He shuffled into his hotel bathroom and quickly downed his day’s dosage. The stress of dealing with his father’s death and the necessary arrangements—plus being forced into this all-or-nothing decision concerning SomaGene—amplified the daily turmoil in his gut. Like it or not, Crohn’s ruled his life. On his best days, it was an uneasy truce. On his worst days…it took over.
Jeremy headed back to the little desk in the main part of his room. He briefly glanced at the room service menu, then tossed it aside. He was somewhat hungry, but knew from experience that just about anything he’d order right now would create painful repercussions.
Girard wanted his decision by tomorrow. He wished he had more time, but he knew that wouldn’t really make it easier. It would only drag out the process. Just as well he was on a short leash, but he felt so overwhelmed since his initial meeting with Girard.
The SomaGene tour alone boggled his mind. He’d had no idea Ivan had gotten that far in developing autologous organs for transplant—let alone in implementing the stunning anticontamination technology within the facility. He’d not seen anything the likes of that in the second-rate research clinic where he worked. His clinic existed deep in the shadow of the infamous Mayo, and was still in the autoclave days with respect to decontamination. Might as well compare stone tablets to an iPad.
Jeremy had felt uncomfortable with the very concept of generating organs for highly profitable transplants when Ivan first came up with the idea. Now he was profoundly disturbed to see that Ivan had managed to put it into production—and amazingly with few, if any, adverse events. Still, did he want to carry on that sort of work? He shook his head, unsure. He had his misgivings about the ethics and safety, though he had to admit it was a lifesaving technology.
And then there was that house tour. What a ghastly display of overindulgence. He’d need somewhere to live if he came up here, but that! Maybe he could sell it and buy something more in line with his tastes. If he came here.
The other question was whether he was really willing to leave Rochester. Sure, Mayo wasn’t going to hire him anytime soon. He could barely keep up his performance at his second-tier clinic. Damned Crohn’s. It restricted the pace he could keep, the workload he dared tackle. His excessive sick days held him back. But what could he do? The more he took on, the more stress, the more Crohn’s took its toll. There was just no way to win.
And Amanda—still a fresh wound. They’d been together for several years, had even talked off and on about getting married. But, once again, Crohn’s stepped in to ruin his life. She finally got tired of dealing with the regimen and how the disease held him back in his career. He could hardly blame her, but that didn’t make him miss her any less.
Jeremy stared at his cell phone on the desk in front of him. He hadn’t spoken with Amanda for maybe six months—since the day she’d told him she just couldn’t deal with the constant worry of whether their very relationship was harmful to his health. She always seemed to attribute the severity of his symptoms to something she must have done.
He shook his head. Amanda was so wrong. If anything, their relationship helped smooth things out for him emotionally. The real culprit was Ivan and the bad blood between them. He also couldn’t deny that it stung for him to labor at a second-rate research facility when he really wanted to work at the vaunted Mayo Clinic.
Jeremy reached out and rested his hand on the cell phone, hesitant to call Amanda after all this time and after how things had ended between them. Yet he had to talk to someone about his quandary, and there was no one else he would rather talk to than Amanda, no one’s opinion he valued more.
He picked up the phone and hit the speed-dial.
“Hello?”
“Um, hi Amanda. It’s me, Jeremy.”
A long pause. “Hi. I…um…didn’t expect to hear from you.” Another pause. “I heard about your father in the news. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, thanks. I’m up in Minneapolis right now dealing with some things.” Jeremy gave Amanda a summary of the situation and the decision he faced. “Amanda, I know we haven’t spoken in some time, and it’s not fair for me to ask this, but I don’t know who else I trust right now. What do you think?”
“I can’t decide this for you. You must know that.”
“I know it’s not your decision. I just really need to talk to someone who has an independent view of it—someone who also understands the backstory. That’s you. There’s hardly any time left to decide, and there is a lot at stake. You of all people would know why I’d be conflicted about accepting all this from my father.”
“Jeremy, you know you’ve always been the idealist and I’ve always been the pragmatist. You should know what I would say if it were my decision. Take it, run with it—kill it if that’s what you really want. At least you’d be the one deciding, not some third party. You’d have all the options in your control. What do you have right now? A research position in a crappy institution. Sorry to be so blunt, but if you want options, you take this and go from there. Simple as that.”
Jeremy bowed his head and nodded. Amanda always could cut right through the haze. She was right. If he took the reins, he also had the power to kill SomaGene if he decided that was the right thing. Taking the offer really did put him in the best position possible all around.
“You’re right. I hadn’t thought of it that way. Hey, I’m really sorry to have bothered you, but… thank you.”
Feeling incredibly awkward, Jeremy abruptly hung up and made a mental note to call Girard tomorrow with his decision.
CHAPTER 6
Jeremy set the groceries down on the glossy granite countertops in his cavernous new kitchen. Somehow, a couple of bags of groceries for one person appeared lonely and pathetic in all that space.
