Page 1

Chapter 1

Alexander

Four Years Earlier

I was about to walk out.

The previous speaker was eight minutes over schedule, my coffee had grown cold, and the ballroom at the Midtown conference center was no different than the dozen others I had visited this year alone. The lights were too bright, the room too crowded, and the people too concerned with networking over genuine connection.

The pattern was always the same: they smiled when they wanted money and they pretended to listen when they wanted power. They heard my name, Blackwood, and saw nothing more than fortune and an open door. Rarely did they see me.

I chose a seat in the last row along the aisle, with my coat buttoned and my phone in my pocket. It was much easier to escape unnoticed when you were properly prepared. I had not yet been recognized even though the Blackwood Foundation’s name was listed in bold letters on the donor list. My purpose in attending was to identify gifted leaders and projects that held true life-changing promise, but in my experience, that was like hearing a clear melody in a room full of noise. No one had approached me, and I preferred it that way. Observation had always served me better than introduction. I would decide whom to approach. I had no interest in being hunted down and cornered.

The stage was occupied by a biotech executive discussing a promising therapy that could alleviate many conditions but “was not fiscally advantageous despite its clinical significance.” He sounded like a man who spent more time formatting spreadsheets than speaking with the patients whose lives might be saved with the proper investment.

People in the audience nodded in agreement. I checked my Patek Philippe, a family heirloom handed down to me by my father. It had originally belonged to my great-grandfather, purchased at the height of the Blackwoods’ prosperity. The watch had survived one collapse of our family fortune and was now living through the construction of another. I wore it as a daily reminder that what could be lost could also be regained through patience and persistence.

I rose as the presentation ended and the applause began, intent on leaving the conference for the day.

Then I heard her voice. “Good morning.”

There was nothing remarkable about the words or the way she delivered them, yet her voice held me in place. She wasn’t trying to charm the room. She sounded as though she genuinely wished everyone in it a good morning. This time when I took my seat, I unbuttoned my coat and set it down next to me.

The woman behind the podium rested one hand beside the microphone and picked up the presentation remote with the other. Her dark hair fell past her shoulders. A delicate gold necklace rested at the hollow of her neck, catching the light whenever she moved. She wore a navy dress, understated and elegant. I noticed all three details before I had any reason to.

She looked comfortable behind the podium, though not relaxed. She carried herself like someone accustomed to defending her work. She expected to be challenged. I suspected she welcomed it.

The first slide appeared behind her.

Project Aurora

Dr. Emilia Rossi

Columbia Medical Research Center

Dr. Emilia Rossi. I would remember the name.

“I was originally going to present our preliminary data from our most recent funding cycle,” she said with a strained smile. “But unfortunately, that funding cycle has now expired.”

Some in the audience laughed in the polite way people did when trying to soften discomfort. She didn’t rush to reclaim the room or fill the silence. She waited for the laughter to fade before continuing.

I watched her closely, my attention lingering on the shape of her mouth just before she spoke again. My gaze moved lower, following the chain to where it rested against her throat. It rose and fell with each breath she took. Just a few moments ago, I was concerned about the hunters. I was beginning to sound remarkably like one myself.

Dr. Rossi spoke with confidence, but she made no attempt to persuade the room beyond what her data could support. That interested me. I had listened to enough presentations to recognize when uncertainty was being polished into certainty for the sake of funding. She did the opposite. She presented the findings as they were, acknowledged what remained unanswered, and seemed unconcerned with being admired. Those were the qualities I looked for when deciding where to place my support.

“Our team has been working on a molecular pathway that is activated in several aggressive cancers, including endometrial cancer and colon cancer. These are difficult to treat with existing therapies, many of which can cause oxygen deprivation in surrounding healthy tissue. Project Aurora is not a quick solution to a long-standing problem. Nor can I guarantee that a successful grant proposal will lead to vast financial success. It is, however, the beginning of a promise to reduce grief for our patients and their families.”

I sat perfectly still. Dr. Rossi was not making a promise she couldn’t keep. She understood that discovery could lead somewhere unexpected, perhaps nowhere at all. But when she spoke of the patients and their families, the science ceased to sound theoretical. They were the reason she was standing there. The longer she spoke, the more dangerously I wanted to know her.

She changed the slide, filling the screen with pathway diagrams, cellular signaling models, and dense columns of data. People around me shifted in their seats. Several executives were measuring her in silence now, weighing the risk of supporting brilliance.

“Dr. Rossi,” a man in the front row said when the presentation opened for questions. I recognized him as a partner at a venture firm that had requested a meeting with me twice. I declined both times. “By your own admission, the path to commercial success for Project Aurora is uncertain. What is the justification for continued investment?”

He had asked it. The question behind every other question in this room. Will it be profitable?

Dr. Rossi looked at him with the confidence of a woman who had answered some version of the same question many times before.

“Every research program carries with it a certain amount of risk. Some of the most promising hypotheses fail despite their potential. Still, others succeed in the face of skepticism. Project Aurora is not unusual because it carries risk. It is unusual in the amount of impact it could have.”