Chapter 8
Three days later, Dalton Kelley was at a dead end. He had deployed all the resources of Kelley Capital, and he couldn't find a single trace of "Alyssa Clarke." It was as if she had never existed.
He'd shown the note she'd left to a dozen of the world's top geneticists. They all came back with the same conclusion: the formulas on the page were a work of genius, a theoretical framework for a cure that was years ahead of current science.
Dalton's regret was a physical weight in his chest. He grew colder, more withdrawn, his infamous temper shortening by the hour.
Meanwhile, in her lab, Alyssa was analyzing the genetic data she had surreptitiously collected from her brief contact with Tansy, using it to refine the Sentinel-7 formula.
A call came in from Helena. A reminder about an important event that evening.
The host was Victor Lowell, a major defense contractor and one of Alyssa's key business partners. He had long been eager to meet the mysterious "Dr. Clarke" in person. Alyssa agreed to attend; one of Lowell's projects would be useful for her research.
That evening, Alyssa appeared at a charity gala held at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art.
She wore no gown. Instead, she was dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, her long hair pulled back in a high, severe ponytail. Her aura was sharp and cold. She was unrecognizable from the girl in the hoodie.
Her arrival turned heads.
Victor Lowell himself met her at the entrance, his attitude one of deep respect. "Dr. Clarke, it is an honor to have you here."
"Mr. Lowell," Alyssa said, shaking his hand.
Their interaction was noted by many. Whispers spread through the room as people wondered who this young woman was, to be treated with such deference by a titan of the defense industry.
Across the hall, Dalton Kelley stood with a drink in his hand, his mind a million miles away. He was here out of obligation, his mood foul.
His eyes swept absently across the room, and then they froze.
He saw her. The woman who had haunted his thoughts for three days.
The clothes, the hair, the entire presence was different, but he would never forget that face, or those cold, intelligent eyes.
She was standing with Victor Lowell, looking completely at ease.
Dalton's heart gave a hard thump against his ribs. He started walking toward her, moving with a purpose that made his business partners fall silent.
Alyssa felt his gaze on her, a tangible heat. She turned her head slightly and saw him approaching.
A flicker of understanding crossed her face, but she gave no other sign of recognition, turning back to her conversation with Lowell.
Dalton stopped in front of her, his tall frame casting a shadow over her.
Victor Lowell looked surprised. "Kelley? What brings you over here?"
Dalton's eyes were locked on Alyssa. He spoke, his voice tight with a dozen suppressed emotions. "Miss Clarke. Can we talk?"
The air around them grew still. Everyone was watching.
Alyssa picked up a glass of champagne from a passing tray. She swirled the liquid, watching the bubbles rise. She said nothing.
Her silence was a louder rejection than any word could have been. It was a feeling Dalton Kelley, a man who moved markets with a single phone call, had never experienced before.
Just as the tension became unbearable, the lights in the ballroom dimmed. A spotlight hit the stage. The emcee announced the arrival of a guest of honor.
Flanked by his family, Cassius Summers walked slowly into the room. Dalton barely noticed. He was too focused on the woman in front of him, completely unaware that a storm of violence was about to break, aimed squarely at the old man who had just taken the stage.
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