Chapter 55
The first team meeting had a decidedly strange atmosphere.
Around the oval conference table sat seven or eight people, all men, ranging from their twenties to forties, each carrying that distinctive stubbornness unique to technical specialists.
Gavin briefly introduced Caroline's new position, then leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, clearly playing the hands-off boss and leaving the stage entirely to Caroline.
The "Early Diagnosis of Cognitive Disorders" project proposal was projected on the screen.
Frank Morris, the technical director responsible for this project, was in his early forties with meticulously gel-styled hair. His gaze behind his glasses carried scrutiny as it lingered on Caroline's face.
"The core challenge of the proposal lies in the screening and validation of specific biomarkers," Frank said, the red dot of his laser pointer moving across the flowchart.
"Our current approach combines multi-omics analysis with machine learning modeling, but this requires massive amounts of precise clinical sample data—costly and extremely time-consuming."
He paused, pushing his glasses up his nose, lenses reflecting a cold glint. "Of course, this is just a preliminary concept proposed by our technical team, based on existing knowledge." He deliberately emphasized "technical team" and "existing knowledge."
"Ms. Hamilton, you're new to the position, and also..." his lips curved into a smile devoid of warmth before he pivoted sharply toward Caroline.
"I understand you have been focused on family life for many years? In our field, technology evolves at breakneck speed—missing even a day of research papers could leave you obsolete. The gap between theory and practical application isn't just a book—it's an unbridgeable chasm."
"Anyone can talk theory, but actually implementing a plan that works and passes regulatory approval? That requires real-world experience and data. Wouldn't you agree?"
With these words, he essentially labeled Caroline as an "outsider," "a pretty face," someone who "parachuted in through connections."
The air instantly froze. Several young researchers either stared intensely at their notebooks or pretended to drink water, though their ears were perked up.
The smile at Gavin's mouth faded as his finger tapped lightly on the table, though he remained silent.
This was the team's distrust of Caroline, and also her first test.
Caroline's face remained expressionless. She didn't even look at the confrontational Frank. She simply reached out, opened the laptop in front of her, and connected it to power.
Her fingertips moved unhurriedly across the touchpad, making a slight sound that cut through the dead silence of the conference room. Her dismissive attitude made Frank more uncomfortable than any rebuttal could have.
He was about to say something else when Caroline took out a small USB drive from her bag and inserted it into the computer. The next moment, she took control of the projector.
On the screen, Frank's detailed PowerPoint instantly disappeared, replaced by a completely new file interface.
Frank's expression changed. Everyone else was stunned, eyes fixed on the screen.
Caroline typed a few characters on the keyboard, then hit enter. A folder with an extremely complex name opened, filled with densely packed subfiles and data models. She casually opened one of them.
Instantly, a precise three-dimensional dynamic model covered with countless nodes and data flows filled the entire screen, so complex that all the technical staff present drew in sharp breaths.
Below the model, a small line of text was clearly marked:
[Alzheimer's Disease Tau Protein Abnormal Folding Pathway Prediction Model v3.0]
[Creator: Caroline]
[Last Modified: Yesterday 23:47]
The incredibly complex 3D model on the screen lingered on everyone's retinas. The name of the creator and the last modified time had more impact than the model itself.
Someone's pen slipped from their grasp, rolling onto the table with a soft sound. Frank's hand under the table clenched into a fist.
Caroline hit enter again. The dynamic model disappeared, replaced by several neatly formatted PDF documents. At the top were the logos of authoritative industry journals, so bright they were hard to look away from.
[First Author: Hamilton, C.]
[Corresponding Author: Hamilton, C.]
Every paper was hers. The most recent publication date was seven years ago.
In the midst of silence, Caroline spoke. "The approach Mr. Morris just mentioned—multi-omics analysis, machine learning modeling—I was using these seven years ago."
She typed a few more keystrokes, changing the display again to a flood of charts and data, densely packed. She didn't touch the laser pointer; instead, the mouse cursor moved across the screen.
"Your proposal's Biomarker A—92% specificity in the AD group, beautiful data." Her cursor then pointed to another column. "But over 40% false positive rate in the VD group. How could this possibly be used clinically?"
"And this Biomarker B, with such poor stability—what's the point of screening data like this?"
With each statement, the temperature in the conference room seemed to drop another degree. The younger researchers hunched lower, almost trying to disappear into their chairs.
Caroline looked directly at Frank. "Regarding cost and specificity, you chose to preserve cost at the expense of accuracy. I understand that." She paused. "But who told you this was a single-choice question?"
She stood up and walked to the whiteboard, uncapping a marker and tossing the cap on the table. The sound wasn't loud, but it made Frank's shoulders instinctively flinch.
With one clean stroke, she drew a funnel on the whiteboard. "At the top are your massive samples. At the bottom is our precise target." She firmly dotted the narrowest part of the funnel. "The filter in the middle—use the model from my paper."
She pivoted the pen and drew a simple microfluidic chip pathway diagram beside it. "Add this technology. Sample size goes down, doesn't the cost follow? Specificity goes up, doesn't the timeline shorten?"
She put down the pen and turned around. "Mr. Morris, you said there's an unbridgeable gap between theory and practice." Her eyes locked with his. "Now, I've built you a bridge. Do you dare to cross it?"
The conference room was left with only the dry, scratching sound of the marker moving across the whiteboard.
A line, an arrow, a new set of formulas. The projector's cooling fan continued to hum, but beyond that, there was no other sound.