For good?

      The elevator went up to the 150th floor of the Exon Tower without stopping. Mica clutched the presentation tablet in her hands, a formality she couldn’t refuse. She had been invited to “discuss the prospects,” but something about the overly polite tone of the letter was unsettling.       The doors slid open noiselessly.       A study opened up in front of her that looked more like a museum of modern art: glass cases with ancient artifacts, holograms of financial charts floating in the air. Behind a massive black desk sat Carsten Wexler — one of those people whose name was widely known, but whose face was rarely seen in the media.       He didn’t get up, just pointed to the chair opposite. “Finally.”       Mica sat up, keeping her back straight. “You wanted to discuss my research.” “Our research,” he corrected, smiling. “Novachim belongs to my holding company. This means that your best practices are the same.”       She felt goosebumps run through her. “According to the contract, the opening rights remain with me. The company only gets a license for…” “Contracts, “Wexler interrupted,” are written for those who are afraid of the courts. He pressed a button on his desk, and the wall turned into a screen. On it is a design of the laboratory, ten times larger than its current size, marked “Kline-Bio”. “Your own research center. Any equipment. Any resources.”       Mika kept her eyes on the hologram. It was too perfect. “In exchange for what?”       Wexler leaned forward. “Acceleration. Your methodology needs to be improved for mass use. We can reduce the time frame.” “At the expense of what?” “Clinical trials, for example,” he paused, “can be conducted… less bureaucratically.”       Silence hung in the air, thick as toxic gas.       Mica rose slowly to her feet. “I don’t bargain with people’s lives.” “Everyone’s haggling, Doctor. Wexler was still smiling, but there was steel in his eyes. “Think about it.” “I’ve already thought about it.”       She turned and headed for the door. “Mica,” he said, for the first time without feigning warmth. “You do realize that your discovery will be published with or without you, right?”       She stopped, but didn’t turn around. “Then you’ll have to explain to the world why you’re slowing down progress.”       Mica went out. The elevator descended faster than it went up.       She was right: the game had begun. And the stakes were higher than she’d imagined.       Her phone vibrated in my pocket — a message from Vadim: “Grandma asks when you’re coming to visit. And yes, I broke the microwave. Again.”       She tightened her grip on the phone. She needed to disappear. At least for a while.