Chapter Fifteen
…and we do, of course, appreciate the funding for this new line of experiments. Arrangements have been made and plans set into motion. I have no doubt Alex and Evan Grayson will provide us with many new datapoints on the boundaries of empathic abilities and their potential for both offensive and defensive military operations.
However, while I agree that we must learn the empaths’ true abilities at any cost, it seems to me that all our research dances around the real issue: why did the empaths emerge in the first place?
That, to me, is the question we should be asking.
—Three-year-old email found on a recovered laptop in [REDACTED], Texas
Lumen Field was welcomely silent in the early hours of the morning without its typical crowds. Victor Nichols strode down the hall of the stadium’s suite level, keeping himself on alert. He wasn’t hiding per se, but he also had no interest in advertising his location to corrupted empaths until he had all the proper safeguards—and restraints—in place.
Finally, he came to Stone Solutions’ luxury suite and opened the door. “Hello,” he called, leaning in through the frame.
“Ah, Victor!” came Charles’s voice from deeper in the suite. “Come in, come in.”
Nichols stepped into the suite. The far wall was floor-to-ceiling glass, framing the bright green Astroturf of the field three stories below. In front of the glass were two rows of plush loungers with perfect views, and filling out the suite was a private restroom, private kitchen and stocked bar, and a living room–style seating area with a television.
Charles was seated at the bar, typing away on his phone. “I’ll be right with you—”
Nichols cut him off. “I was not informed the Macys would be at American Minds Intact when Whitman was released.”
Charles stilled. He set his phone on the bar counter, face down, and looked up, meeting Nichols’s eyes. “Because I had no idea.”
Nichols folded his arms.
“No onewas supposed to be at AMI headquarters with Vanessa Whitman,” Charles said emphatically. “Poor Vanessa’s time was coming to an end; it seemed merciful to let her die, and if her death could serve the company she served in life—well, I feel certain that’s what she would have wanted. But I certainly would never have sent my good friends Beau and Adele Macy to be torn apart by an empath’s crazed thrall.”
Perhaps. Charles Stone, however, had helped design the emotional control trainings conducted at the Orion Lodge for Stone Solutions’ leadership. If he wanted to lie, it would be near-impossible to tell unless one happened to have a corrupted empath handy to hear it.
Charles shook his head slowly, the picture of sorrow. “This is a terrible tragedy.”
“And yet stock prices are back up nearly five percent,” Nichols said dryly.
“You own Stone Solutions stock, don’t you?” Charles said just as dryly.
Nichols pursed his lips.
“People are looking for hope in the wake of this unthinkable tragedy, terrified to have lost a hero like Beau. Share prices reflect that Stone Solutions is that hope.” Charles gestured at the suite around them. “We’ve engineered empathy defenses no one else has ever seen. Cedrick even ensured this very suite is reinforced with empathy-proof walls and glass.”
Cedrick was so paranoid he wanted to be protected on the chance the empaths decided to storm a football game? What a pointless waste of resources.
Using Vanessa Whitman had been a pointless waste of resources as well. Nichols could have made a study of her; now her body would be disposed of, just like that guard, Wayne Smith. Would an empath’s altered sibling, like Evan Grayson or Briony St. James, have been able to survive the rampages that killed Whitman and Smith, to be used again and again?
“Your frustration this morning is understandable. It’s always difficult when experiments don’t go as planned.” Charles steepled his fingers. “Perhaps I have something that can cheer you up.”
He picked up his phone again. “I do, after all, appreciate that you have done me two favors,” Charles said as he typed something into the phone. “And as I mentioned, I always repay my favors.”
A moment later, Nichols’s own phone vibrated. He pulled it from his pocket.
“Staff and inventory for your new facility,” Charles said as Nichols began to scroll through. “Just received this morning.”
Nichols drew in a breath. This was even more resources than he’d had at Polaris. “When can I see it?”
“Today, if you like,” Charles said. “I can have the helicopter take you.”
Nichols gazed at a picture of the lab set into the mountain. His work could continue. That was what mattered, not the loss of a stuck-up doctor like Whitman or a pompous ass like Beau Macy.
He looked up. “And my guest?”
