by Tiana Cole
I bit my lip and closed my eyes. “Rashid Pharmaceutical.”
Derek
It was good, what Logan and I were doing. We felt like kings of science as we lay out a new tray of Petri dishes and took meticulous notes. A new experiment was underway.
Logan watched as I piped material into the prepared samples. “Do you ever feel a bit icky when you do this, sir?”
“Do what?” I murmured from behind the microscope.
“Add the cancer,” Logan whispered.
I paused, pipette in hand. Logan was right. It was, in a way, mystifying that I was doing such a thing—creating cancer on purpose.
“Yes,” I nodded. “But look at it this way. It can’t grow beyond this dish. It’s not airborne so we can’t lose control of it, as has been done with the flu or smallpox.”
Next to me, I could feel the boy shudder.
A knock sounded on the door, the main one from the 8th floor hallway. “Who the hell is that?” I muttered in annoyance. “Logan, what time is it?”
He glanced at his laptop screen, which displayed our detailed notes on the new experiment parameters. “Eleven-thirty, sir.”
In my heart I knew only one person that would know to find me here at such a time. Returning to the Petri dishes, I said, “Go on and let her in. But keep her in the office. Tell her I'll be out to talk to her as soon as I can.”
The boy left and I steadily continued my work, although not without a measure of distraction. What could she possibly want this late at night? After my conversation with Tim I’d pondered Denise and the Tribune all afternoon. To distraction, really. I could scarcely recall anything from an entire afternoon and evening of clinic patients. My mind was actively trying to disentangle the threads between Denise, me, the Tribune, and Rashid Pharmaceutical… but it was slow work.
Why would Rashid put money into the Tribune?
Why would the Tribune take money from a drug company?
What did any of it have to do with me?
I couldn't form a provable link between Rashid and me; it had been two years since they asked to be my partner, which had prompted a heated response from me, but nothing further. Even I, with my mistrust of drug companies and most corporate conglomerates, couldn't fathom a company setting out to ruin me purposely. There was no proof of that at all.
Minutes passed as I slowly infected a population of healthy, legally-acquired human tissue with Leukemia-A. Logan reappeared at my elbow.
“It’s the journalist from the Tribune, Dr. Johnson.”
“I know,” I said with a sigh.
“She’s in your office. She seems pretty worked up, and…” he lowered his voice. “She’s dressed like a cat burglar.”
That was intriguing enough to quicken my hand. When I was finished, I stripped my gloves away and turned to Logan. “Finish up. Note the quantities, the time, the temperature, save the file, wipe the hard drive. You know the drill.”
He nodded, and I headed to my office to see Denise.
***
She was indeed dressed as a cat burglar, wearing an oversized black t-shirt, leggings, and canvas sneakers. I watched as she paced back and forth across my office. When she heard the door click behind me, she stopped and our eyes met.
It was assaulting and exhausting. Just the day before I’d felt completely in love with this woman, only to spend the next sixteen hours in a state of utter betrayal layered with confusion. I was all mixed up over how a person usually wasn't able to fall out of love in such a short matter of time.
“Derek,” she started in a whisper, and gave me the benefit of not trying to rush into my arms. “I know you’re angry at me, and I totally get it. But please, please, give me five minutes to explain.”
Had it not been for the conversation with Tim of a few hours earlier, I would have said no. Truly, I would have ignored her knocking at the door for hours, and happily at that. But the threads, all tangled together, stopped me.
Plus, she was obviously up to something, and she looked pretty good in black.
I took a deep breath to chase away my confused feelings and told her, “Go ahead. Five minutes.”
She started pacing again, and spoke without looking at me. “I didn't write the article. Last Monday I gave my editor a flash drive containing a legit piece I wrote about you for our Human Interest section. He told me he’d send it over to them, but…” she paused, her hands wrung together, and looked at me briefly. “The flash drive also had a paragraph and a few notes from before. From before I saw the lab, before we started seeing each other, before I knew everything about you and your work. That’s what was twisted into the drivel that the Trib published today. Yesterday. Whenever.”
“So you’re basically saying he wrote it.”
“No, I’m saying I didn't, and he had it. Whatever. It’s terrible. I would never write such garbage.”
I felt the corner of my mouth tug upwards, but I resisted.
She resumed her pacing. “Here’s what’s interesting,” she went on. “The paper’s going under, and for the last financial quarter my editor’s been taking money under the table from Rashid Pharmaceutical.”
Upon hearing Denise confirm what Tim had insinuated, I felt a slight weight ease from my shoulders and an almost physical sense of the world coming together again. In my mind the tangled threads started to loosen.
“How do you know this?” I asked her.
Without looking at me, she responded, “Lucky—my photographer—and I found proof in Skip’s office… hidden under a Persian rug.” She stopped and rolled her eyes, adding, “That’s really beneath him… no pun intended. Hiding a file under a rug is so prosaic. In any case, the contract said something about an exchange for ‘things promised,’ but I don’t know what that is. I can guess, though.”
Only then did Denise stop moving and turn towards me. Her brown eyes bore into mine as I wrestled with the threads in my mind.
