Chapter 159
No.1
August ignored Alastair's jab. He had the checkmate move, the eight-figure donation sitting on the antique desk. He was in control.
He pushed the portfolio across the polished wood toward Dr. Blevins. "That money, Doctor, will fund your research for the next decade. No strings attached."
Dr. Blevins didn't even glance at it. His cold, blue eyes were fixed on August. "You're lying, Mr.Chambers. There are always strings. State your terms."
August smiled, a thin, self-satisfied curve of his lips.He glanced at Allena, who preened under his gaze."My terms are simple. In addition to accepting the donation, I would like you to appoint Dr. Mills here as a Special Appointed Fellow in your research institute."
No.2
The audacity of the request hung in the air. Alastair let out a short, sharp bark of derisive laughter.
A "special fellow"? Allena Mills? A woman whose most significant contribution to science was a plagiarized article? It was a grotesque insult to everything the man, and the institution, stood for.
Dr. Blevins didn't get angry. He became unnervingly calm. He walked behind his desk, sat down, and picked up a heavy fountain pen, turning it over and over in his long, elegant fingers.
He looked at August as one might look at a particularly ignorant child. "Mr. Chambers, do you know the last time I appointed a Special Fellow?"
No.3
August said nothing.
"It was seven years ago," Dr. Blevins continued,his voice soft and precise. "The appointment went to a young woman who, in less than two years,completely redesigned the algorithmic model for genomic sequencing. Her name was Faye."
The name dropped into the room like a grenade.
August's smile froze. The color drained from Allena's face.
No.4
Dr. Blevins's gaze shifted to Allena, and it was
withering. "Dr. Mills, I took the liberty of reading your paper in The Lancet. I was particularly fascinated by your conclusions regarding the antagonistic properties of the neuropeptide Y receptor. Perhaps you could elaborate on the mnethodology that led you to a result that contradicts every other piece of published research on the subject?"
He had asked her a direct, highly technical question about her own supposed work.
A deep, blotchy red flush crept up Allena's neck. She opened her mouth, then closed it. She stammered,unable to form a single coherent syllable.
No.5
August tried to intervene. "Dr. Blevins, we're not here for an academic debate-"
"In my house," Dr. Blevins's voice rose, sharp as a whip, "we are only here for an academic debate!"
He stood up, his tall frame radiating pure, undiluted authority. He walked around the desk and pointed a trembling finger at the donation pledge.
"Your money means nothing to me. And my laboratory will not be turned into a brothel for the intellectually bankrupt."
No.6
He picked up the leather portfolio. And with slow,deliberate movements, he tore it in half.
The sound of tearing paper was the only thing in the silent room.
August's face was a mask of thunderous, humiliated rage. Allena looked as if she was about to burst into tears.Alastair was enjoying the show immensely.
The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on.
No.7
And then, from somewhere outside, came a new sound.
The high,piercing wail of a small child crying.
In the conservatory, Elisa's blood ran cold. Kayden.She had been so focused on the confrontation, she hadn't noticed her daughter slip out the side door.
In the library, August heard the cry and felt a strange,inexplicable pang in his chest. He turned instinctively toward the sound, his face a mixture of confusion and a dawning, terrible suspicion.