The move from his Rochester rental to his father’s house had been a pain in the ass, but it was, thankfully, over. He’d integrated his modest belongings into the ostentatious house as best he could manage, and had gracefully severed all of his Rochester ties. Now he’d even fetched his first round of groceries from the nearby Lund’s market. Time to settle in and try to have a halfway restful evening before he faced his first day at SomaGene tomorrow.
Despite being on the brink of taking the reins, Jeremy remained torn about his own intentions and what message he wanted to convey to the staff about those intentions. One side of him relished taking over and controlling SomaGene’s destiny—even if it meant deliberately murdering his father’s creation—and another side of him just didn’t want the burden of assuming that control in the first place.
He shook his head. The hell with tomorrow. Tonight was his final respite before whatever lay before him at SomaGene, so he pushed the topic from his mind and finished putting away the groceries. He searched several cupboards before finding a plate and a wineglass. He had to hunt through several drawers before finding a bottle opener. He opened a bottle of Chardonnay, laid out his store-bought sushi on the plate, then took everything out to the deck.
Jeremy set his dinner down on the patio table and settled into one of the high-backed, padded chairs. He took a deep breath and enjoyed the scent of fresh growth and blooming lilacs. Nothing was more beautiful than an early summer evening in Minnesota. All was green after the interminably long winter, but the mosquitoes and brutal humidity had not yet brought their misery.
He sampled a piece of the sushi—quite good for store-bought. He savored it with a sip of his wine, and listened to the call of a cardinal in one of the nearby trees. He gazed out at his meticulously landscaped yard, and made a mental note to arrange for less frequent service. The evergreens and maples, as well as the various smaller shrubs, looked way too controlled and symmetrical. Trees should be trees, not sculptures. He bit into another piece of sushi.
Inevitably his mind returned to his plans for the next day and his ever-present animosity toward Ivan and everything he stood for. Jeremy liked to plan and control things himself, and not be at the mercy of others. Ivan had forced this s
ituation upon him with the all-or-nothing condition imposed in his bequest—and he resented that, despite his luxurious surroundings and generous inheritance. He didn’t yet know where to begin to manage a company whose business it was to cultivate and implant organs for pay. He had a lot to dig into to even decide how to manage—and whether to kill—this thing his father had created.
But that was something he’d have to face tomorrow.
Jeremy again tried to set it all aside for now, and instead focus on enjoying the rest of the beautiful early summer evening.
CHAPTER 7
Jeremy briefly scanned the roadside portion of the SomaGene campus before turning into the driveway. The lawn was that deep green characteristic of early Minnesota summers. The evergreens had lighter green tips as they took advantage of the warmth to regenerate. And all this was now his.
He drove to the lot in back and parked in his reserved spot. He’d have to change the name on the sign; it still reflected Ivan’s reign. But he didn’t want to change everything. He had decided to keep his Nissan, at least for now. Ivan had left behind his ridiculously huge Escalade, and Jeremy just could not picture himself in such a vehicle. Ever.
Jeremy stepped out of the car, folded his arms, and stood there to take it all in for a moment. He gazed at the exterior of the SomaGene building and marveled at the outer skin. He’d learned that the reason the glass seemed to absorb the light striking it was because it did—and it converted that energy to electricity to supplement the power needed for the facility. The floating Lucite desks and surfaces were suspended by a system of powerful magnets, and that took considerable energy.
He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath to ready himself for whatever lay ahead, then locked the car and approached the building. He stepped inside, again amazed at the atrium and how clean and uncluttered it looked. He’d never seen anything quite like it. He smiled to himself—Ivan had managed to create something grander than even Mayo. He’d give him that. Anxious to get settled in, Jeremy briefly greeted the receptionist and went straight to his office.
As he entered the room for the first time, Jeremy realized he’d be chasing ghosts for a while yet. After all, this had been Ivan’s office, and it showed. He glanced at the walls, festooned with awards, pictures, and various certificates. He’d have to swap those out for his, though that would leave the walls quite a lot emptier.
The desk looked like Ivan had just left it temporarily, which of course he thought he had. In addition to a computer with a flat panel monitor, it held various stacks of papers and periodicals that would take some time to sort through. Some may have been works in progress that would simply die with Ivan; others might be important for Jeremy to digest and take on himself. A brief pain rippled through his abdomen as he considered all the work ahead of him to just pick up where things had left off, let alone set a course for SomaGene and pilot it.
He seated himself behind the desk and prepared to dig in. Where to begin? He glanced at the framed, formal portrait of his mother Anna and Ivan that occupied the left corner of the desk. Jeremy was surprised to see it there, and not just because his mother had been dead for several years now. No, there was a little history before that, when Ivan had flagrantly carried on with whatever young, attractive lab assistant was available at the time. Given his stature in the research world, it was easy for him to find ambitious female assistants who hung on his every word. And he took full advantage of that for years, while Mom did her best to turn a blind eye to it.
She had been beautiful in her day, though in later years the ravages of Crohn’s took a toll on her appearance. Mom had been a student back when Ivan was teaching at the University of Minnesota. To avoid scandal, they’d concealed their relationship for several years, then married right after she graduated. While Ivan went on to fame in his career, she gave birth to Jeremy, and never returned to post-grad work because her Crohn’s began to hold her back. She’d always felt inferior and weak, and so chose to put up with Ivan’s philandering rather than leave him and try to make it on her own.