“Rashid offered to bail the paper out of the red in exchange for ruining a prominent doctor who wouldn't share his research?” I offered.
Denise shrugged. “Does it make sense? I’m not in the medical world, so I have no idea if this kind of theory stands up.”
Suddenly I felt weary. I wondered what I was doing in my lab at midnight discussing plots to ruin me, rather than asleep in my comfortable apartment. I sank onto the couch and ran a hand through my hair. “Unfortunately, it does. If my research returns anything that could help Leukemia-A, a company like Rashid could patent it and make millions marketing it to insurance companies and hospitals.”
“But when they asked…”
“I said no.” My hand dropped between my knees. “But sometimes these big drug companies do bad things to get what they want.”
“But what could all of this,” Denise waved her hands around, “accomplish? So it’s a slandering article in the Trib. It doesn't stop you from finding a cure for Leukemia-A.”
“It does if the AMA thinks I’m doing it illegally.”
“Which you’re not,” Denise pointed out.
“But I’m not licensed to do this type of work, either,” I reminded her. “I’m a doctor, yes. But there are other hoops to jump through which I haven’t. I've told you all of this.”
She chewed her lip and stared at the ceiling. “But nobody could take your research. I mean, the AMA could make you shut it down, but they can’t take it.”
“No, they can’t,” I answered with a sigh. “But that doesn't mean there aren’t ways. People leak information, start their own lab standing on my shoulders. It happens. It’s not a pretty world, Denise.”
She sat on the edge of my desk. “And Skip sent me right into it, senses blaring and fists at the ready.”
“He knew you were a firecracker,” I chuckled.
Her face grew dark and angry. “If all of this is true, then that means he’s also behind the letter and the photograph that appeared at my apartment door.”
Because the ‘evidence’ shared with Deni
se was so obviously false, I hadn’t given it a second thought. However, Denise had a very valid point. It did seem timely that such helpful ‘information’ would appear at her apartment door, the location of which her boss would obviously know.
My nod was slow. “That does make sense. We’re both in an industry that reserves judgment until all of the evidence is in. However, I have to admit that it fits…”
She merely sighed in response, casting her eyes to the ceiling and shaking her head.
“I’m an idiot. I’m so sorry, Derek.”
I understood what had happened now. Hell, I even forgave Denise for what had occurred and how she’d been used. Yet, we sat across the room from one another and the distance remained.
“So,” I began as I lifted my hands. “What do we do now?”
Denise lifted herself from my desk and picked up her bag. Really, she looked as weary as I did. She walked towards the door, but paused when she reached it. With her hand resting on the doorknob she glanced at me with a last look of regret.
“We nail him,” she said, and left my office.
Chapter 24
Denise
With weary feet I left Derek’s office and took the train back to my apartment. Taking the El across town at that time of night probably toed the line between brave and stupid, but I wasn't thinking straight. On the contrary, I was bone-tired mentally and physically, and I couldn't fathom how to deal with Skip and the information we’d found until I had some rest.
I arrived home safely and made myself a smoothie—that, at least, would fill my stomach and hopefully forego the nausea. In all honesty I couldn't remember the last time I’d eaten. Some mother I was going to be.
That done, I locked the apartment up tight and fell into my bed, hoping to wake up with a clearer head and a way to fix what Skip had ruined. Before I fell asleep I checked my messages. Skip, obviously, had not re-engaged in our earlier text conversation when I’d told him we were finished. Lucky had texted with an admonition to get something to eat and rest; that we could ‘take down the world’ when I was more fresh. He also reminded me to ‘make an appointment with an obstetrician, for god’s sake.’
It brought a small smile to my lips.
I was about to put my phone down when the screen lit with a message from Derek:
Thank you for coming to see me. Our conversation certainly cleared some confusion. I can’t say I know what this means for us, but at least I understand what transpired.
My heart sank, but it was fair. Although it wasn't my words that hurt Derek, it was my world, and my responsibility. What’s more, he’d gone years without somebody. He took a risk with me and it blew up almost overnight. Tears filled my eyes but remained unshed.
I turned my phone off without answering, then promptly fell asleep.
***
It was way past nine when I woke up, but that was fine. My line of work held odd hours and I wasn't sorry. I spent an hour completing my morning ritual—shower, smoothie, half-caf coffee—and by the end of it I felt like I had some perspective on my next steps. If I was right about Skip and Rashid, they would try to pounce on Derek when they hoped he was weak. If I played along until my next column came out on Thursday, I could beat Skip at his own game… but he had to believe that he’d won.
As I dressed for work I texted Derek, opting to ignore his comments about our relationship which was, at best, on the back burner until our current mess was over.
I suspect you’ll get another mysterious phone call this week. Play along with him. Tell him that you’re shattered from the article and you’re ready to deal. Keep me updated.
Denise. Are you serious?
Trust me, Derek. If we play this right it’ll be over on Thursday when my next column comes out.
What are you going to do?
Win, of course.
Be careful, Denise.
***
On the train ride into town, I called Lucky and told him my plan. He was thrilled and started the process on his end. I would need my allies—which at that point was quite a short list—on deck to play their parts and pull their own strings. Lucky, with his youth, wide social circle, and sexy grin, was well-connected all over the office. Plus, I trusted him completely.
