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“Anton. That’s what he introduced himself as. I overheard others address him as Solonov. I assume his name was Anton Solonov.”
Tristan turns slightly in the chair, meeting my gaze. I don’t recognize the name. But maybe I should. “How did you know Mr. Solonov?”
“I didn’t know him.” Tristan appears unfazed by her attitude. Sage comes to stand beside her sister, physically blocking her view of the window. She brushes her sister’s hair behind one ear and leans closer, setting her face near Sloane’s.
“Sloane. Do you think you could tell us what happened? Just start from the beginning.” From this angle, it’s difficult to read the exchange between the sisters. “Where did you meet this…Anton?”
“The man is a psychopath. Possibly a sociopath.”
Sage picks up her sister’s hand and rubs her thumb back and forth over the back of it. “Let’s start from the beginning. Where did you meet him?”
“The lab. It was a Sunday. An hour and thirty-three minutes before our Sunday video chat. He asked me to go for a ride.”
“Had you seen him before?” Sage asks.
“No.”
Sage looks distraught. “You got in a car with a man you don’t know?”
“He looked like a cover model for one of your romance books. You would’ve gone, too.” Sage’s eyes cut to me, and I tap down my smirk. I’ll need to ask about this later. “And no, I didn’t get in the car. I’m not stupid. I agreed to meet him. I had my bike. He showed up after I finished a report. I’d been working on it nonstop. I needed a break before I double-checked the numbers in my analysis.”
“You met him in your lab?” Tristan asks.
“I thought he was an investor. I overheard them in the lobby. They were referencing incorrect financial projections. I didn’t want them to cut funding, so I dug deeper into the data.”
“What data?” Tristan asks.
Sloane’s lips purse as she presses her temple.
Sage leans closer. “Sloane?”
“Transplant survival rates. I overheard people talking in the Bodden building. And the numbers cited were significantly off. Yet familiar. It bothered me. I went back and checked peer reviewed research. I was right.”
“About what?” Sage combs her fingers through Sloane’s hair, the movement as soft and comforting as the tone she takes with her sister.
“It doesn’t matter.” Sloane’s gaze settles on the top right corner of the room. “You won’t understand.”
Sage smiles. It’s a smile reminiscent of a kindergarten teacher helping a frustrated child learn to read. “You’re right. I probably won’t. Can you still tell me? Simplify it. Tell me like I’m a third grader.”
Sloane’s shoulders rise and fall.
Tristan leans forward. “Sloane, the Bodden building. Is that part of Origins Laboratories?”
“Yes. We don’t do research in that building, but they hold meetings there. Investor meetings.”
Sage touches her sister’s arm, as if bringing her back to the topic. “So, I’m a third grader. What were they wrong about?”
“The survival rates they were referencing were wrong. Five to ten percent off. More. The complications. Hepatitis C. Cancer. And they weren’t comparing live versus dead donors. They were just. Wrong. I went to the server room in the Bodden building to pull a report. I needed to show them they were wrong, because if they believed those numbers were right, they might not continue funding my research.”
“And exactly what research do you do?” Tristan interrupts.
“Organoid research. I’m working on growing organs from stem cells.”
“Past fourteen days?” Tristan asks.
“Yes, past fourteen days. We’re making progress, too. Growing organs in a lab is an ethical solution to the world organ shortage. But the survival rates the investors touted were off. And I went to find out why. I figured it out.”
“What was wrong with their numbers?” Tristan prompts.
