A man with a shock of red hair and heavy dark-framed glasses raised his hand. Quentin nodded toward him, and the man turned to face Caroline. “I’m Dr. Brian Silver and work with Dr. Kleme.” Then he focused on Quentin. “Has the testing been completed to see if her body is strong enough?”
“Dr. Johnson is waiting on results.”
“Good.” The man, who was maybe ten years older than Caroline’s thirty, swiveled toward Dr. Kleme. “Then we have time to do this the right way. There’s no reason to rush before the patient qualifies for the study.”
“I don’t like to wait.” Dr. Kleme crossed his arms. “My son’s death is why I’m here. If we aren’t working to prevent other children dying from acute lymphoblastic leukemia, then I’m done. That’s why our mission statement is posted in every room of this building. After our efforts to narrow the focus on these CAR T therapies, we need to push hard or lose it all. Bethany Anderson will die if we don’t give this a shot. We need to start therapy as soon as we can harvest her cells.”
His words fell with the heaviness of a gauntlet thrown down.
Caroline glanced around the table again, but no one met her gaze. They all seemed inordinately interested in Bethany’s image, the healthier version of the girl. “You can’t rush ahead of the FDA process without breaking the law.” Bending it almost to breaking, at the bare minimum.
“Think of it as giving a little push while saving a life.” The man shrugged, his can-do attitude sounding forced. “And we all know we’ll be in official Stage 2 trials in weeks.”
Or months. That was the thing about trials. Even when everyone was racing to find a common cure, as when COVID-19 had ravaged the world, the FDA approval process took time, and this situation was not as globally dire. If the FDA got wind of this? The company’s application for Stage 2 trials could be placed on hold. Indefinitely.
She hoped no one noticed how her breathing shuddered. Was this the company’s version of hazing the new girl, seeing how far she could be pushed? “I can’t urge you strongly enough. While this might be the right thing to do, it is the wrong way. Again, the long-term consequences with the FDA could be catastrophic.”
Even when the child they wanted to bend the process for was one of Brandon’s.
Dr. Kleme leaned back. “I gave Dr. Johnson permission to harvest the girl’s T cells this morning.”
When Caroline walked out of the meeting thirty minutes later, she felt the weight of the law on her narrow shoulders. No one looked at her or said a word as they filed out and back to their jobs.
She’d never felt so alone. She wanted to tell her colleagues she’d received the message. Speaking up wasn’t permitted, but if silence was what they expected, they’d learn they hired the wrong woman.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she tugged it free as she walked down an empty hallway that she thought led to her office. Her heart lifted when she saw a text from Brandon.
everything okay?
How did he know she needed his balance right now? It will be. Just hard starting a new job.
what else were you going to do?
That question had paralyzed her in the days after Judge Loren died. He’d let her stay years after she could have moved to a major law firm and taken clients of her own. Instead, she’d remained in her clerkship and made the judge her sole client. While the work had been interesting, his death left her stranded.
I don’t know. It’ll be fine. Guess I’m just missing what I lost.
understandable. i’m sorry.
Thanks. Her fingers froze over the screen. You really invested here?
yeah. reid said it would be a good one.
Reid Billings was Brandon’s financial adviser. He was also engaged to one of Caroline’s best friends, Emilie Wesley.
Caroline bit her lower lip as she considered Brandon’s words. She was now an insider and he was an investor who could benefit from anything she shared. Gotta find my office and get through onboarding.
sounds fun. He inserted a smirk emoji. you’ve got this. let them see the amazing intellect housed in the caroline bragg we all know and love.
I’m not all that special.
you are. all that and a bag of cool ranch doritos.
Thanks. She sent him a smiley face she wasn’t really feeling, but if she didn’t, he’d probe. He was good at that. Worming beneath the barricades she’d erected around her life and story. Right now she didn’t have the bandwidth or stamina to banter him back to a safe distance. Not when her heart wondered how to handle the fact that he was an investor in her employer. Their relationship would be fine as long as she didn’t talk about work.
I should be asking how you are.
* * *
Brandon shifted against the uncomfortable hospital chair as he studied his screen. How could he answer? Truthfully, it looked like Virginia wouldn’t apply the new federal foster home law in his favor. Under Family First, group homes could be utilized only for a limited time for kids in crisis. To be compliant, Almost Home would have to become a “qualified residential treatment program” equipped to care for kids who’d experienced trauma—a designation that would exhaust his financial resources and overtake his simple vision for keeping hard-to-place sibling groups together. If he didn’t comply, he’d lose state funds. The possibility that Almost Home might be shut down kept him up nights.
As for Bethany, he was over his head providing what the terribly sick girl needed. Gabriel begged to see her each time he saw Brandon, but seeing her like this couldn’t be a good idea, even if he could sneak the boy into her room. Putting Bethany in the trial felt overwhelming. Anna told him they had started harvesting Bethany’s T cells that morning, but that was only the first step. Now the girl was wiped out and napping.
He didn’t like feeling small and out of control.
Hated it.
Telling Caroline would only make it more real.
