Chapter 8
Idella didn’t answer the phone that kept ringing nonstop. It wasn’t until the noises in the hallway faded away that the phone finally stopped ringing.
Idella, with her tired and aching body, climbed down the forty-two floors of stairs again, arriving at the underground parking lot. She locked herself into the cold interior of her Toyota. Once again, the same phone number called. She stared at the vibrating phone in her hand.
She swiped the green button. "Hello?"
"Idella Humphrey," a deep, professional male voice with a crisp California accent came through the speaker. He didn't ask; he stated her name as a fact.
"Who is this?" Idella asked, her voice raspy, her guard instantly up.
"My name is Chester Booker. I am a senior partner and executive headhunter at Aethelred Biotechnology in Silicon Valley."
Idella frowned, her grip on the steering wheel tightening. "How did you get this private number? I'm not looking for solicitations right now."
Booker let out a low, smooth chuckle. "I know you're not. I also know that just this afternoon, you faced some incredibly unjust treatment at the Fitzgerald Group headquarters and were forced to sign a resignation letter."
Cold sweat broke out on the back of Idella's neck. "Who are you? Did Fount send you to mock me?"
"Mr. Fitzgerald is a fool, and Aethelred considers him a primary market adversary," Booker said, his tone turning dead serious. "We are interested in your brain, Ms. Humphrey. Specifically, your early research on targeted molecular binding."
Idella froze.
"I am officially offering you the position of Chief Research Scientist at Aethelred," Booker continued seamlessly. "With an immediate, upfront signing bonus of five million dollars."
The number hit Idella's brain like a physical shockwave. Five million dollars.
"Why?" Idella demanded, the scientist in her refusing to believe in miracles. "I have no patents to my name anymore. Fount took them. Why would you bet five million on a disgraced researcher?"
There was a one-second pause on the line.
"Because our CEO, Elliott Fleming, has been following your independent publications for years," Booker replied smoothly. "He believes Fitzgerald was suppressing your true potential."
Idella's breath caught. Elliott Fleming. The ruthless, reclusive billionaire known in Wall Street and Silicon Valley as "The Executioner." Why would a man like that know she existed?
"I know about your mother, Loretta," Booker added gently. "I know she needs two million dollars for the Mayo Clinic by tomorrow."
Before Idella could panic, her phone buzzed against her ear. She pulled it away and looked at the screen.
It was an automated email from the Mayo Clinic Financial Department.
Subject: Payment Confirmation. Deposit of $2,000,000.00 received. Patient Loretta Humphrey cleared for immediate surgery.
Idella stared at the green text. Her vision blurred. The crushing weight that had been suffocating her for the past twenty-four hours vanished in an instant.
She pressed the phone back to her ear, tears of pure, overwhelming relief spilling down her cheeks.
"Thank you," she choked out, her voice breaking. "I'll sign whatever you want. I'll work for you for the rest of my life."
"Just bring your brilliant mind to San Francisco on Monday," Booker said, his voice softening. "And Ms. Humphrey? Before you leave Chicago, make sure you take out the trash."
The line clicked dead.
Two thousand miles away, in the penthouse office of Aethelred Headquarters in San Francisco, Chester Booker lowered his cell phone.
He turned toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. Standing there, looking out over the fog-covered bay, was a towering man in a bespoke charcoal suit.
"It's done, Mr. Fleming," Booker said respectfully. "The funds are transferred. She accepted."
Elliott Fleming didn't turn around. He held an unlit cigarette between his long fingers. The reflection in the glass showed a jawline carved from granite and eyes that burned with a terrifying, cold fury.
In his other hand, Elliott crushed a printed report detailing the events at the Fitzgerald estate pool earlier that day.
"Have legal prepare the patent infringement lawsuits against Fitzgerald Group," Elliott ordered, his voice a low, lethal rumble. "I want them bleeding by Tuesday."
Back in Chicago, Idella wiped her eyes. She turned the key in the ignition. The Toyota roared to life.
She shifted the car into drive. Her mother was safe. She had the backing of the most powerful company on the West Coast.
She wasn't running away anymore. She was going back upstairs to HR.
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