"Then you know he lost his federal funding at Stanford a few years back, when he was at a critical stage of his research using stem cells. That's when he came to the Man and persuaded him to put up the money to help him take everything private. The only way Bartlett would play ball was if he could buy the Gerex Corporation and get three‑quarter interest in all the patents. Van de Vliet kept the other quarter, but now they're both hoping to sell off forty‑nine percent to a big pharmaceutical company. Not American. I can't tell you any more than that."
"Congratulations," she said. "Sounds like your job is secure."
"Yeah, right."
That twitch of nonchalance he had when something really mattered—even as a child he would attempt (and fail) trying not to gloat over some personal success. It was moments like this when she realized she'd missed seeing him and talking to him. When you cut a family member off from you, you also cut yourself off from them. After all, he was her closest blood kin, even though he was an unreconstructed shit. At some level she wished she could get past the bitterness she felt toward him. Could it be he really had changed?
He didn't like the way the scene was going. What the hell was her problem? He looked at his scotch longingly, then got up and went to the kitchen and got another ice cube for it.
Go easy.
How was he going to get through to her? If word of the Beta screw‑up got out, the buyout was toast and Grant Hampton along with it. But if Ally could be brought in . . .
"Grant," she was saying, "I want to start off by asking you if you've ever taken a really good look at that guy Karl Van de Vliet. Does he look anything like his picture? The one that came with that CV of his."
"Sure, that's him."
"And I assume you've actually read his resume?"