Chapter 3
THE ORIGIN OF MOLECULAR BIOLOGY
*Samantha*
Three days after my conversation with Diya, I sat across from Dr. Hauser in her office.
One of the admin assistants had made us hot tea and had been overly solicitous regarding every aspect of the brewing process.
Was tap water okay? Organic peppermint or English peppermint?
Leaves or bag? Teacup or mug? Cream or milk?
Vegan or dairy? Sugar or zero-calorie sweetener?
I hadn’t been asked so many questions since my graduate school interview.
Dr. Hauser sat at her desk. She wore her favorite black turtleneck, which I took as a good sign. Usually, she was in a good mood if she wore the black turtleneck and I had a favor to ask, a big one.
She looked up at me from the folder she’d been reading when I walked in, eyes tired but sharp. “Thanks for taking the time to meet with me today.”
“Of course. Is this about the samples I ran over the weekend?”
“No. This is actually about a decision that was made by the department.” Folding her hands on top of the folder, she leaned forward. “At the last small faculty meeting, the dean asked me if it would be possible to fast-track your dissertation, Sam.”
She said it like she was dropping a granite block onto my head, but with a professional kindness that told me she knew exactly how heavy it was.
I blinked. “I see . . .” It was not what I expected, and my face must have gone slack because she half smiled.
The last few weeks at work had been progressively weirder since I came back from winter break.
The Monday after New Year’s, when I’d first shown up in the fourth-floor biology suite, I’d thought I could slip in and out of the cold room with my trays of samples like any normal anonymous grad student.
I could not. Every office and common area was wired with a low-grade current of gossip, and the second my coat brushed a doorknob, the energy shifted.
Hushed voices would drop a register, eyes would find sudden interest in the ceiling tiles, and there would be a measurable dip in the ambient oxygen content until I passed.
At first, I’d attributed this to the fact that everyone had read about Oskar Kristiansen’s will in the news.
The fact that I’d inherited fully fifty percent of Genetix—a publicly traded company—was big financial news all on its own.
However, by week two, it was clear the story most people cared about was whether my engagement to Andreas Kristiansen had been fake, and specifically why we’d faked it, and when I’d been adopted by someone two years younger than me.
But no one ever asked me directly. Not even Dmitry, who, if anything, was even more chill than before. He didn’t seem at all surprised when I’d told him, and had taken it in stride. But he did voice mild disappointment that he wouldn’t get a chance to play chess with Andreas.
The secret truth was that most people in science can only handle gossip in microdoses, like a vitamin supplement.
When exposed to the full blast of a tabloid-style scandal, they responded the way bacteria do when you set the temperature to four degrees kelvin.
They grouped together, barely moved, and slowed their metabolic rate.
So, when Dr. Hauser delivered this news about my dissertation, I shouldn’t have been shocked, but I was. The idea of being “fast-tracked” out of grad school sounded less like a gift and more like being loaded onto a rocket and aimed at the sun.
I tried to smile. “Is this . . . something the department wants, or—”
Hauser cut me off, her voice businesslike but not unkind. “The news of your—uh—change in circumstances and all the media attention surrounding it has made it clear that giving you more time to work on your dissertation is what would be best for the department.”
I let that land, then asked, “Best for the department, or best for the donors?” I regretted it instantly, but the words were out, and I saw a ghost of approval in her eyes.
She shrugged. “Genetix is a major partner of the university, Sam. You are now—or are very soon to be—its main shareholder. Please don’t make me spell it out.”
We exchanged a smile, brittle but real.
Dr. Hauser leaned back in her chair. “Not that you asked, but I also think it’s for the best. The sooner you graduate, the sooner things can get back to normal around here.”
I nodded, trying not to dwell on the word normal. It had lost all meaning for me.
Hauser moved her cup of tea aside to read from a sticky note she’d placed on top of a folder. “From now on until you finish, you’ll have dedicated lab space and the dean has requisitioned an office for you to use. Likewise, you won’t have any more TA duties.”
I felt my stomach drop. The TA gig wasn’t glamorous, but it meant contact with other humans and access to the always-warm lecture halls, which I’d come to love. Plus, grading undergrads’ attempts at explaining the cell cycle was free comedy.
