“We should be investigating Anil Nayak.”
With a slow nod, Preston confirmed her conclusions.
***
Audrey parted ways with Preston, her mind churning over the increasingly complicated situation at LyfeGen. The company couldn’t outlive a scandal like that. Even in a best-case scenario, LyfeGen would be ruined in a matter of months—if it took that long.
In the early 2000s, a company called Zeinman Orthopedics had issued a voluntary recall of their hip implants. The titanium alloy implants, once inside a patient, wouldn’t fully integrate with the patients’ bone tissue. To patients, the implants felt as though their hips were loose. Pain would shoot up and down their legs, coursing along the bones and the sides of their bodies. Surgeons removing the implants to install new ones discovered that no tissue growth had occurred on the etched surfaces that were purportedly designed to enhance cell attachment to the metal.
Subsequent investigations of Zeinman Orthopedics had discovered that a slight flaw in their manufacturing had left an almost undetectable oil residue that was not properly washed away during post-manufacturing processing. The company reported their findings to the FDA, issued complete recalls and refunds to all patients and doctors, and even received positive accolades in the media for their proactive efforts.
But none of it mattered. Patients were wary of the implants, despite physicians’ approval ratings of the company’s actions. Zeinman floundered and fell apart.
Now, LyfeGen might not only have been actively hiding an issue with their product, placing blame on the physicians who were supposed to be touting its “God-like potential to save the human body,” but a company employee—the company’s leader—might have been responsible for the enormous blunder.
Audrey wandered down State Avenue. She found herself heading toward Millennium Park, toward the enormous shell of the amphitheater that erupted from the park amidst green hills and trees peppered between walkways.
No, the stroke complications caused by the Sustains were no blunder. If Preston’s suspicions were correct, that was exactly the way the altered genes were supposed to function.
The company was doomed. Audrey couldn’t see a way around it. Anil Nayak had successfully destroyed his ties to the medical community by shunning and blaming doctors, had discouraged investors through his opaque explanations of LyfeGen’s current financial status, and his own employees wouldn’t be able to trust him after she released the details that would lead to the man’s damnation.
She wondered how many other people had any idea about the scope of the controversy. Preston, though removed from LyfeGen, might yet be the sole whistle-blower. She hoped that would be enough.
As she strolled along the walkways, approaching Lake Michigan and letting the lake’s chilling breeze embrace her, her thoughts turned to home and Matthew. She should warn him.
He would need time to escape LyfeGen before it came down. He would blame her; she knew that. But if she didn’t write this story, someone else would. It would be momentous, maybe even Pulitzer-worthy. Matthew’s career at LyfeGen would be short-lived anyhow.
If she could convince him of that, he might depart from LyfeGen before its reputation was decimated and before his own was tarnished for even being associated with the company. If she could just convince him to find another job, maybe even at NanoTech. She had contacts there. They might be willing to do her a favor.
But did she owe him anything? Much like Matthew’s job, she feared their relationship was already lost.
She returned to the apartment, brushed her hand over Doug’s head, and sat at the kitchen table. She flicked on her computer. An urgent message appeared for her from someone named Monica Wolfe, claiming to connect Dave Stemper’s death to a scandal at LyfeGen. Maybe the woman was desperate for a brief moment of fame, like most of the conspiracy nuts who had sent in “tips.”
Ignoring the message, Audrey began sketching a timeline of events to track Anil Nayak’s rise in the company and the events of the Sustain strokes. She charted employees leaving the company, whether of their own free will or being “let go.” If she could just find a pattern, anything showing Nayak might have been weaseling his way to the top throughout his entire career, she could help assure herself that Preston was right.
The front door cracked open and let in the smells of the neighbor’s stir fry from down the hall. Matthew’s heavy footsteps echoed across the hardwood floor and Audrey turned around.
“Hey,” she said.
