Chapter 82 - 81 Despair Is A Luxury
Despair is a luxury I simply cannot afford.
I stand in the crowded, noisy lobby of Bordeaux 101. The thick smell of expensive floral perfume and roasted garlic makes my stomach turn. I stare at Julian. He looks completely defeated. His usually immaculate burgundy suit is wrinkled at the elbows. His dark brown hair falls messily across his pale forehead. He just told me Victor Sterling secured the SN1818 patent.
He looks ready to give up entirely. I refuse to let that happen. Professor Chase promised me a smooth path to power. I am not walking away from this building empty-handed.
"Victor Sterling is a dead man walking," I say. I keep my voice low and sharp.
Julian blinks slowly. His dark eyes look vacant and exhausted. "What are you talking about?"
"Sterling Pharmaceuticals is a sinking ship," I continue. I tap my sharp red acrylic nail against his chest to wake him up. "Victor Sterling has a massive, highly public grudge against the Monroe family. He picked a fight with a titan."
Julian frowns. The information slowly penetrates his panic.
"The Monroes control everything in the Republic," I remind him. "They control commerce, politics, and the military. If Dr. Aris actually knew about this feud, they would never sign a contract with Victor. No intelligent medical developer wants to anger the Monroe family. It is complete corporate suicide."
Julian straightens his posture. A small spark of hope returns to his expression. "Dr. Aris is still upstairs. But we can’t get past the guards. The entire second floor is locked down for VIPs."
I reach into my expensive leather clutch. My fingers brush against my lipstick tube before finding the cold, heavy metal. I pull out a matte black VIP access card. The gold lettering catches the light from the crystal chandeliers overhead.
"Professor Chase gave me his personal pass for networking emergencies," I say. A triumphant smile touches my lips. "This is an emergency."
We walk briskly past the waiting crowds. We approach the thick velvet ropes blocking the spiral staircase and the private elevator. Two massive security guards step into our path.
I hold up the black metal card. The guard on the left inspects the gold lettering. He nods respectfully and steps aside immediately. He presses a button on the wall, summoning the panoramic glass elevator.
We step inside the glass box. The doors slide shut. We ascend quickly to the second floor. The neon city lights of Asuir stretch out below us, painting the dark streets in bright reds and blues. The elevator stops with a soft ping.
The doors open. The second floor is incredibly quiet. The air feels heavy with wealth and exclusivity.
I scan the long, opulent corridor. My eyes lock onto a familiar figure sitting on a plush velvet bench near a massive glass window.
Emily.
She wears a crisp white silk blouse under an expensive looking black blazer. Her dark hair falls smoothly over her shoulders. Her hands are wrapped in thick white medical bandages. She stares out at the city skyline. She looks completely relaxed. She looks like she belongs here.
Pure, toxic anger boils in my throat. My pathetic stepsister is sitting in a VIP lounge while I fight for my life in the lobby. I want to march over there. I want to grab her by the hair and drag her back to the gutter where she truly belongs.
I force myself to look away. I inhale a deep breath. I have a billion dollar pharmaceutical patent to steal. I can deal with Emily later.
"Look," Julian whispers. He grabs my elbow and points down a side hallway.
I follow his gaze. Dr. Aris stands near a decorative marble pedestal. He is chatting amiably with a frail, elderly man. The old man wears a shapeless, faded gray outfit. A plastic nametag hangs crookedly on his chest pocket. He looks incredibly plain and entirely out of place in this luxury restaurant.
My mind races. A brilliant, eccentric medical developer hiding in plain sight. It makes perfect sense. Geniuses always dress terribly. They despise formal corporate culture. That plain old man must be the legendary Dr. Grayson.
Dr. Aris pats the old man on the shoulder. He turns around and starts walking directly toward our position.
"Hide," I order.
I grab Julian by his lapels. I yank him behind a massive mahogany storage shelf filled with dusty wine bottles. We press our backs against the flocked silk wallpaper. We hold absolutely still. Dr. Aris walks past our hiding spot. He does not look in our direction. His wooden cane clicks rhythmically against the floorboards until the sound fades completely into the distance.
I step out from behind the shelf. I smooth the tight fabric of my red dress. I check my reflection in the dark glass of a wine bottle.
"Let’s go introduce ourselves to Dr. Grayson," I say.
**EMILY**
I sit on the velvet bench near the panoramic window. The thick glass is cool against my shoulder. I wait patiently for Dr. Aris to prepare the private room. He is currently setting up the space for my highly unconventional meeting with Victor Sterling. I need to test Victor’s emotional control before I sign any binding contracts.
A sudden flash of bright red fabric catches my attention.
I turn my head. Chloe and Julian sneak out from behind a tall mahogany wine rack down the main corridor. Chloe wears her ridiculous, skin tight red designer dress. Julian trails closely behind her in his rumpled burgundy suit. They move with panicked, rushed energy.
They are definitely not supposed to be on the second floor. The security guards downstairs turned Julian away explicitly earlier this evening. They must have stolen or borrowed a VIP card to bypass the checkpoint.
They scurry down the hallway like two desperate rats looking for a piece of cheese.
Curiosity completely overrides my desire to sit still and wait. I stand up. I smooth the wrinkles from my black trousers. I walk quietly down the corridor. I keep a safe distance between us. The thick carpet absorbs the heavy sound of my polished leather boots.
I stop near the edge of the wine rack they just abandoned. I peek around the polished wood.
Chloe and Julian corner an elderly man against the wall. I recognize the man instantly. He is wearing the standard faded gray maintenance uniform of the Bordeaux 101 cleaning staff. A plastic nametag sits on his chest. He holds a damp white terrycloth rag in his wrinkled hands. Even from a distance, I can practically smell the faint scent of industrial lemon bleach.
Julian bows his head slightly. He straightens his spine and puts on his most respectful, charming corporate voice.
"Dr. Grayson," Julian says warmly. "It is an absolute privilege to finally make your acquaintance. Professor Chase speaks highly of your genius."
I freeze completely.
I stare at the bizarre scene unfolding twenty feet away. My brain struggles to process the sheer magnitude of their stupidity.
They think the restroom janitor is me.
They actually believe a man holding a damp cleaning rag is the creator of the SN1818 cardiovascular formula. They saw Dr. Aris treating a staff member with basic human decency, and their greedy minds immediately invented a wild fantasy.
The old man blinks. He looks absolutely terrified by the intense, aggressive attention from these two wealthy strangers. He clutches the rag to his chest and takes a tiny step backward.
I cross my arms over my chest. I lean my sore right shoulder gently against the mahogany wine rack. A slow, genuine smile spreads across my face.
I have a private meeting with a powerful corporate executive in five minutes. I need to go test Victor Sterling. But this specific situation is simply too magnificent to ignore. I cannot walk away from this level of self inflicted humiliation.
I decide to stay right here in the shadows. I am going to watch the entire show.