8. Profit from Sick People
8
Profit from Sick People
From Barry Wright’s manifesto:
Vaccines are made of pathogens, which are basically diseases. Some of them will make you sick within days, and others lie waiting inside you for years. The pharmaceutical industry invented vaccines to make people sick so they can sell more drugs.
TESSA
W hen Oliver strolled into the lab at 9:30 a.m., I almost cracked a joke about his tardiness. He was so cautious that he might have turned his car around to get his umbrella and raincoat despite the morning sunshine. But I stopped when I clocked his expression. It was serious, like always, but the determined set of his jaw and the thoughtful, almost peaceful, softness in his eyes as he shrugged into his white coat halted my retort.
Carly had told me he went back East for Thanksgiving. He must have had a pleasant, relaxing weekend with his perfect family.
I hadn’t had one of those since before my mother died, though my long weekend was better than usual. For once, I had human company, even if Savannah spent most of it crying in my spare bedroom.
His peaceful determination didn’t waver as he found me there. It was almost like he expected to see me in the space he’d made clear was his, not mine. Turning my back, I accepted the tablet Huong handed me and scanned the simulation results. I knew I was adding value here in the lab. Why did I care what snooty Oliver thought?
The scent of his aftershave gave me a second’s warning before he spoke behind me. “Tessa, could I talk with you for a minute?”
I held in a sigh. I’d misinterpreted his expression. Clearly, he’d come back from the holiday weekend ready to pick another fight.
“These are great results. Thanks for walking me through it,” I said to Huong. “Let’s talk again tomorrow.” I handed the tablet back to her. Squaring my shoulders, I nodded at Oliver and followed him to the only private space in the lab, a storage closet-slash-office in the corner. He held the door open, waited for me to enter, and shut us both inside.
There was a window at the far end, half-hidden by a stack of lab supply cartons. On the right side was a desk, but its surface held a dusty centrifuge. Even the chair held a box of pipettes. I tested one of the overloaded metal shelves by pressing a shoulder to it, and when it didn’t give, I leaned against it and crossed my arms over my white coat.
He cleared some binders from a corner of the desk and perched a hip on it. He took off his glasses, wiped them with a cloth he pulled from his shirt pocket, and put them back on. He blinked. His eyes were the color of the blooms on the chicory that grew next to the railroad tracks where Dad and I used to camp.
“Look, Tessa, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot. I’m protective of this lab and this company. I only want it to succeed. Dr. Perrell tells me that you’re the best person to help us get this test out the door.” He swallowed. “I’d like to hit reset on all this. I’m glad you’re here, and I want to work with you on accelerating the development of the test.”
“Wait. What?” I glanced over my shoulder at the box on the shelf. “Does thermostable DNA ligase have psychoactive effects, or did I actually hear you say you want to work together?”
His mouth tightened at the corners. “I said that. Can we agree to cooperate?” He stuck out his hand like we’d shake on it.
I stared at it. “I have conditions.”
He dropped his hand and rubbed it on his trousers. “Conditions?”
I stood straighter. “I promised Maya we’d get this test to clinical trials by early March. To make that date, we’re going to have to take some risks. So, I need you to agree to do that.”
He grimaced like he’d swallowed something bitter. But he nodded. “I will.”
I knew from experience that saying something and following through were two different things. “Promise me. We’re in this together. Equal partners.”
He dipped his chin. “I promise.”
“Okay, then. Over the weekend, I optimized your test simulation code so it runs forty percent faster. If we use it, we’ll be able to slam through the computer simulations by the end of next week. Since people in this lab apparently only take instructions from you, I need you to tell them to use only the new simulation program. Okay?”
He winced like I’d asked him to cross I-280 during rush hour. “You tested the code?”
“Thoroughly. Huong checked it.”
His chest expanded on a big breath, and he sighed. “Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll also tell them your instructions are as valid as mine and they should follow them.”
He’d said all the right words, but I wasn’t sure I believed him. I’d test it the next chance I had. “Okay.”
I didn’t trust him. Despite those irresistibly sad chicory-flower eyes that held mine for a moment before he turned to open the door and those broad shoulders that looked strong enough to carry an entire company, I couldn’t. After everything that went down with Harry, I knew better.