He glanced at the girl in the hospital bed and started typing words that maybe he’d come to believe if he said them often enough.
never better
She hated when he didn’t use capital letters and punctuation. That little act of rebellion made him grin.
Brandon . . .
She thought she knew what he was going through, but he’d held back. Their relationship was young. She didn’t know what it was like to watch someone die. Someone who was weak and needed a champion to fight for them. He’d done this before when his mom had wasted away, and then he’d been separated from his brother and lost in the cracks. He’d mentioned it to Caroline, but sympathizing wasn’t the same as living it.
He was an adult now. He could make sure no one disappeared like he had.
That was his role for every child who lived at Almost Home. And especially this girl.
He hadn’t looked for it, but it had come anyway. He’d barely been home in the last few days. It didn’t matter that Tara, Bethany’s caseworker, said it wasn’t his job to spend hours at the hospital. He couldn’t leave Bethany alone, not when there were house parents at Almost Home to manage the other kids’ day-to-day needs. They had a schedule and a plan they followed.
How’s Bethany?
alive. they started the harvest this morning, hope it’s the right step
The words were terse, but it was all he could manage.
Praying for wisdom for her doctors and healing for her. Do you need anything?
wisdom of solomon
Then I’ll pray for that too.
Brandon slid his phone into his pocket, then leaned forward and put his head in his hands. He should pray. It felt too small, even though he knew simple prayers could move big mountains. God, would You do it this time?
There was a knock on the door, and he looked up as Anna entered. In her white lab coat she was all experienced doctor, not the scrawny preteen cousin who’d yelled when he tugged her braids at family dinners before her dad’s military career moved the family to Japan. Now she stood in front of him and studied him as if
he were the patient.
“Your patient is there.” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder toward Bethany’s bed.
“I’m concerned about you right now.” She stepped closer and brushed hair from his eyes as if she would read his mind. “I wish I knew what happened the years we were apart.”
“I was fine.”
“I almost believe you.”
He glanced away. “Bethany’s the one who needs your skill.”
“Yes, but I’m concerned about you.”
“You can stop talking about me.” Bethany’s voice pulled Brandon’s attention to her. She swallowed. “Can I have the remote?”
He gave it to her, then returned his attention to Anna, who’d stepped to the computer in the corner of the room and started tapping on the keyboard. Then she gestured for him to follow her to the hallway. She eased the door shut behind them. When she spoke, she kept her words soft.
“The T-cell retrieval went well, and they’re on the way to Praecursoria. I’ve got one more person at the state who has to authorize her for the study, and as soon as we have the approval, and her test results, we can start the process.” Her shoulders slumped and she looked exhausted. “I’ve almost got the hospital committed to covering the costs of her care.”
“Thank you, Anna. What can I do to help?”
“Stay well.” She looked back at the room. “You’re the closest thing she has to a caring, stable adult. If you get sick, she’ll be alone.”
“You’ll be here.” She couldn’t place all of this on him.
“Yes, but I’m managing multiple patients. You have her.”
And another thirty-five kids back at Almost Home, spread among the six cabins. “I’ll do what she needs.”
“I know you will.” Sorrow filled her eyes as she watched him. “It’s not good, Brandon. I’ll fight hard for her, but there are no guarantees. Even if we can get her in, the therapy is experimental and risky.”
“Tell me the name of it again?” He pulled out his phone to take a note, but she held up a hand.
“Don’t, Brandon. Don’t research it. Not until we know if that’s the path we’re taking.”
“All right.” He slid it back to his pocket. “But tell me—cart something?”
“CAR T-cell therapy.”
She might think he was acquiescing, but he’d investigate as soon as she was gone.
Anna might be the doctor, but he was Bethany’s foster parent.
He stared at the patent application.
His name wasn’t on it.
He flashed hot then cold then back to hot. He’d been promised by his boss—and her boss—that he would reap the benefit of his labor. The long nights and never-ending hours in the lab babysitting the cells. Making sure they responded as expected. He’d done it for months, all on a handshake.
In the end, he was the one who’d identified the magic cells.
She’d promised he would be included. She said she’d taken care of it.
What a fool he’d been! He knew better. Had seen Jackson do this sort of thing since their fraternity days at Mississippi State. Brotherhood didn’t matter to Jackson any more than his word. His mistake was expecting more out of his supervisor.
Now he’d right this wrong.
He could take what he knew to a competitor.
No. That wasn’t a heavy enough penalty, not when Praecursoria could net millions on his technology anyway.
It was nice that Jackson was ready to use it on a dying kid or two. But this was about more than saving lives.
This was about integrity. And this was the breach that went too far. He’d given up too much to take it without a word. The challenge would be how to make it matter. Raise the stakes so he could get Jackson’s attention and make sure he realized he was paying for broken promises.
Punishment without awareness was ineffective.
He was nothing if not effective.
And Jackson would experience that firsthand.
An idea came to him and he smiled. It would start now.
Chapter 4
Thursday, April 22
Caroline stood outside the door to the large conference room at Praecursoria. Was her new job going to involve frequent all-call meetings? She’d spent an extra half hour in the building the prior night, learning to navigate the halls, but she needed to spend her time reviewing what the company had in the works, not getting lost on her way to more meetings. This morning she’d found herself in the lab wing before she made her way back to the public-facing areas.
