Out of the Shadows 022
A 5-star machine-augmented MIDNIGHT'S WAR novel
The Price of Withdrawal
The private dining room at Eleven Madison Park commanded a spectacular view of Madison Square Park, its floor-to-ceiling windows framing the Manhattan evening in sheets of rain-streaked glass. Elliott Grahame sat with his back to the window, a position that would have made him uncomfortable six months ago. Now, with his enhanced senses cataloging every heartbeat in the room, every subtle shift in breathing patterns, every microscopic tell that preceded violence, he felt perfectly secure.
The three Blackrock executives across from him were considerably less comfortable. They’d been growing increasingly agitated as the evening progressed, their initial bonhomie curdling into barely concealed hostility as Elliott systematically demolished their every argument against his chosen path.
“You’re making a mistake, Elliott,” said Harrison Rubinstein, Blackrock’s Senior Managing Director for Healthcare Investments. He was a heavy man in his late fifties, with the soft look of someone who’d spent too many years eating at restaurants like this one. His heart, Elliott could hear, was laboring much harder than it should. He had perhaps eighteen months before the first cardiac event if he didn’t change his lifestyle soon. “A huge mistake.”
“And how is that?”
“The market conditions are perfect,” Rubinstein continued, sawing at his wagyu beef with unnecessary force. “Tech IPOs are up thirty percent year-over-year. Biotech is even hotter. You play this right, my friend, HemaTech could debut at nearly twice your targeted valuation.”
“I’m aware of the market conditions,” Elliott replied, after taking another delicate bite of his own perfectly prepared Dover sole. He enjoyed the taste and the texture, but food still sat gingerly in his insides given that it had only been a few months since his transformation. “And my decision stands, Harry.”
Jennifer Bui, Blackrock’s Chief Strategic Officer for Emerging Technologies, leaned forward. Where Rubinstein was soft, the half-Vietnamese woman was sharp—all angled cheekbones and ambition, wearing her Wharton MBA like metaphorical armor. Elliott felt a flicker of attraction toward her. Or perhaps it was another, darker appetite. At this point, it was still hard to tell the difference.
“Elliott, please help me try to understand,” she said, her tone reasonable but her pulse accelerating with frustration. “Six months ago, you were more than hot to go public. Your burn rate was astronomical. Your runway was maybe eight months. Now suddenly you’re flush with cash and walking away from the deal of the century?”
“My circumstances have changed,” Elliott said simply. “Needless to say, my perspective has changed with them.”
The third executive, a man in his forties named Michael Weber who served as Rubinstein’s deputy, hadn’t spoken much during dinner. Elliott had been monitoring him carefully. While the others grew emotional, Weber remained calculating, his pale eyes never leaving Elliott’s face. There was something about him that set off every predatory instinct Elliott had developed since his transformation.
“These new investors,” Weber said quietly. “Asian, I’m guessing? Old money?”
Elliott permitted himself a slight smile. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss the specifics of my current backers.”
“Of course not,” Webb murmured. “But I wonder if you’ve considered the full implications of accepting their terms. Old Asian money comes with old Asian strings. It can come with obligations that span generations.”
The words were carefully chosen, and Elliott’s enhanced hearing caught the slight emphasis on ‘generations.’ Did Webb know something? Or was he simply fishing?
“Have you ever heard of Kongo Gumi?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
It was one of the first construction companies in Japan. It was founded in 578, to build shrines and temples for the Heian aristocracy. You know, The Tale of Genji and all that.”
“Yes, I’ve read it. Lady Murasaki. Beautiful book.”
“Indeed. Anyhow, Kongo Gumi survived for all kinds of ups and downs for over 1,400 years. They were the first company in Japan to combine the traditional wooden constructions with concrete, and also the first to make use of CAD software.”
“Very forward-thinking of them.”
“Exactly. The company remained in the Kongo family for 40 generations, until it finally failed in 2006 as a consequence of the post-Heisei crash.”
“And your point, Mr. Weber?”
“Even the oldest companies, the ancient family-owned organizations that have survived for centuries, are vulnerable to the vagaries of the modern financial world. They don’t understand it. Your backers, whomever they are, however much cash and real estate they’re sitting on, simply don’t have the stability, structure, and most of all, scale, that Blackrock brings to the table.”
“No doubt that’s true,” Elliott granted him. “But we’re not planning a future for the next forty generations. What matters to me is that HemaTech is able to continue developing groundbreaking life-extension technologies right now. We’re simply choosing a more selective path to market.”
