Jennifer has to prove that Dr. Fielding funded his biotech firm by dealing in illegally obtained human organs - including her husband's -- for transplant into the bodies of people who could pay almost any price to extend their lives. But that's not the worst of Sherwood Fielding's trangressions against nature, as Jennifer soon finds out.
Working on the cutting edge of a lucrative field like genetics is risky - and Jennifer finds herself in a maelstrom of murder, industrial espionage, deceit and personal betrayal. Embroiled in a plot of unimaginable medical perversion, Jennifer must fight for the truth about the science being done at the firm. Especially as it leads her to the truth of how and why her husband died.
At the Publisher's request, this title is being sold without Digital Rights Management Software (DRM) applied.
Release date:
October 15, 2000
Publisher:
Tom Doherty Associates
Print pages:
304
* BingeBooks earns revenue from qualifying purchases as an Amazon Associate as well as from other retail partners.
CHAPTER
ONE
JENNIFER ROCKHILL CRADLED the phone in the crook of her neck and took a deep, shaky breath before hanging it up. It was done. She'd actually talked to the bastard, had scheduled an interview for next week, on Wednesday.
She grabbed her briefcase, climbed into her car--a little green Volvo that Charlie had bought her just a few days before the accident--and headed for Fresno. She would spend the better part of the next few days at Fresno State University.
In preparation for the interview she'd just scheduled, she had become a self-taught expert on biotechnology. She devoured each issue of Bioworld --the industry newsletter, which was faxed to her daily--and used its articles to cue her on which topics she should master. She'd visited FSU so frequently that the librarian at the med school teased her about becoming a permanent fixture in the dank, clammy building that housed over two hundred thousand volumes of medical journals. It had occupied her time, dominated it, the past six months.
And next week it would all pay off.
She could hardly believe it when, after a half-hour telephone interview with the Director of Human Resources, she'd been put through to Sherwood Fielding.
His voice was exactly as she'd remembered. Cold, formal. Arrogant. Nothing in it hinted that he might have recognized her voice. Of course, they'd only spoken once before, years ago. And she'd been close to hysteria that time.
This time was different. This time she had been calm, rational. In complete control.
She had impressed him, of that she was certain.
"Good biotech attorneys are hard to come by," he'd told her. "Where did you say you've been working?"
"In the technology transfer department at Fresno State," she'd answered. "I handle research and licensing contracts."
It was more a half-truth than an out-and-out lie, but aside from her concern that his uncovering the falsehood could thwart her plans, she had no problem whatsoever lying to this man.
"That's just what we're looking for," Fielding had said. "Someone with experience in the industry. We've had a couple of local employment agencies on this position, but they're totally incompetent. They've been sending us morons. Not one of them could pass the most basic biology exam. We'd just decided to list with a national headhunter. Maybe now, that won't be necessary."
"I'm confident you'll decide not," Jennifer had answered.
"It's a stroke of luck you contacted us," Sherwood Fielding had said to her before hanging up.
"For both of us."
A stroke of luck. As she negotiated the two-laner that connected her hometown of Visalia to Interstate 99, Jennifer had to smile. Luck had nothing to do with it. She'd been waiting, patiently waiting, for this day. It had taken her almost a year to locate him. But the moment she did, the moment she saw his name in an article in the LA Times' science and technology section, her plan had begun taking form. Once she learned where Sherwood Fielding was--in Seattle now, running a biotech company called BioGentech--she knew that with patience, she would find a way to get to him.
J. T. Ryberg had not only helped her find the way, but had paved it for her. An ad in The Hacker Quarterly promising "can penetrate anyone, anywhere" had led Jennifer to J. T.--a former Yahoo! employee who'd seen a brighter future working solo.
J. T. knew his stuff, and with his help, Jennifer was soon reading e-mail generated and received within the confines of the BioGentech building six hundred miles away, in Seattle.
An early memo from Fielding to his vice president of finance had given her the idea.
Review of budget shows excessive outside counsel fees. In-house attorney may be warranted. Let's monitor and evaluate in six months.
Jennifer had put those six months to good use. Her forty-five-mile commutes to Fresno became part of her daily regimen. One day severalmonths earlier, on her way off-campus from the library, she'd noticed the sign that read OFFICE OF TECHNOLOGY TRANSFER. Technology Transfer. She'd noticed that term time and again in Bioworld She'd pulled into the parking lot and gone inside, where she'd introduced herself to one of two overworked staff attorneys.
