Berger got up, wiped his hands on a handkerchief. “You two burst into my office, making all sorts of ridiculous claims, holding up generic data charts—”

“They’re not generic. Come take a look for yourself.” Oliver proffered Berger the results.

Berger hesitated, then snatched the papers and skimmed them. He held them aloft. “Where’d you get hold of these?”

Though he hated to admit it—even to himself—the sentiment was there: God bless Farrell. Oliver said, “None of your business.”

“This is confidential information,” Berger said. “There is no way you could have gotten this unless you did something illegal. I could have your badges for this.”

Oliver grinned. “I don’t think so.”

Again, Berger looked at the papers. “For all I know, you could have made up some numbers—”

“We got the numbers directly from the FDA,” Oliver interrupted. “That can be verified.”

“So…Reggie doctored the data. I’m not surprised. He’s a worm. And to tell you the truth, I’m not sorry he’s dead.”

“And why would he doctor data?”

“I guess we’ll never know. Now get out of here with your horrid slander. Because we all know that both of you two aren’t capable of understanding any results, let alone interpreting them properly.”

“No, they can’t interpret the data, Myron. But I can.”

Berger whipped his head around. Elizabeth Fulton was at his door, arms folded across her chest. “I accessed your files this morning, Myron—”

“That’s illegal—”

“It’s peanuts compared to what you did. Snowing all of us…me, Reggie, Azor. Hacking into the Fisher/Tyne data network and changing the numbers. You made them look worse to get the Curedon trials stopped.”

“You’re finished, Liz!” Myron cried out. “I’m bringing you up on charges with the medical ethics board—”

“I saw your hidden research, Myron,” Elizabeth said venomously. “You and Shockley were working on your own chemically related T-cell inhibitor. You were trying to undercut Azor, undercut the entire Curedon project!”

“I’m a goddamn scientist in my own right. And I’ve got a right to work on whatever I damn well please without someone spying on me.”

“But you have no right to falsify our data to further your own research!” She walked up to him, spit in his face. “How could you do such a low—”

“Fuck you, lady!” Berger shouted. “Who do you think brought Curedon to fruition in the early years? Who do you think actually took the drug from something theoretical and developed it into something that’s marketable? You think Azor developed the drug? Lady, let me tell you something. The bastard stole my research—”

“What are you talking about, Myron. All your research came from Azor’s lab. I was there.”