screen.
“You really going to keep it a surprise?”
Audrey nodded. “I thought we should do something different tonight. You got a big promotion. You deserve something a little nicer.”
The driverless taxi wound through traffic. Matthew put his arm around Audrey and she snuggled into his embrace, content. They were silent for the ride, looking out the windows. Bright lights flashed by, illuminating sidewalks full of people. Blustering winds fluttered coats and tangled hair. A brief shudder ran through her as she imagined the cold outside the protection of the cab.
The taxi slowed to a stop at West Adams and Franklin. Audrey approved the charge on her comm card, and the door opened. They spilled back into the cold evening air as the warmth of the taxi rushed out around them.
She grabbed Matthew by the arm and led him up the stairs and along the gilded handrails leading to The Embassy Room. In the center of the vast restaurant, a trio of musicians was playing a jazz standard around a piano.
“Wow.” Matthew gazed around at the ornate vaulted ceilings and the chandeliers slung from their heights. A dim, warm light washed over the restaurant, broken up by the flickering candles at each table.
They followed the host to their ta
ble. A waiter approached, smiling and polite. He offered a slow, assenting nod as Audrey chose a cabernet sauvignon.
Matthew let out a soft whistle. “You really did want to go fancy. Full-service restaurant. It’s been forever since we’ve gone somewhere where we didn’t just order our food on a screen.”
“I know. I thought it’d be fun. Old-fashioned.”
Matthew beamed and took her hand from across the table. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Audrey reciprocated his smile. His eyes shone in the candlelight. For a man, he had girlishly long, swept eyelashes, contrasting with the sharp edges of his cheeks and chin.
She sipped at a cold strawberry bisque while Matthew tried a spiced squash soup. They laughed over a plate of breaded calamari and a chipotle sauce. The lights in the restaurant dimmed as the night progressed. They recounted early memories of Chicago. Times spent scouting out hole-in-the-wall music joints and getting kicked out of an exhibit at the Chicago Museum of Art for laughing too loudly and trying to brave Lake Michigan in the middle of a heat wave at a crowded park beach. The music slowed and softened into a series of jazz ballads as they finished their dinner and sipped the last drops of the red wine.
Their eyes caught in a moment of silence. Matthew was the first to speak again. “So, I can’t imagine a place like this was easy to nab a reservation at. How’d you manage that?”
Audrey glanced to one side, avoiding his gaze. “We have our connections at work.”
The conversation she had had with Stephanie seemed like a distant memory. But the sentiments Stephanie had expressed hadn’t been dulled by time.
“You’ve got the best connection of anyone at this organization. Use it.” Stephanie’s eyes were narrowed and the veins in her neck bulged. Audrey’s protests had only provoked Stephanie further.
“Matthew will never be okay with it. Besides, he’s bound by LyfeGen confidentiality agreements. If I use him, he could lose his job.”
Stephanie’s hand flew up from the desk. “You could lose your job if you don’t get me the story. All the stories we can glean from this wonderful mess that has landed in our laps. Besides, he won’t lose his job if no one finds out it’s him.”
“Even if I write as Beth Childs, surely they’ll find out he’s the leak. He’s got access to sensitive information.”
Stephanie rolled her eyes. “I’m sure other people have access to sensitive information. He won’t be the only one.”
“Then it might lead to a witch hunt, everybody getting sacked.”
“Better there than here. If we don’t move on this, if we lose our position in the news streams, there’s a real possibility that we’d be looking at—at the very least—temporary downsizing.” Audrey could glimpse the strange, perverted excitement in her boss’s eyes. She imagined Stephanie was ecstatic, thrilled to be given a story that would shake the biotech industry as each scandalous article hit the news streams under her watch. “Also, you better be prepared for the press conference LyfeGen has announced. I want you to be the first reporter there, and the last to leave. Get everything you can.”
“Fine.” Audrey felt deflated.
She really did want Matthew to help her with her story. But she didn’t want Stephanie to know about it. She didn’t need her boss’s micromanagement to guide her investigations. The story should be hers; she never revealed her sources to anyone, not her coworkers, or Stephanie. Now, her boss knew exactly who her best source might be.
“So is it a deal?”
A deal? Audrey couldn’t fathom how Stephanie’s threats constituted a “deal” any more than a ruthless dictator’s commands did. That was a mistake on her boss’s part. Maybe Stephanie’s question revealed more than it should have.
“Not quite.” Audrey straightened and hoped she didn’t appear too conniving. “It’s no deal yet.”
“I thought my terms were quite clear.”
“Let’s be honest: you need me as much as I need you. Without me, you don’t have a single connection to LyfeGen—or several other firms, for that matter. I spent years cultivating those sources, gaining their trust, and building rapport.”
“I’ll concede that you’re talented,” Stephanie said. “But if you don’t write this story, we could fall desperately behind. You saw Amy Park’s story from CE streams.”