"I'm a contract attorney interested in going into biotech law," she'd told Grace Bell. "I'll work for nothing. Literally. I just want to get some experience."
It hadn't been an official hire; but Grace knew a good thing when she saw it and soon Jennifer was drafting agreements--the same kind of agreements that a company like BioGentech needed.
Jennifer had continued monitoring BioGentech e-mails. Two weeks earlier she'd read one from Fielding to Carolyn Powell, the human resources person to whom she'd just spoken.
Have one of our local agencies start looking for an in-house contract attorney.
Jennifer was still vascillating about what step to take next when yesterday morning's e-mail from Carolyn to Fielding caused her to catch her breath:
Reminder: another candidate for contract attorney coming in this afternoon.
What if they hired this person? She'd have to start over, come up with another plan.
But Fielding's curt reply, written at the end of the day, placated her.
Don't waste my time with another worthless candidate.
It was time to make her move. Jennifer had picked up the phone, asked for Carolyn Powell, and explained that she was a California attorney about to move to Seattle. Since her background was in biotech, she was calling all the local firms to see if they might be hiring in the near future.
"This is amazing," Carolyn had responded, sounding almost giddy (most likely, thought Jennifer, at the prospect of redeeming herself with her boss). "We happen to be in the interview process at this very moment."
Forty-five minutes later, Jennifer had an appointment to meet with Sherwood Fielding. Next Wednesday, 9:00 A.M. In Seattle.
Now that the wheels had been put in motion, a sense of calm settledover Jennifer. She had a lot to do in the next five days. An airline ticket to buy. Loose ends to tie up for Grace, who--used now to Jennifer's assistance--would undoubtedly fall apart at the prospect of her departure. More studying to do.
Still, as she pulled off Highway 99 at the Fresno State exit, for the first time in three years, Jennifer Rockhill actually felt the tide might be changing; that things might finally be going her way.
HER FLIGHT ARRIVED at six-fifteen on Tuesday evening. Carolyn Powell had arranged for her to stay at the Residence Inn directly across the street from Lake Union. BioGentech's offices, Carolyn told her, were just two blocks north of the hotel.
From her small balcony, Jennifer watched as the lights of the downtown district popped out, accentuating the city's futuristic skyline. She'd heard Seattle was beautiful, but none of the pictures in articles she'd read had succeeded in capturing this. To the south, skyscrapers piercing a velvet sky. Beyond, mythical in proportion, the fading outline of Mount Rainier. Due west, the sun dropping behind the jagged peaks of the Olympic Mountains while in the foreground a lighted ferry streamed across Elliott Bay's black expanse.
After a fitful night's sleep, she got up and showered. Usually she let her thick, shoulder-length hair dry naturally, but on workdays she'd almost always blown it dry to try to tame its mass of chestnut curls and present a more professional image. She'd occasionally wondered if the exotic air lent by her unruly tresses and a narrow, slightly arched nose, both of which she'd inherited from a grandmother who was half Lakota, half Irish, played against her in the whitebread legal world in which she'd worked. Today she couldn't allow that possibility. Looking professional was essential, so she spent a little extra time on it, curling her hair under at its ends with her brush. Long dark lashes eliminated the need for mascara, but applying a touch of coverup to the circles underneath had become part of her daily ritual these past couple years.
She chose a classic navy blue pantsuit for the interview. She still had a closet full of similarly conservative suits from her years with Butera, Jensen, Moe, and O'Connor, where she had worked for six years before Charlie and Stacey's deaths. The size eight she'd worn then hung loose on her frame now. The extra ten pounds that years of twice-weekly aerobics hadn't budged were, now that she no longer cared, long gone. She'd sworn that she'd never put the suits on again. That her loss had robbed her of the resiliency and simple faith in justice that she felt to be absoluteprerequisites to making a living in the spiritually draining legal world. When the insurance money ran out, she'd planned on doing something else, something entirely new. Maybe even going back to school to get a teaching certificate. But that was before she found out about Sherwood Fielding.
At precisely 8:45, she headed out the hotel's front door.
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
