Martineau held out his palms deferentially to Horton. “Ellen, after your presentation to the board, Andrea wanted to come meet you and—”

Byington interrupted him again by resting a hand on Martineau’s shoulder. When her hand didn’t leave his shoulder, Horton felt an unexpected twinge of jealousy. “I wanted to come to congratulate you,” Byington said, “all of you, on your brilliant discovery.”

“Yes, well, thank you.” Horton cleared her throat. “It’s still very early days, though.”

“You’ll never get El to accept a compliment, Andrea,” Ryland piped up. “But Vik and I will.” He grinned and glanced over to Leschuk who sat stone-faced. “Right?”

“Brilliant work. All of you,” Byington repeated with a laugh, finally removing her hand from Martineau’s shoulder. “I’m absolutely awed by the breadth of your accomplishment. I understand FDA approval is expected in the next week or two.”

Ryland pointed to the papers in front of him. “And this will only help.”

Byington glanced at the papers. “What is it?”

“We have several clinical studies going on concurrently,” Horton explained. “One on the West Coast in hospitals from San Francisco to Vancouver. Another in Florida. And two in Europe. But these are the first—granted, early—results from a trial in Chicago involving two hundred patients with MRSA.” She summarized the results, downplaying their significance.

Byington’s eyes widened and her lips broke into a big smile. “‘More rapid and effective than the gold-standard intravenous treatment for MRSA?’ That’s astounding!”

“I thought so.” Ryland nodded, beaming.

Byington pulled a chair up to the table. She sat down to join them and Martineau did the same. “You know my grandfather, Ezra Byington, founded the company very soon after Sir Alexander Fleming discovered penicillin,” she said. “It was no coincidence, either. Granddad considered antibiotics the panacea.” She smiled nostalgically. “He was a pigheaded idealist. He wanted to single-handedly wipe out all infectious diseases.”

“There are worse things to be pigheaded about, non?” Martineau brushed at a few imagined flakes on his jacket.

“True enough, Luc.” Byington pointed a finger at Martineau playfully. As her wrist shook, Horton noticed the diamond-studded tennis bracelet that slid up and down. “My grandfather died in 1978 believing his company and others had nearly wiped out all infectious diseases. In a way, I’m glad he never lived to see the surge in antibiotic resistance and emerging superbugs of the last twenty years.” Her gray eyes drifted elsewhere. “Granddad hated to lose.” She nodded to herself. “It’s a Byington trait.”

“Ah, but thanks to these three, maybe we’re winning again.” Martineau reached forward to pat Byington on the hand, causing Horton another jealous pang.

Ryland glared at Martineau. Horton saw that the disdain in Ryland’s eyes bordered on hostility. But when he spoke, his tone was cordial. “There’s no maybe about it, Luc.”