Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Hurrying to her boss’s office for the noon meeting, on his command, Charline felt her heart pound like a bullfrog too high in her chest—almost in her throat.
She forced some deep breaths and scolded herself to calm down.
Hogarth had insisted on a face-to-face meeting for her to explain her so-called solution.
In spite of Hogarth’s skepticism, this was a good thing.
Trent Lockheed was exactly what they needed.
It would work out. As long as they could keep it confidential. A secret.
So far there were only three people who knew about John Doe: Football Guy, her old college pal Ralph Nunley, and herself. She wished like hell she could keep it from Hogarth—he would be the fourth person to know.
Damn. She couldn’t let Hogarth in on it.
Unsure whether she could pull it off, she needed to at least try to keep John Doe’s true identity a secret.
She would need to manage his participation without her boss knowing about it.
That meant she couldn’t tell him Trent was the generous donor either.
As long as Hogarth let her run the drug trial without interference, there would be no problem.
Once she reached his office she slowed down automatically, reluctant to go through the door.
It was lunch hour, but there were plenty of people about and she nodded at the receptionist in his outer office as she stood on the threshold.
Then she walked straight through. She rapped lightly on his office door and entered without waiting.
With his back to her, he stood at the large window watching the Charles River below.
No way she would sit if he wasn’t. He turned and nodded. She dived in without preamble.
“I have a financial donor—an anonymous one.” She didn’t tell Hogarth that the donor would be a John Doe for the clinical trials—assuming he was physically qualified.
The fact that he was a professional athlete was too controversial, so she had to keep his identity a secret.
She winced inside at the lie. She hadn’t confirmed Trent Lockheed’s participation yet, but she was betting the odds that Football Guy would be qualified.
And that he would therefore donate a hefty sum.
She wasn’t as sure about the second part. The crucial part.
Hogarth turned toward her. This was not her finest hour. But she needed to commit to throwing the notion of fine, noble intentions out the window. She had thrown them out the window five short days ago, hadn’t she?
“Are you sure this donor doesn’t mind being anonymous? And that they don’t know what they’re donating money for?”
“Yes, I’m sure. The anonymous donor will never know what the funds are for.” Lie number two.
“How much will this anonymous person donate?”
“Ten million dollars.” Lie number three. But maybe not—if she could convince Trent. She held her breath and waited needlessly for her boss to be impressed or pleased or at least relieved.
He was none of the above. He was his usual tense blank wall.
Hogarth had been running the research department robotically for two years now and his inflexible rules and intolerance of new ideas had taken hold of the staff like an epidemic.
She longed to inject a cure—to upset things to upset people.
A little hysteria would be preferable to the inhuman nature of their so-called social environment.
Even the occasional jokes made were mechanical, predictable, and stilted.
“You’re taking a risk with the university’s reputation. This is controversial research, not only for the use of embryonic stem cell cultures, but also for the development of your serum. It is construed by many to be the ultimate performance-enhancing drug, ripe for misuse by professional athletes.”
“That’s not what EM-HGH-1 is being developed for. That would be a side benefit at most. It’s meant to be a healing drug of unprecedented power for the aging and those with chronic debilitating diseases.” And you know that.
One of these days she’d tell him what she thought, stand up to him. Not today. She was on the fringe between success and failure. She needed to solve her immediate problem so that the research could continue before she indulged in pushing back at Hogarth.
“Be that as it may, we need this research to remain unbiased and untainted by commercial influence. You’re sure that your donor will have no influence and will be willing to remain anonymous?”
“Absolutely certain. Ten million dollars will be more than enough to buy the supply of embryonic stem cell culture called for in the research protocol. Otherwise we’d need a substitute and be forced to start all over at ground zero.”
She reminded him that the cost of the stem cells had skyrocketed with a sudden market shortage that hadn’t been foreseen by anyone.
“Fine. Accept the donation. I’ll present the check to the treasurer and request that your research project be given fifty percent of the funds. Do you have the check now?” He raised his brows.
“No.” Of course not. She held her temper. “I’ll have it soon.” Lie number four. Damn. She’d have to ask Football Guy for the money tomorrow. She hoped to God that he had that kind of money immediately available.