Audrey had pinpointed Stephanie’s own fears, just as she had suspected. “Exactly. Her story exploded, and we wouldn’t be so desperate to catch up if it were just the media bots that broke the story. She might have a bigger, better lead than anyone here. And there’s a lot to be gained if this story turns out as explosive as you, me, and, probably, Amy all think it might be. I could be writing a story about the downfall of industry gods.”
Stephanie had already admitted The Shore might lose considerable market share if they failed to respond correctly to the Joel Cobb story. The only thing worse than falling behind would be to publish baseless stories that turned out to be utterly wrong.
“So, for both our benefits, you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”
Stephanie looked skeptical. “Let’s focus on you keeping a job.”
“Let’s focus on both of us keeping our jobs. If we screw this up, you risk losing it all, too, right?”
Stephanie’s reluctant silence, narrowed eyes, and pursed lips told Audrey everything she needed to know.
“I’ll get Matthew to help me out. But you need to help me make that happen.”
“Fine.” Stephanie huffed. “How do you propose I do that?”
“I’ll let you know once I come up with something.”
After leaving Stephanie’s office, Audrey called one of her LyfeGen sources. The source went by the name Stanley, never revealing his actual identity. He always provided intimate details regarding current research projects, company legal issues, and unannounced merger or acquisition talks. His scoops would often be hours, days, sometimes weeks ahead of her competition. She kept him faithful to her with various gifts—sometimes money, other times credits to various restaurants and clubs—at The Shore’s expense. Stephanie had originally protested these bribes, but Stanley’s stories often yielded a return far exceeding the cost of the gifts.
While several male sources had tried to proposition, or at least allude to, sexual favors in compensation for their leads, Stanley never demanded such recompense. He avoided all face-to-face personal contact. And, somehow, LyfeGen had not identified him or tossed him out of the company.
He was almost too good of a source, an endless spring of information.
Stanley told Audrey about Preston Carter’s appointment as CEO by the Board, the fear that the Board had of a possible FDA audit, and a slew of recently repositioned employees within the company in preparation for the reality of such an audit.
According to him, despite the press release that would appear later that day, the company executives were indeed afraid of an impending audit and the financial crisis that it would entail. He also mentioned a rumor explaining Preston’s rise to CEO and how he had achieved special recognition under Joel Cobb. Allegedly, Joel had solicited sexual favors from Preston. Stanley suggested that there might be some truth behind the rumor and told Audrey that it might provide her with some enticing leverage against the new CEO.
After the press conference, near the end of the work day, she decided on the first favor she’d ask from Stephanie. Matthew had left her a message, excitedly relaying his promotion to a new position. He didn’t go into great detail about the work, but his voice rose and fell like that of a boy proudly showing his mother a perfect report card.
The new position would mean new responsibilities. Deeper roots into LyfeGen’s underpinnings. That would all be reason enough to celebrate and time for Audrey to take advantage of her boss’s connections.
One of Stephanie’s close friends owned and operated a collection of high-end restaurants in Chicago, specializing in a full table-service experience and foregoing the efficient, but impersonal, methods of
computerized ordering that most restaurants favored.
Audrey had sauntered into Stephanie’s office. “If I’m going to convince Matthew that he should help us, I’m going to need to butter him up. Can you get me a reservation at The Embassy Room?”
Stephanie had sighed. “Fine. But you don’t get to choose the time.”
Now, Audrey faced the reality of her situation. Telling Stephanie she would use Matthew as an inside source, another mole amongst the others, was easier than telling him.
The waiter brought their desserts. He placed a crème brûlée in front of Audrey and a slice of tiramisu drizzled with chocolate syrup before Matthew.
“So... would you be willing to help me out with some work?” She had confronted the CEO of the most powerful biotech company in Chicago that day, but her heart hadn’t fluttered and her face hadn’t flushed like it did now.
Matthew swallowed a bite of the tiramisu. “What do you mean?”
“I kind of mentioned it before, but I was hoping you might be able to help me with my articles.”
“I can tell you some basic stuff, but probably nothing more than you’ll find out from our press conferences.” Matthew glanced away, back toward the jazz trio. The saxophonist’s notes burned heavy and slow as the piano kept time.
“I was hoping you might be able to tell me a little more. Maybe something about what’s going on in regulations, when you guys expect the FDA to look into things, maybe about talk of a recall.”
“Look, I don’t know anything about those things.” Tinges of anger and frustration laced Matthew’s words.
“I thought you might hear something, being in regulations and everything, that might be useful to me. Anything at all that might not be mentioned in a press release.”
“If it’s not released to you, then you aren’t supposed to know,” Matthew said. “Can we drop this?” His expression softened again as he probed at his dessert with his fork.
“I know, I’m sorry. But this is my job, my career, to find out what’s going on before everyone else. It would be so great if you could help me out.” Audrey half-smiled, her eyebrows arched up and eyes pleading.
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