Chapter 68 - 67 The Candidates
EMILY
Staring at a pair of leather gloves shouldn’t make a highly trained security expert look like he just saw a ghost.
So I inspect the gloves for almost five minutes before I finally see a name engraved on the inside of the gloves.
*Adolf*
I run my fingers over the name, and for the first time since I was gifted the gloves, I can see the intricate details and the craftsmanship.
"Who is Adolf?" I ask.
I run my bandaged thumb over the sleek, black lizard skin again. I don’t know much about guns or gloves, but even I can tell this is good work. The material is incredibly soft but feels entirely indestructible.
Leo shifts his weight. His broad shoulders tense visibly under his dark suit jacket. "Adolf is a legendary equipment designer in the Etrand Empire. His custom gear is completely priceless. It rarely hits the open market. A single pistol crafted by Adolf recently fetched tens of millions at a private auction."
I drop the gloves onto the metal table. The soft leather makes a quiet slapping sound against the steel. "Tens of millions? For a piece of metal?"
"It is not just metal," Leo says. He picks up the left glove with absolute reverence. "It is unparalleled reliability. It is absolute precision and perfect concealability. You have never faced a true life-or-death situation, Emily. You cannot fully grasp the value of gear that guarantees your survival."
I look at the dark scales. My raw palms throb beneath the thick white gauze. "I suppose that makes sense."
Leo traces the invisible black stitching along the wrist hem. "I am genuinely shocked Mr. Wolfe knows him. Adolf is a phantom. He does not take custom orders from civilians. No one knows what he looks like, and no one has ever met him."
I pick the right glove back up. "Alistair is a billionaire. Powerful men share powerful, secretive friends. It seems perfectly normal to me."
"Perhaps." Leo folds his hands behind his back. He stands perfectly straight as if remembering that he’s supposed to be composed. "But Mr. Wolfe’s relationship with Adolf is clearly no ordinary one. Those gloves are a masterpiece."
I stare at the black leather. These are far too valuable for my clumsy target practice. One wrong move and I could ruin millions of dollars’ worth of craftsmanship. I slide them back into the matte black paper bag.
Leo’s phone starts beeping, and he takes it out. He looks at the screen and then slides the phone into his pocket. "Miss Emily, it is time for lunch," Leo says. “Mr. Wolfe has ordered that you don’t miss a meal. It’s important for both you and the baby.” He gestures toward the concrete stairs leading up to the main house.
I nod. "I need to wash up anyway."
I walk up the stairs and return to my sprawling bedroom. The thick carpet muffles my footsteps. I open the bottom drawer of my mahogany nightstand. I carefully place the black paper bag inside and push the drawer shut. I will return them to Alistair tonight. I can easily order a cheap, twenty-dollar pair of tactical gloves online later this afternoon.
My phone rings. The bright screen illuminates the dark wood of the nightstand. The caller ID displays an unknown local number. My heart skips for a second. With all the things that have been happening around me, I don’t see a call from an unknown number as a good sign. I look at the screen for a long time and try to calm myself down. I’m getting stronger now, and I need to be brave.
I swipe the screen and press the cold device to my ear. I don’t say anything and wait for the person on the other side to speak first.
"Miss Vance," a rough, grating voice says.
It is Silas Hunt. His tone is completely different from our encounter in the restaurant. He sounds incredibly fawning and desperate. The fake sweetness makes my skin crawl.
"Speak," I say. I keep my voice completely flat.
"I have the medical files ready," Silas says. "I just need you to forward my mother’s records to Dr. Aris. I can email them to you right now."
"Send the file to this number," I reply. "Do not call me again."
I pull the phone away from my ear and hit the red end button. A PDF document arrives in my messages three seconds later. I immediately forward the attachment to Dr. Aris.
I dial the doctor’s direct line. He answers on the very first ring.
"Emily," Dr. Aris says. His voice is practically vibrating with energy. "I received the files. I will review them shortly. But more importantly, we have incredible news regarding SN1818."
Once again, my heart jumps, but this time, in a good way. I feel the flutter of excitement from my chest to my stomach, and I press my lips together. "What happened?" I sit down on the edge of the plush mattress.