Shoving that concern aside, she asked, “Why only fifty percent of the funds? Where will the rest go?”
“Your project was supposed to have already been fully funded. I’ll need a reason—an excuse to request millions more in funds to be funneled to your research project.”
“Our research project. The university’s research project. Tell them the truth,” she said, knowing it was the wrong thing but needing to challenge him.
He nodded and frowned. “There is a tremendous amount of money already invested and considerable notoriety at stake. We’ve all gone out on a limb with your research protocol—with the new form of HGH using embryonic stem cells—against tremendous academic pressure.
I know the naysayers don’t have all the facts we do—they don’t know your special formula or process.
“But you’re aware this research is still extremely controversial even within our own small circle of insiders.
So I can’t very well tell them that the budget shortfall is because the cost of the controversial ingredient has skyrocketed.
” He paused and raised his hand to his forehead as if extracting information from his memory with his fingertips.
“That reminds me—we have a holiday soiree with the trustees on Saturday night and I expect you to attend and be charming and optimistic. I’m sure you can manage that.
” He gave her a pointed look. “And bring a date—someone reputable who will lend you credibility. I don’t want people to assume you are socially inept or that you are kept in a work dungeon 24/7.
Do you date anyone? Never mind.” He waved his hand.
She felt her blood pressure rise and her cheeks redden with more anger than embarrassment.
“Don’t you worry about my love life.”
“Well—there have been rumors . . .” He paused and waited for her to ask.
She knew about the rumors, but even if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have asked.
Her only real sin was avoidance of any work-related social settings.
She was a big believer in keeping her work and social lives separate.
He hated that, but not for any benevolent reason.
He wanted to know his staff so he could better control them and keep them under his thumb.
He waved his hand again, no doubt sensing she wasn’t going to respond.
“Never mind—where was I? Oh yes, I’ll need to give the committee a good reason for requesting additional funding—something that will not upset them.” He stood motionless, waiting.
“You can tell them about the . . . spillage. The accidental loss of several tubes of serum that I reported last week.”
“Hardly a non-upsetting reason. They’ll think you’re careless.” He raised a brow. “How about if I tell them there was a theft?”
Her heart leapt and pounded. She pressed herself into calm. “If you do that, there will be questions and a call for an investigation. News about the spillage would be less alarming. A certain amount of waste is perfectly normal—”
“I’m sure I can convince them that an investigation would be ill-advised. This is a very confidential research protocol. It would be risky to call attention to it with a police investigation—and especially risky to call attention to the specific drug we’re testing.”
“If you reported a theft of a top-secret research drug to the trustees, don’t you think they would at least insist on an internal investigation?” She practically held her breath.
He nodded his head. “It would be best.”
“Best? How so? You said yourself—”
“To clear you.” He didn’t look away but he sat down, resting his elbows on the empty desktop with his fingers tented in front of him.
Translating his words into reality as if he’d been talking Greek, she stared mute and suspended. Then she realized what he meant—or could he possibly mean it?
“What are you saying?” The quaver in her words surprised her. She blinked as if she could readjust the scene or replay it to where she lost sense of what it was all about.
“I’m saying there will be a question as to whether you stole the lost serum no matter what excuse you give for the shortage.”
“What? That’s crazy—why should there be such a question?” She was truly surprised that he’d jumped to the accusation of theft.
He paused and studied her, looked down and then up again as if he were pained by his next words, but she was convinced he didn’t have a sincere bone in his body.
He was as soulless a man as she’d ever met.
His ambition and power-lust ruled him and although he might be considered a brilliant scientist, he had no compassion; he seemed to flat-out dislike people.
He didn’t relate to them, as if they were all pawns to him.
At least Football Guy had a soul in spite of his ambition.
She didn’t know how she knew that or why she cared enough to think the comparison.
But the phone line had crackled with Football Guy’s genuine emotion.
It had excited her, if she was honest. She pushed her hair aside, annoyed at the train of thought and impatient for Hogarth to answer her.
This was one time she’d need to hold her tongue, though.
His move was next in this chess match, but she gave in.
“Well? Why would you—or anyone—think such a thing?”
He spoke quietly. “I know about your mother’s illness.”