At the office I took the stairs, my hands clutching a full water bottle and my messenger bag. With a pang of irony I noted that the pregnancy had turned me into a kind of conventional health nut. For medical reasons it was currently necessary to be that way, but I vowed to myself that when the kid was born I was going to be as wild and adventurous as I could.
With a deep, bracing breath, I walked onto my floor and was immediately assaulted by the sound and scent of the paper. Although I was questioning my current position and employer, the lure of journalism would never leave me. The Trib and I may be finished, but the country was large and full of newspapers.
It was this truth that accompanied me straight down the hall to Skip’s office. I had to both pretend to put up a small fight, but also feign defeat. If I didn't mention it he would be suspicious, therefore I had to play both angles to his satisfaction. Luckily, Skip was an egoist; he was already certain he’d won.
That rat bastard.
He sat at his desk, gleefully wearing a smug expression. The office was absent of any evidence that Lucky and I had been there. After taking photos of everything incriminating on both of our phones, then immediately downloading them to Lucky’s cloud on his laptop, we’d replaced the ledger beneath the rug and even wiped away possible fingerprints. It had felt very CIA, and for a while we’d felt very badass.
But now, in Skip’s office, I felt how precarious our situation was and let the worry show on my face.
“Come now, doll,” he waved me in to the empty seat. “It’s not that bad.”
I sat and crossed my ankles, letting my eyes fall into my lap. “You totally used me, Skip. You wanted one thing out of me but took the lie. Why would you lie?”
A bark of a laugh escaped his mouth and I met his eyes, which were malicious. “Denise, you’re a great reporter. You’re quick and tenacious and have a way with people. But you’re still green, sweetheart. There’s being a reporter, and then there’s running a paper. Do you know how much press we got from that article on your sweet doctor? Shit! It was like we broke Watergate all over again. Hell, I love the paper business.”
“But, Skip, most of what you wrote isn't even true!” I protested.
“Who the hell cares? It mostly asked questions. Questions which, I may add, you should have been asking,” he said with his long finger jabbed in my direction, “but you got all dewy-eyed about his dead wife and his great honor. You lost the meat of the story, Willard, so I had to find it for you.”
“The meat is that he’s a good man,” I insisted.
“So what?” Skip laughed. “The Trib poked holes in that theory, so now we get to follow up, ask more questions, and drag this out for another month, which will sell more papers. Selling papers, kid. It’s what we do.”
I rose from my chair. “Well, I’m not writing anything else on him.”
He waved a bony hand at me. “No, you’re not. As far as the doctor is concerned, you've exhausted your usefulness. I'll send Danny after him.”
“You can’t do this!” I stomped my foot for good measure. The indignation wasn't completely an act; only the submissiveness was.
“It’s done, kid. Now be a good girl and run along. Lucky!” he bellowed. Somehow, Lucky was nearby and appeared in the doorway within seconds.
“Yeah, boss?” he asked. I gave him a passing glance, as if we hadn't been creeping through that very doorway twelve hours before. Lucky, for his part, didn't even meet my eyes.
“Take Denise down to the financial district to get some shots of that tax lawyer that’s running for office. Make her comfortable, you know. Smile at her. Do whatever it is you do.”
“Sure, boss,” Lucky nodded, and was gone as quickly as he appeared.
Skip rose from his
chair and stared down at me. “Listen, Willard. I know you’re mad. Doctor Do-Good sucked you in, and I pulled you out because you were ineffective. Yes, I did it behind your back. Yes, we printed something sensational to sell more papers. It’s business. Time to get back to it, kid. Are you going to cause me problems over this?” His gray eyebrows knit together over his cold eyes as he regarded me sternly, like a father.
My response had to be the perfect mix of resigned, but still feisty. I crossed my arms over my chest. “No, sir. By all means, send me where I’m the most effective.”
His head tipped back and he guffawed. Perfect. “God love you, Denise. Now get out of here.”
Derek
I awoke in my own bed to the sound of my cell phone buzzing. In some difficult-to-understand twist, my conversation with Denise yielded a calm drive home and a full night’s sleep, which was the exact opposite of what one would expect.
The message exchange with Denise was enlightening. To have even a five-minute conversation with whomever Rashid had hired to strong-arm me made me sick to the stomach, but if she was positive that playing along for a few days would turn out in our favor, I would give it a try for her sake. In truth, as much as it stung to see my name dragged through the mud, I had more sympathy for Denise who’d basically been used by her boss. The lowlife had actually written an article and pasted her name to it, if she was to be believed. Wasn’t that illegal somehow? When this was over, however it ended, she was going to need some amount of career evaluation or at least a transition to a new publication, if not a new city.
A new city?
As much as I still rejected the possibility of being with her again, the thought of her being anywhere but near me was hurtful. I shoved it out my mind and readied myself for work.
The anticipated phone call came almost the second I walked into my office on the 8th floor. There was a slim fifteen minutes for me to check the experiments before going down to the 6th floor for a full day of patient care. I had just set my bag on my desk when the nondescript office phone rang. Since almost nobody ever used that phone line, I knew who it was.