Chapter 6
The sun had long since dipped below the Seattle skyline, casting the glass towers in hues of deep indigo and neon violet. Most of the researchers on the fourteenth floor had already packed up their laptops and headed home, leaving behind only the rhythmic hum of automated cooling systems and the soft clicking of keyboards.
Clara remained at her workstation, her eyes bloodshot from hours of staring at fluorescent microscopy feeds. She was halfway through annotating a complex genetic sequence when the soft chime of the laboratory's security airlock echoed through the quiet space.
She looked up. Standing on the other side of the reinforced glass partition was not a researcher, nor was it a security guard. It was Marcus. He wore his charcoal wool coat unbuttoned, looking distinctly out of place amidst the sterile, high-tech environment.
Clara pressed the intercom button. “Uncle Marcus. How did you get past reception?”
“I told security I was your legal counsel,” Marcus said through the speaker, offering a weary, half-hearted smile. “Which, technically, I still am until the probate court finalizes the receivership.”
Clara buzzed him through. The glass door hissed open, and Marcus stepped inside, casting an appreciative glance around the gleaming laboratory before pulling up a stool next to her desk.
“You look like you haven’t slept in forty-eight hours,” Marcus observed, handing her a takeout paper bag containing a lukewarm chicken sandwich and a bottle of sparkling water.
“I’m fine,” Clara said, automatically pushing the food away to focus on her screen. “We’re mapping the enzyme stability threshold. If we miss the window by even a fraction of a millisecond, the entire synthetic protein degrades into useless amino acids.”
“Eat the sandwich, Clara,” Marcus said gently, his voice carrying an authority that brooked no argument. “Your father is falling apart, and you need your strength for what’s coming next.”
Clara paused, her hands hovering over the keyboard. She slowly turned to face her uncle, her expression hardening. “What is he doing now?”
“What he always does when he’s cornered: he’s looking for someone else to blame,” Marcus replied, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “He spent the entire afternoon trying to convince the board of directors that you stole proprietary research data from his private collection to secure this job at Calder Biotech.”
Clara let out a short, cold breath that sounded almost like a laugh. “My private collection? Everything I researched was funded by university grants and public domain data. He doesn’t even know what a nucleotide is.”
“It doesn’t matter what he knows,” Marcus warned seriously. “Julian has friends in high places—old-school investors who still believe a father owns his children’s output. He’s planning to file a civil suit for intellectual property theft to tie you up in court until you’re forced to settle.”
“Let him try,” Clara said, her voice dropping an octave, carrying an intensity that made the air in the room feel heavy. “Every financial transaction, every forged document, every penny he stole from my trust fund is documented in the federal audit you and I compiled. If he steps foot in a courtroom, I’ll make sure the judge sees the entire ledger.”
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Marcus looked at his niece, seeing not a terrified twenty-two-year-old girl, but a woman forged in the fires of betrayal and absolute resolve. He placed a reassuring hand over hers. “Just be careful, Clara. A cornered animal doesn't care who it bites on the way down.”
***