"I released the news of the collaboration," Dr. Aris says. I hear the sounds of papers rustling loudly in the background. "After that, and as expected for such an innovative invention, hundreds of pharmaceutical companies came knocking on our door after the news. The interest is absolutely astronomical."
“Hundreds of companies?” I ask just to be sure I heard him well.
“Yes,” Dr. Aris confirms. “Hundreds of companies.”
I grip the phone tightly. Hundreds of companies, I repeat in my head.
The sheer commercial value of my formula is staggering. I knew it was good, but this level of immediate demand is overwhelming.
"I have already shortlisted five highly qualified companies," Dr. Aris continues. "We need to meet and discuss the detailed equity terms. Are you available tonight?"
"I have evening training," I say. I refuse to compromise my self-defense schedule. "Can we do tomorrow evening?"
"Tomorrow evening is perfect," Dr. Aris agrees. "Let us meet again at Bordeaux 101."
My wallet aches at the mere mention of the luxury restaurant. I just borrowed a million dollars from Alistair. I really do not want to spend another fortune on fancy dinner plates. But I need to meet with Dr. Aris, and if that’s where he wants to meet, I have no choice. I swallow my hesitation.
"Alright," I say. "I will be there."
"Excellent," Dr. Aris says. "I want you to look into two specific candidates before we meet. One is the Shaw Group. The other is the Thorne family."
The air completely leaves my lungs.
"Thorne?" I ask. My voice drops to a quiet whisper.
"Yes, the Thorne Medical Corporation," Dr. Aris says. "They made a very aggressive initial offer. I will bring their prospectus tomorrow. See you then."
The line goes dead. I stare at the dark phone screen. Thorne. As in Julian Thorne’s family. Why are the Thornes trying to buy my formula? The irony is completely sickening.
CHLOE
The Vance family living room looks exactly like a war zone.
Shattered porcelain covers the expensive Persian rug. The custom velvet sofa is slashed to ribbons. Yellow stuffing spills out onto the floor. I sit on a broken dining chair and wipe my wet cheeks with a tissue. My expensive mascara is completely ruined, leaving dark streaks down my face.
Julian Thorne stands in the center of the absolute wreckage. He wears a meticulously tailored navy suit. His dark hair is perfectly styled. He looks entirely out of place amidst the garbage and broken furniture.
"Silas Hunt did this," I cry. I point a shaking finger at the smashed flat-screen television. "He trashed our home. He assaulted my parents. He humiliated me in front of the entire neighborhood. And it is all Emily’s fault."
Julian steps over a broken crystal vase. The glass crunches loudly under his polished leather shoes. He does not offer me a hug. He does not comfort me. His brown eyes are completely cold and calculating.
"How did Emily manage to offend Silas Hunt?" Julian asks. His voice is sharp.
"I don’t know," I sniffle. I cross my arms over my chest. "It was probably her new husband. That stupid, cheap bodyguard she married caused all this trouble. He probably picked a fight with Silas to act tough."
Julian adjusts his silk tie. He looks at the ruined room with absolute disdain. "Emily brought this upon herself. She chose to associate with low-class thugs. She is paying the price for her own poor decisions."
A warm wave of smug satisfaction washes over me. Julian hates her just as much as I do. I will definitely exact my revenge on Emily for this absolute disaster. She ruined my home. I will ruin her life.
"We have more pressing matters," Julian says. He pulls a sleek silver tablet from his leather briefcase. He taps the screen twice. "I need your assistance, Chloe."
"Anything," I say. I sit up straighter and wipe the last tear from my chin.
"A mysterious developer named Dr. Grayson just successfully created a revolutionary cardiac drug," Julian explains. He turns the tablet around to show me a dense medical document. "It is called SN1818. Dr. Aris is currently seeking a collaborative partner for the patent. I intend to secure that partnership for the Thorne family."
I look at the complex chemical diagrams on the screen. It looks like complete gibberish to me. "How can I help you with a medical patent?"
Julian smirks. It is a predatory, ambitious expression. "Dr. Aris is incredibly protective of his associates. No one knows who this developer really is. You are going to help me find out exactly who this Dr. Grayson is. Once I have the developer’s true identity, I can bypass the bidding war entirely and force a private negotiation."