The investor came to the laboratory one afternoon without announcing himself. He did not go near the secured area. He waited in reception, his coat over his arm, and my mother found him there.
"You have a talent for appearing."
He smiled. "I have a talent for waiting."
"So I've noticed."
He stood. "I brought coffee."
I had followed her out and stopped in the doorway.
She looked at the cup in his hand. "Why?"
"Because you looked tired the last time I saw you."
She did not take it. "You don't need to look after me."
"I know."
"Then stop."
"Fair." He set the cup on the reception desk. "I'll leave it here."
He turned to go, and she said, "Why do you keep coming?"
He looked back. For a moment he said nothing. Then: "Because I think your work could change the world."
She laughed once. "You don't believe that."
"I do. I also think it could make a great deal of money." He said it plainly, without apology, and I watched her study him for it. He did not look ashamed. That was probably why she believed him.
"I appreciate the honesty."
"I thought you might."
"The answer is still no."
"I know," he said, and left.
She stared at the coffee for a while. Then she picked it up and drank it.
"You shouldn't," I said from the doorway.
"What?"
"Drink things from billionaires. It could be poison."
"Then you can write my obituary."
"I'd make it embarrassing."
"I know you would." She took another sip, and she was smiling. It was the last time I saw her laugh before the fight.
The week after that, two more researchers resigned, one for a post in Singapore and one for a pharmaceutical company. We held a meeting in the big conference room. There were seven of us at a table built for sixteen, and the room felt enormous. Lena sat at the far end. "We can keep going," she said. I nodded. My mother said nothing at all.
When the others had gone I stayed in my seat, and my mother began gathering the empty cups.
"Leave them."
"I can clean."
"You've got work."
"I always have work." She smiled. "You learned that from me."
I watched her stack the cups. "Mom."
"Hm?"
"What if we took the money?"
She stopped, and she did not turn around. "What money?"
"You know what money."
"I know many kinds."
"Vale's."
She set the cups down. "No."
"You haven't heard what I mean."
"I've heard enough."
"No, you haven't." She turned, and I took a breath. "What if we sold him the research material?"
Nobody spoke. She looked at me, then at the cups, then at me again.
"No."
"You keep saying that."
"Because the answer keeps being no."
"We could use the money to finish the treatment. We could build the antidote first."
"Could you?"
"We already know how the platform responds. We can improve it."
"After?"
"Before."
She shook her head. "You don't know that."
"I know our work."
"So do I."
"Then you know I'm right."
"No."
I stood up. "You don't trust me."
She looked tired. "This isn't about trust."
"It feels like it."
"It isn't."
"Then what is it?"
She picked up the cups again. "Come home."
I laughed. "That's your answer?"
"Yes."
"You always do that. You tell me to come home when you don't want to talk."
"I tell you to come home because I'm your mother."
"I'm not a child."
"I know."
"Then stop treating me like one."
She set the cups down slowly and looked at me for a long moment. "Fine," she said. "Let's talk."