Chapter Eighteen #2
“As you are all aware, Rafiq introduced the topic of tissue development to this Society,” Comerford began. “However, his theories held dozens of holes.”
Kalila prickled at the comment. Pressing her mouth into a straight line, she waited for Comerford to continue.
“Those holes have finally been filled.”
Kalila’s mouth fell open. “What?”
“Filled?” Oliver said at the same time.
“By none other than Mr. Andrew Jennings.”
A hush fell over the room. Comerford, who appeared to have been expecting applause, sniffed in disdain.
Dunn was the first to break the silence. “Is that not Rafiq’s work?”
“Science is about building upon each other’s foundations,” Comerford said. “Rafiq’s name will be on the paper, naturally, but we must give credit where it’s due.”
Kalila shivered as a wave of nausea crashed over her.
Neither she nor Oliver had thought that Jennings might try to steal her work.
There was no greater sin for a scientist to commit, and it was therefore not one that happened often.
It went against everything researchers stood for, and it most especially went against their unspoken dedication to integrity.
Or so she had thought.
“I’ll leave the paper at the front for any interested parties,” Comerford said. “The rest of the day, however, should be dedicated to your projects. You may take advantage of—”
He continued to speak, but Kalila stopped listening as soon as her gaze settled on the pile of papers that sat at the front desk.
She knew. Knew that the paper was different enough from her other ones, knew that was why Jennings had so shamelessly passed it off as his own.
She’d put her heart and soul into her rewrites and—
Almost tripping as she shot off her stool, Kalila darted to the front of the room and began to rifle through the papers.
All hers. The new diagrams. The additional pages. All transcribed in Jennings’s spidery scrawl—something she hadn’t noticed earlier.
The snake.
“It seems you’ll be published yet,” Comerford said from behind her.
“Sir,” she said, her voice distant to her own ears, “you can’t. That is, Jennings didn’t—he can’t have—”
“I had no idea the two of you intended on collaborating,” Comerford interrupted, clearly not listening.
“We weren’t.”
“Frankly, I didn’t even know Jennings was interested in your theories,” Comerford continued, ignoring her. “He seems to have a knack for it.”
“It’s my paper, sir,” Kalila interjected. “All of it.”
“The bones are yours, my boy,” Comerford soothed. “And that is something to be proud of.”
“How strange that you should take an interest in tissue development,” Kalila said to Jennings who, predictably, had seated himself as close to Comerford as possible.
“I didn’t think I’d be published so soon,” Jennings responded, all innocence. “Indeed, I have much thanks to give to Mr. Comerford. His guidance is unmatched.”
“I didn’t think you were this pathetic, Jennings.”
Oliver had approached, a frown marring his perfect features.
“Booth!” Comerford scolded. “I will not have members of my Society addressing each other with such disrespect.”
“For God’s sake—” Oliver growled.
“This is the best possible outcome,” Comerford insisted. “Collaboration is what keeps a Society standing.”
“But—” Kalila attempted.
“If this is about a first author credit,” Comerford said, “we can discuss it later. In the meantime, I’ll ask you to return to your seats.”
“Sir—”
Comerford shot Oliver a look Kalila could not decipher. “Booth.”
Just like that, Kalila saw Oliver back down, his shoulders slumping in a gesture of defeat.
What was that?
“Why won’t he listen?” Kalila whispered as she and Oliver retreated to the back of the room.
“He’s stubborn.” Oliver propped himself on a stool. “It’s almost impossible to change his mind.”
“What can we do?”
Oliver sighed, his composure unnerving. “I don’t know. I didn’t think Jennings would sink so low. Comerford will want proof, and—”
And God knows where the original is, she thought, feeling tears threaten.
“I think I’ll leave,” she said, knowing she was minutes from dissolving into sobs. “I’ll find you at Rosewood later.”
“Kal—Rafiq,” Oliver said gently. “If you’ll only give me some time, I’ll—”
“I know,” Kalila said, forcing the words out. “I know. But I need to be alone.”
He stared at her for a moment before nodding. “As you wish.”
As Kalila made her way down the hall, only one thought echoed in her head, repeating in an incessant beat.
I should never have come here.
*
Oliver knocked at the door of the townhouse, shivering in the drizzle that had begun to fall. Kalila had not come to find him at Rosewood.
It hadn’t surprised him, given how upset she’d been.
He knew she was angry at Jennings and Comerford, and rightfully so.
But whether she was angry with him remained to be seen.
He likely deserved to have a bit of fury thrown his way, if only because he had, for the umpteenth time, been unable to stand up to Comerford.
What is wrong with me? Why can’t I just—