Matthew nodded a lame greeting, his mouth slack. His eyes were dead and his hair was matted down with sweat. He smelled ripe and salty, even from the doorway. “It’s been a long day.” He didn’t bother to glance at her.
Without so much as a kiss or a shoulder pat, he strode past her into the bedroom. The shower hissed to life as he disappeared into the bathroom.
Audrey fought with her urge to snoop and find out just how long of a day it had been. Anger at having been ignored reminded her of Matthew’s mood toward her over the past few weeks. Building resentment swallowed any sense of obligation she had felt toward her virtually estranged husband. She crept into the bedroom.
She scanned through the day’s messages and reports on his comm card. A particular message from Jacqueline Harper stood out against the scientific jargon and lengthy explications regarding meeting regulations and laboratory budget reports. Audrey had grown accustomed to the shared data reports, the scientific speculations, and the experimental research plans that Jacqueline and Matthew often shared through various text and voice messages. It had been a rather convincing message from Jacqueline that had sparked Audrey’s investigation of possible radical group activity and Sustain organ sabotages and targeted murders.
But this message had a tone of familiarity, an implied history of personal relationships, and an allusion to a chain of messages between the two. It seemed to belong to a lengthy conversation. All the messages before this, though, had been deleted and removed.
Audrey yearned to know what the message was about. “Let’s talk more about it after work tomorrow, okay? I just don’t want to leave things off where we did. It’s a very vulnerable topic. Or we can just forget about it for now and enjoy ourselves.”
It was from 7:32 p.m., just four minutes ago. Matthew wouldn’t have had time to see the message or delete it. But if he was deleting messages from Jacqueline—why was he doing it? He never deleted any message containing confidential scientific data, but he had apparently removed everything from what looked to be a personal conversation with a close coworker.
She swallowed hard, her pulse pounding loudly in her ears as the revelation struck her like a fist. The suspicions had pestered her for weeks, but the revelations were almost physical and damaging.
Falling onto the bed, she buried her face in the pillow and muffled an angry yell, hoping it would clear her mind.
It didn’t.
She got up and paced around the room, Doug staring at her, his head cocked and ears tilted. She needed something to distract her, anything.
“Want to go for a walk, Doug?”
His tail fluttered, and he stood. She needed to lose herself, escape from Matthew, escape from anger and betrayal.
She could no longer sit idly by and let others make the moves for her. At the front door, she picked up Doug’s leash and stared at the message labeled “Urgent” from Monica Wolfe on her comm card. She needed this. She needed some explanation, some truth in her life, some honesty.
Chapter 31
Preston Carter
November 27, 2063
Instead of taking a taxi home after his meeting with Audrey, Preston walked along Michigan Avenue. He felt an exhilarating sense of anonymity amongst the crowds. LyfeGen had been in the crosshairs of consumer advocacy groups clamoring for openness and religious groups claiming the current turmoil was God’s way of saying, “I told you so.” There were days when he exited LyfeGen under a barrage of insults and cries from protesters.
&n
bsp; Amid the crowd along Michigan Avenue, a scarf pulled tight around his neck, he could disappear among the other pedestrians, most of them unconcerned by the others around them. There were more alluring distractions, such as the glittering display windows of the retail stores. The virtual models at Macy’s posed in sensual and intimate ways were more intriguing than a human passerby.
The sweet, sugary aromas from Carousel Chocolates and Candy drew him into the busy shop. He was greeted by an even stronger wave of dark chocolate and caramel in the air when he entered.
Since the human shop attendants were all busy, he squeezed his way between the rotating displays of candies and went up to an automated server screen near a display of truffles. He selected a couple variations of peanut butter fudge, knowing that both Erik and Kyle possessed an insatiable taste for peanut butter.
When he arrived home, he placed the bag of fudge on the marble countertop in their kitchen. “Kyle! Erik!”
Rapid, heavy footsteps down the stairs announced that someone had heard his invitation. Erik rounded the corner, practically leaping around the banister. He wore a stern, worried look.