“But what about the support work for publications?” I asked, voice almost desperate. “Will I still be allowed to help with those?”
Hauser tilted her head, considering. “Of course, if you want. We just don’t want to overwhelm you with obligations.”
“I do want.” I know I sounded eager. “I honestly love research and I’d be very disappointed if I was cut out of publication and grants support.”
She smiled again, this time wider, almost proud. “Then I’ll keep sending you tasks for our ongoing projects. But mainly, you need to be focused on finishing your dissertation with an eye toward graduating at the end of the summer, at the latest.”
My head spun, but I nodded. In the context of my new life, this actually felt like a reasonable request.
Hauser set her hands flat on the desk. “Okay, I have a call coming up this afternoon I need to prepare for. Is there anything else?”
I hesitated, but then recalled what Diya had said to me three days ago. People who like you want to help you. Ask for more favors.
“Actually, yes.” I gathered a deep breath for courage. “I have a favor to ask. I know this is a big ask. I’ve wanted to broach a topic with you for a while—for the last week or so—but I wasn’t sure how to bring it up.”
She did not break eye contact. “What is it?”
I exhaled. “The two eldest Kristiansen brothers are challenging the will and my inheritance of the shares that have been held in trust since my father died.”
She blinked, absorbing. “Are you saying the shares you inherited actually belonged to your late father? You told me that your father and the late Mr. Kristiansen were business partners, but I didn’t realize the shares you inherited were your father’s.”
“Yeah.” I tried to figure out how to explain without using a ton of legal speak.
“It’s a very long story. But, the short version is that my father and Oskar Kristiansen founded Genetix together, and part of the initial incorporation documents stipulated that if either of the founding members were to undergo a felony criminal investigation related to the company, the shares held by that member would be placed in a trust until after the member was found not guilty or the member was convicted.
If convicted, the shares would stay in the trust and could only be inherited after the death of the other member.
So, not sold or traded, used for collateral, or voted. ”
Hauser nodded, her brain already several moves ahead. “I think I follow. So, basically, when your father was indicted for fraud relating to Genetix over fifteen years ago, his shares went into a trust? But your father was indicted, never convicted. How did the shares end up with Oskar Kristiansen?”
“After my father died, the government obviously couldn’t move forward with a conviction. So, Oskar Kristiansen filed a civil lawsuit and gained control of the trust—the shares—that way, on the grounds of the indictment and charges filed.”
“Ah. I see . . .” Dr. Hauser nodded, and I saw her brain work through the implications of this. “Forgive me, but didn’t your mother also pass soon after?”
“Correct.” I found myself sitting up straighter.
Her eyes narrowed. “But Oskar Kristiansen couldn’t sell the shares, or trade them, or otherwise touch them. He could only designate who inherited them upon his death. Do I have that right?”
“Also correct,” I said. “This is not an unusual practice in corporate partnerships. It’s meant to discourage one founding member from falsely accusing another member, because what would be gained if the shares can’t be touched or used?
But it also keeps company shares with the founders and their families. ”
Hauser’s lips pursed, a sign that she was intrigued. “That’s interesting. So, what’s your big ask?”
“As I said, Oskar Kristiansen’s two eldest children are contesting the will, which means, for at least the short term, I need to nominate a proxy to vote the shares on my behalf.
They can’t be sold, transferred, or traded until the will issue is resolved.
But they can be voted.” Glancing down at my hands, I swallowed.
“I’m hoping you will agree to be my voting proxy for the shares.
Or at least allow me to nominate you as my proxy to the board.
They’re meeting at the end of the month. ”
I peeked at her. Hauser sat back, hands flat on her desk, blinking twice. She didn’t speak for a full ten seconds, which felt like an eternity.
“This is—what you’re asking, this is a big responsibility,” she said at last, her voice even. “Not that I’m ungrateful, but . . . are you sure I’m the right person?”
I nodded, maybe too fast. “I trust you. You have my respect and I consider you one of the most honorable individuals I’ve ever met.
And it shouldn’t take too much of your time.
There are no major issues coming up in front of the board for at least six months.
You would just need to attend the meetings. ”