His mother opened her eyes and blinked a few times. She appeared to be trying to focus them. The scleras were bloodshot and slightly yellow. Her color was terrible. She moved her mouth a little, then moaned softly, wordlessly.
“I’m here, Mom.” Jeremy took her hand as she lay, thin and frail, in the hospital bed.
She closed her eyes again. A tear slipped from the corner of her right eye and trickled down the side of her face. “Ivan,” she whispered.
She lay amidst numerous tubes and wires and monitors in Intensive Care. Her doctor had stopped by a little while ago, and he had no encouraging words to share. Anna had not been careful about staying on the meds to control her Crohn’s and it had viciously attacked a segment of her small intestine. A fistula had formed, and had finally worked its way to the surface of her abdomen. It had set up a raging infection in its path, and the doctor wasn’t certain his mother would withstand it. Not this time.
Jeremy could see right through the doctor’s attempt at a soothing bedside manner. He, too, was a doctor, and he knew how to read between the lines. She likely wouldn’t see another day.
And where was his father?
He’d tried to reach him, but he didn’t pick up his cell and he’d been forced to leave a terse voicemail for him. Supposedly he’d been speaking at yet another conference out in New York, but Jeremy could swear it was supposed to have ended a day or so ago. Yet he hadn’t returned home.
Unfortunately, such a thing was not unusual with Ivan these days. He enjoyed the convention groupies he could garner with his good looks and fame, and he’d become much less fastidious about hiding it.
Bad timing this time with Mom so desperately ill.
Helpless to do much else, Jeremy stared at the monitors and held his mother’s hand as she began to slip into a coma.
Jeremy tucked the picture in a drawer for the time being. He’d never forgiven Ivan for being unreachable when Mom was slipping away. He’d finally showed up at the hospital just minutes before she died. Ivan’s treatment of her was another reason Jeremy had deliberately distanced himself from him. He didn’t want to be reminded of it again now.
He glanced at his watch. Almost time for the kickoff meeting with his senior people, Glen and Tim. Jeremy was grateful to have them. They had been with SomaGene since the beginning, and apparently ran the place while Ivan had been out waxing grand at all the various functions and conferences he attended. They would surely help ease his transition into running the company. Coming from his prior grunt researcher position, this was going to be quite the adjustment for him as it was.
A knock sounded at the door. “Come in.”
Glen and Tim stepped in and took their seats in front of his desk. Glen spoke first. “Welcome to SomaGene. How’s your first day going?”
Jeremy smiled and shook his head. “There is a lot to absorb, that’s for sure.”
“That’s understandable. Let us know how we can help,” said Tim.
“I guess the first thing I want to figure out is where things stand with the…um, cultivation, as you call it.”
Glen waved his hand. “That’s easy. You can pull a computer report from the tracking system that gives all the information you need in real time: client, client’s underlying condition, what organ, what stage of development it’s in, scheduled date for transplant, and more. The development stage data is broken down even further. For example, does the tissue still need to be gathered from the client to start the process, or what development stage is that tissue in, up to when the organ is fully functional and ready for implantation.” He leaned back in his chair.
“That is impressive.”
“We can show you how to run the report whenever you want.” Tim smiled. “It took a while to hone it just so, and it really makes operational tracking pretty effortless. Couple that with the strong demand for the services SomaGene provides, and things nearly run themselves. So, are you planning to perform
implantations?”
“Yes, I plan to. I’d like to assist you in a couple first.”
“Good. We could use the added surgical capacity. As Tim mentioned, business has been very, very good.”
“All right. Well, thank you. This was helpful. I think I’d like to work my way through some of these papers and see if there is anything hiding in there that I need to address.” Jeremy rose and shook hands with Glen and Tim.
After they left, Jeremy took another look at the stacks on his desk and sighed. He admitted to himself he was using the paperwork as a bit of a stall. He still felt uneasy about the ethics of building organs for money for wealthy clients, especially when the uninsured and less well-to-do languished on waiting lists—sometimes for years, sometimes until death—for tissue-matched organs from donors.
CHAPTER 8
He could hear the screeches of assorted lab animals through the walls. He did not know what those noises were, but he knew they were good noises. When he heard them, food soon followed. He had been restless today, climbing up and down the metal rungs placed inside his enclosure so he could get exercise in the confined space. Now he was hungry.
He rose from the padded shelf that served as both bed and seating area and approached the front of his enclosure, where the food came in. Anxious, he paced back and forth, stopping periodically to cling to the cold metal bars and press his face between them, as if that would give him a better view.
But there was nothing to view in the space between the front of his enclosure and the wall through which the White Coats would come. It is the White Coats that brought his food. The White Coats were good.
He paced some more, ignorant of the concept of time, yet very conscious of the tie between the screeching noises and the coming of his food.
The wall opened up, and a White Coat came in.
The Janus Legacy Page 3