Preston suddenly felt very foolish for his dramatic entrance.
“Why haven’t you returned my calls today?” Erik asked.
“What? What do you mean?”
“I’ve been trying to get hold of you all afternoon. Why didn’t you answer?”
Preston took out his comm card, realizing that he had canceled all notifications for incoming calls or messages since his lunch with Audrey. “I’m sorry. I just had it set to ignore. I forgot to turn it back on after my meeting.”
Erik suddenly hugged him, pulling Preston tight against his chest. “God, I was so worried.”
“Why? I told you I’d be back this afternoon. It’s not as if I ran away.”
“I know, I know,” Erik said, “but there’s something I need to show you.” He squeezed Preston’s wrist. “I thought it was too late. I thought you were hurt.”
“Why would you think that?”
Instead of answering, Erik pulled out his comm card. He set the card down in the middle of the counter, passing it toward Preston with a message displayed: “Your husband will be judged by the Will of God.”
Exhaling, Preston gave the card back to Erik. “Have you called the police?”
“Of course.”
Preston thought back over the anonymous threats and angry messages he had been sent over the years. Working on the fringes of controversial scientific fields tended to attract the attention of unsavory and oftentimes belligerent individuals.
But Erik had never been on the receiving end of any of those messages. This individual had somehow found Erik’s private comm card line. They were trying to send a message deeper than what was spelled out plainly in words.
“Do you think this is a serious threat?” Erik asked.
“I have no idea.”
For a minute, they were both silent.
Then Erik ventured, “You don’t think this has anything to do with you skipping your Sustain update?”
“It might,” Preston said. “If someone meant to do away with me, I suppose they aren’t happy now.”
“But no one in the public knows anything about that, right? Didn’t the Board want to keep that quiet?”
“You’re right. Only the Board and Anil knew. Unless they told someone.”
“Anil?” Erik stared hard at Preston. “Do you think he did this? Maybe just trying to scare you?”
He struggled with the idea that Anil, as disgusting a man as he had proved to be, could make such a crude and malevolent threat. That certainly didn’t seem like Anil’s style. The man was more subtle, more covert. But, then again, he hadn’t expected Anil to get him fired or use subterfuge to undermine the company’s own products for his own misguided gains. “That’s not like him at all.”
Erik raised an eyebrow. His expression said more about his growing skepticism than any verbal response. “I think we need to take this seriously. In light of everything going on with your company—”
“It’s not my company. Not anymore.”
Erik dismissed the objection with a wave of his hand. “Either way. What should we do?”
When Preston had worked at LyfeGen, he had faced the option to invest in new patents from private inventors claiming they’d invented the next generation of nanoscale gene delivery devices; he’d chosen which research projects deserved priority even while the company’s scientists and engineers bickered amongst themselves. He remembered how such decisions had to be made throughout the day, knowing that the company’s success depended on his choices. Back then, he had at least had information to help with those decisions. Now, he just had a gut feeling. Instincts.
He didn’t like it.
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I have a feeling we need to figure this out before things get out of hand.”
Erik grimaced. “They’ve already gotten out of hand. Maybe the police will have a better answer.”
Preston nodded, though he wasn’t optimistic.
“Maybe it was a prank.” Erik’s bright eyes conveyed a sense of fading hopefulness. “I mean, I’m sure that’s all it is. Maybe it’s just unrelated.”
But neither of them was convinced.
This threat only cemented the notion that someone in the company was enabling the sabotage of the Sustain updates. That person knew Preston hadn’t received his update and knew he wouldn’t die of a stroke.
And that person knew how to reach Erik and Kyle.
Preston wasn’t the only one being threatened anymore. His family was in danger.
Chapter 32
Matthew Pierce
November 28, 2063
Matthew stroked Jacqueline’s dark hair and traced his fingers along her jawline. He kissed her cheek as she nuzzled into his chest.
