“What did you do?” Scott asked harshly. “What did you tell him?”

Jeremiah went quiet again and Scott straightened up and walked slowly around the desk, stopping and leaning down into Jeremiah with a steady glare.

“All right, Mr. Adams,” he hissed, straining to keep the rising anger out of his voice. “Let me tell you what we know. We know that Brent Higgins is responsible for your escape last night. There is no way you could have managed it without help, and he was the only person there. And rest assured, when we find him, he will answer for it. Dearly. We know you were at your house this morning at 7:43. We know that because that is the precise moment our camera in the garage suddenly went dark. We also know that the clone did not report to his office at ViMed this morning. And that is because he drove himself to the hospital with a serious injury to his left hand. We saw that from our camera in his car. Can you illuminate how the clone came to be so gravely injured? And why you seem to have similarly injured the same hand?”

Jeremiah glanced down at his own bandaged hand with a smirk. “Coincidence?” he said.

“I will ask you again, Mr. Adams,” Scott said, “what did you do?”

“I did nothing to the clone that I wouldn’t have done to myself, I assure you.”

“This is not a game,” Scott said. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Mr. Adams, but let me make this perfectly clear. Whatever this is, you will not get away with it. Whatever little game you think you’re playing, it won’t work. We have far too much at stake here to allow you to get in our way.”

“Oh, I am quite aware of what’s at stake for you, Dr. Scott.” Jeremiah waited a moment before elaborating. He wanted to savor this. “You’re not feeling too well, are you? What did the doctors tell you—ALS, is it? That’s my guess.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That’s a nasty disease,” Jeremiah said. “Slow, but thorough. What did they give you? A year? Maybe two? How long before you can’t speak anymore? Or breathe on your own? How long before it starts to eat away at your precious mind?”

Some of the color drained out of Scott’s face, which was answer enough for Jeremiah that all of his suspicions had been correct.

“But it doesn’t really matter, does it? I mean, presumably, you’ve got a clean medical scan and a Meld implant of your mind. Everything nice and tidy to put into a clone of your own.”

Scott remained silent, but Jeremiah could see his face tense up.

“And the Meld,” Jeremiah added. “I know a few people who would be very interested to learn why it was rushed onto the market, where all the profit was funneled. Now that would make a hell of a headline, don’t you think?”

“You can’t prove any of it,” Scott said defiantly. “No one would believe you. It’s your word against the corporation’s.”