Chapter 143 The Beginning of a New Life
Chapter 143 The Beginning of a New Life
Michael didn't answer, but the corner of his mouth curved slightly upward.
"Earlier than you think."
Grace didn't press further, turning back to the instrument screen. But she didn't hold herself quite so rigid anymore. At four-thirty in the morning, the first set of data came through.
The curve was smooth, the trend stable—exactly as she'd predicted.
Grace stared at the screen for a long time, then let out a soft breath.
Michael walked over and stood behind her, glancing at the display. "Success?"
"First step success," Grace said. "Six more to go. Each one needs three rounds of validation."
"One step at a time."
Grace turned her head. He stood close—close enough that she could see a loose thread at his collar.
She didn't step back.
"Michael," she said, "when this project reaches the next phase, I'm buying you dinner."
"Why not now? Since when does dinner require scheduling?" Michael said with a smile.
"I don't have time now." She gestured at the instrument. "This needs to run for another twelve hours."
Michael laughed softly. "Fine. I'll wait until your next phase."
As dawn approached, Michael retrieved a blanket from the adjacent rest room and draped it over her lap.
Grace leaned against the chair back, eyes still fixed on the screen, though her chin had begun to droop.
Michael didn't wake her. He moved quietly, drawing the curtains and dimming the lights one notch.
He settled into the seat beside her, opened his laptop, and continued working through patent documents. The keyboard sounds were muted, nearly drowned out by the instrument's low hum. Outside the window, the sky gradually lightened, the city's silhouette slowly emerging from the blue-gray darkness.
The days that followed fell into a rhythm. Grace stayed in the lab until late every night. So did Michael.
Their conversations revolved mostly around work—data, equipment, patents, company registration progress.
When the project advanced to the second phase, the company registration was finalized.
The name was Renaissance Pharmaceuticals. Grace was listed as the legal representative. That day, Michael placed the business license on her desk and stood beside her, waiting for her to look.
Grace picked it up and flipped through a page, her eyes landing on her own name under "Legal Representative."
"You made me the legal rep?" she asked.
"The project is yours. The research is yours. The patents are yours. Of course you're the legal rep." Michael spoke evenly, as if stating something that required no discussion.
Grace set the license back on the desk and looked at him. "What about you?"
"I hold shares. You contribute the technology, I contribute capital and operations. The shareholder agreement is ready—just needs your signature." He pulled several pages from a folder and placed them before her.
Grace didn't sign immediately. She studied him for a moment. "How much did you invest?"
"You don't need to know."
"I need to know."
Michael was silent for a beat. "Initial investment, thirty million. Additional funding based on project progress."
Grace's gaze dropped to those pages. Thirty million. She'd run the projections—that amount could keep the lab running for over two years, covering equipment maintenance, personnel salaries, reagent procurement, and all patent application costs. This wasn't a small favor. He was betting that her project would succeed.
"Aren't you afraid of losing it all?"
"I am," Michael said. "But I don't think I will."
Grace picked up the pen and signed the shareholder agreement.
After entering the third phase, Grace began hiring.
The first batch brought in three researchers, all recommended by former colleagues from Lumaria.
Michael interviewed administrative and finance candidates, building out the support structure within a week. The lab expanded from one room to three.
...
Wednesday afternoon, Grace was reviewing the second batch of preclinical data when her phone rang. An unfamiliar international number. She hesitated, then answered.
Charles's voice came through, low and raspy. "Grace, you think you've won? The data Carol gave you—I altered the last set of codes. Once it reaches Phase III clinical trials, the drug will produce fatal toxic side effects."
Grace said nothing. Her fingers slowly tightened, knuckles turning white around the phone.
"You escaped prison?" she asked.
"The game has only just begun." The call disconnected.
Michael walked in from the adjacent office, document in hand. When he saw Grace's expression, he paused mid-step, then moved faster.
"What happened?"
"Charles. He says he planted poison in the data."