“Neil, can we give you a ride home?” Cohen asked.

Ryland gestured at Cohen’s sling that matched his own. “You don’t look in much better shape to drive than I am.”

“I’m at the wheel,” Kilburn said.

“Ed Franklin lent us a car to drive out for Ellen’s funeral,” Lopez said.

“I live outside of Glen Mills,” Ryland said. “It’s not exactly on your way. I was just going to grab a cab.”

“It’s no big deal,” Kilburn said.

“Okay. Sure. Thanks.” Ryland raised his umbrella. “I’ve got a bottle of Chivas I was planning to open back at home. If you like, we could have a commiseration toast.” He swallowed. “To Ellen and Vik.”

In the near-blinding rain, the quaint historic roads presented more of a challenge to navigate than they had on the way out. Driving with a carefully constant speed, Kilburn focused on the roads while Cohen and Ryland provided most of the small talk on the ride to Glen Mills.

Kilburn pulled up in front of Ryland’s modest but attractive Cape Cod home with its neat front hedge. They trudged through the rain and into Ryland’s front entrance. He led them through the tidy but sparsely furnished living room and into the fifties-style kitchen. With linoleum floors and cork cabinets, the kitchen was square and open. It bordered onto a small nook. The other three stood in the center while Ryland headed for the cabinets.

“You haven’t reconsidered your resignation?” Cohen asked.

“Too many bad memories.” Ryland opened a cupboard door. “I couldn’t go back there now after”—he cleared his throat—“what happened to my friends.”

“What’s going to become of the company?” Lopez asked.

“I think SeptoMed will be just fine,” Ryland said with a tired chuckle. “Martineau might have initiated the MRGAS crisis but it looks like it will be with us for a long time. And since there is no other treatment option besides Oraloxin, SeptoMed will be with us too.”

“In spite of all the suffering he caused, Martineau probably saved SeptoMed,” Kilburn said ruefully.

“Not worth saving at that cost.” Ryland reached into the open cupboard, bringing down a sealed bottle of Chivas.

“Can I help?” Lopez asked, walking up to Ryland’s side.

“Please. If you could open the bottle, I’ll get some more glasses.”

“What are you going to do now, Neil?” Cohen asked, as Ryland reached up with his good arm and pulled four highball glasses down one at a time.

“Wait for my arm to recover, I guess. After that, I don’t know. Maybe go to another company. I’m even thinking about going back to university life. Doesn’t pay as well, but it’s a hell of a lot safer.” He forced a chuckle.

“What about in the meantime?” Cohen asked, his tone more prying. “I hope you have some bonuses or stock options from SeptoMed.”