She closed her eyes and smiled. The subtle creases on the edges of her mouth appeared. “Does it ever bother you that I’m almost ten years older than you?”
Matthew’s hand inched down her bare shoulder. “Not a bit.”
A soft pattering against Jacqueline’s bedroom window stole his attention. Outside the window, in the brisk air, a brown mourning dove perched and cooed. The bird pecked at a nest on the shallow window ledge.
“It’s that stubborn bird again.” Jacqueline closed her eyes and pulled the comforter up to her shoulders.
“A mourning dove.” Matthew laughed to himself, shaking his head slowly.
Jacqueline pressed her naked chest against his. She slipped up to Matthew’s eye level, gliding along his body. “And what’s so funny about the bird? The damn thing never leaves. She raised about fifty babies last year and I didn’t have the heart to shoo her away. All that squawking and rustling.”
“When I was growing up, we had a house in Decatur. To the south of us, there was nothing but neighborhoods of cookie-cutter houses, all beige, brown, and blue. To the north, there was nothing but cornfields—or soybeans, depending on the year—and country roads.”
Jacqueline laughed in a soft purr. The sound made Matthew blush and made his heart race like he was holding hands with his junior high school crush. “So rural.”
“You wouldn’t believe how many people thought I actually lived in a barn with cows when I came up to Chicago.”
“I bet. Those of us growing up in the city don’t believe there’s much civilization to the south.” She sank against his chest. “Probably because there really isn’t.”
“Hey, now.” Matthew crossed his arms, creating a barrier between them. “But back to my point.”
“Yes, let’s get back to that.”
“My mom always planted a bunch of perennials in pots on our front porch. Without fail, a mourning dove would take over one of the pots. Every year. For all fifteen years that I lived in that house. One of them must’ve inherited that spot from its mother, and kept up the tradition of covering our front porch in bird crap.”
“Beautiful s
tory. Truly inspiring.”
Matthew nudged Jacqueline, laughing playfully. “The point is: I don’t really know. I just admire their dedication. Also, they’re extremely good baby production factories.”
“Yes, I learned that firsthand.”
“Oh, don’t act like you hate it. The baby birds can actually be cute once they grow some feathers.”
“But first they’re ugly, blind pink things.”
Matthew raised an eyebrow. “Human babies aren’t much better.”
“I’m not arguing there,” Jacqueline said, her voice sounding weak. She rolled off and curled up against him, her spine pressed against his side and thigh.
Matthew sensed a sudden distance between the two of them despite the sensation of her bare skin against his. Her physical closeness juxtaposed with her abrupt emotional disconnect left him with a feeling of discomfort and awkwardness. He wanted to put his clothes back on and walk out the door. “Is something wrong?”
Jacqueline answered by stretching out over the cool sheets and clutched a pillow to her chest.
Matthew waited a couple of tense moments, resisting the urge to pressure her. He opened his mouth, ready to plead for her to open up to him but then pressed his lips closed again.
Instead of curling protectively around her, he sat up straight, peering through the doorway of the attached bathroom. He could see his face in the mirror and Jacqueline’s disheveled hair on the pillow next to him. She appeared strange to him, utterly different from the person he had come to know.
Up until now, he had thought their relationship, albeit adulterous, had been strong, passionate, and, ironically, honest. But he realized he knew little about her past. She had never shared anything other than basic facts, like where she grew up, where she’d gone to school, and how terrible her first kiss with Tommy Corbin had been in sixth grade.
Instead, their relationship had its foundation in lengthy conversations regarding the state of biomedicine and their career paths through LyfeGen and beyond. She had shared her desire to lead the research and development department, even as Matthew related his similar dream to head engineering. They avoided discussing the obvious competition that the two would face in each other, preferring to end such conversations naked, sweaty, and rolling across Jacqueline’s downy comforter or plush couch or even in the back of a cab.
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