About forty people had already congregated for the meeting, and the staff chatted like an excited group of high school friends who’d known each other forever and were reconnecting after summer break.
She hesitated in the hallway. No one noticed her as they brushed past to join the others inside. That was fine—she wasn’t ready to meet the large group despite her usually extroverted nature. When she’d worked for the judge, he’d had a secretary and two other clerks. Serving as his permanent clerk had put her on a trajectory different from the others’. She was perennial, staying year after year, older than the one-year clerks. They hadn’t cared that she graduated from law school only a few years before them. She was the ancient one who couldn’t possibly understand their lives and struggles.
Now she felt her newness and the fact she wasn’t a scientist.
The energy was heavy and intense. In the judge’s chambers she could spend hours, head down, reading and analyzing cases and briefs. Here her door was to stay open unless a sensitive conversation required a closed door. At least she had a door. Many of her colleagues worked in open labs or pod-type spaces.
Snippets of conversation flowed around her.
A woman wearing a lab coat walked toward the conference room with a bald colleague. “Can you believe it, Justin?” she asked him. She swiped a tissue under her eyes.
He shook his head and stroked his goatee. “She was so excited Monday. Kept saying they’d found miracle cells.”
“Like HeLa?” The woman snorted. “I heard that rumor. I don’t think that’s likely. Those were one-in-a-trillion kind of cells.”
“Maybe you’re right, Lori, but Sarah wouldn’t have talked about it if she wasn’t sure.”
“Unless she told you something she didn’t tell the rest of us, it was just talk. The kind that is optimistic but unfruitful in the end.”
“Maybe.” The man shrugged and moved on, ending the conversation.
“You coming in?”
The words startled Caroline. “Dr. Johnson?”
The woman’s smile reached her eyes as she held out her hand. “It’s good to see you again. Please, call me Anna. You don’t want to be late to a meeting Quentin calls. He can be late, but you can’t. Fortunately, I don’t work for him anymore. At least not directly.” She led the way through the door. “How do you like being the new attorney?”
“I thought I was the first.”
“Quentin probably likes to forget about the first, since he only lasted a couple weeks.”
Caroline frowned at the information. “Any idea why?”
“I heard he found different work.” The woman shrugged as she rubbed her stomach. “Praecursoria isn’t for everyone. It’s basically a start-up, which can be too chaotic for some.”
“I don’t have that luxury.” Caroline slapped her hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
Anna laughed, and the sound burbled from her soul. “You did, but it will be our secret. Let’s grab lunch soon when I’m out this direction. You do get lunch, right?”
“I’d enjoy that. How’s Bethany?”
Anna sighed as she slid between a couple of people. “Her case is a hard one. Sit with me during the meeting. Depending on how long it runs, we’ll grab that first lunch today.”
“Sounds good.” Caroline followed Anna toward some vacant seats and smiled as the woman introduced Caroline to everyone they passed.
The fact Anna had worked for the
company before medical school was evident in how well known she was by the staff. Anna was chatting with a researcher when the meeting kicked off with housekeeping details. Then Chief Scientist Samson Kleme stood. He ran through some jargon and Caroline took detailed notes. She had the ability to understand the science behind Praecursoria’s research if she gave it her full mental engagement. If not, the words flowed over her like water on an otter’s coat.
“First let me address a rumor. Sarah Hill died last night at Arlington Hospital.” The tall man bowed his head as he shoved his hands into the pockets of the white lab coat he wore over khakis and a button-down. “She was an important part of our team and will be missed, but we will work to quickly replace her so the work continues.
“Sarah led cutting-edge work on adult stem cells that showed promise and progress while also overseeing the CAR T trials. Brian Silver worked closely with her and will ensure the work she began continues.” Dr. Kleme gestured toward Anna. “Dr. Anna Johnson has agreed to serve as lead research physician on our latest CAR T-cell therapy trial. Please give her your full cooperation, as she is critical to the next step in this protocol.”
There was applause, and Caroline used it to lean closer to Anna. “Congrats.”
“Condolences would be better.” A troubled furrow marred her expression.
“Why?”
“Sarah’s death makes the process more difficult. She was a gifted scientist. In the best of times, these applications and trials can become quagmires it’s impossible to escape. Now?” She forced a smile to her glossed lips. “I’m here today for the announcement. After this you’ll find me at the hospital maintaining a professional distance.”
Caroline sensed something was going on, but this wasn’t the time to dig deeper.
Dr. Kleme continued. “The research we’re doing in CAR T is why this company exists the way it does today. We’ve put all of our resources into this area and are close to a breakthrough. This is it.” He swallowed hard. “I could tell you the future success of our company depends on CAR T cells, but you each know it’s more than that. You understand how intensely personal this quest is for me. Ten years ago my son lay dying in the hospital, and I was desperate. My little boy couldn’t die.” He looked down and seemed to gather himself. “But he did, and I vowed to do everything to ensure that doesn’t happen to other families.” His pause stretched uncomfortable seconds.
Lethal Intent Page 3