Hollow laughter tinged with bitter nervousness rippled across the theater.

Kelly fixed her stare on the blonde at the end of the row. So I’m being replaced by a younger model at work too.

Gascon extracted more applause before dismissing his protégés from the spotlight, and then he clapped the crowd back into silence.

“One last thing . . . You may have read some nasty rumors about our wonder drug Mendacium and the remote possibility it has some very minor side effects.”

The hush in the lecture theater was absolute as the crowd leaned forward, including Kelly. She had read about the rumors—everyone had—and if the media’s accusations were even half right, the side effects were more than minor. Five-year-olds shouldn’t get blinding migraines that baffle doctors.

Gascon stood center stage, waist-deep in smoke, hands open in front of him, staring into the air as if seeking divine guidance. “You have nothing to worry about.”

The first smatterings of claps popped on the far side of the auditorium, and then the chattering grew as the applause built into a cacophony of cheering. A whistle from behind Kelly pierced her eardrums.

Gascon shouted over the noise as he punched the air. “Let’s push on through adversity. These are just vicious attempts by our very jealous competition to bring us down!”

The crowd combusted into delirium as they leaped to their feet, and the roar ratcheted higher. Kelly turned to Jasmine to seek assurance she hadn’t misheard. Gascon hadn’t addressed the rumors at all.

From farther down the row, a small man with red, slicked-down hair and a permanent sneer leaned forward, his eyes drilling into her. Arnold Kolinsky, her supervisor. Kelly pumped a little more enthusiasm into her applause.

Just another few months.

*  *  *

Kelly and Jasmine sipped coffee in the conversational space on Level Thirteen of the palatial Rubicon Pharma building. Twenty years ago this space would have been called an alcove, but the addition of funky furniture, exposed steel beams, and spotlights introduced the concept of conversation. A defense mechanism within Kelly reminded her to lower her voice, funky furniture or not. “Was that enough of a reassurance for you?”

Jasmine looked through the steam rising from her recycled hemp cup. “If it comes from the CEO, it is. It must not be enough for you.”

Colleagues wandered past as Kelly leaned forward in a conspiratorial whisper. “I think I’ve just had enough. It’s impossible to operate at one hundred percent all the time.”

Jasmine’s eyes scanned the atrium as a low rumble of excitement drifted across to them. “You mean 110 percent. Do you think you’re just flat after losing Gramps?”