The press conference began at noon in Hayden BioTech's manicured courtyard. A semicircle of microphones bristled beneath a bank of television cameras, and reporters clustered on either side, telephoto lenses trained on the lectern. Viola Kane stood at the edge of the crowd, arms crossed over her chest, eyes narrowed. Every head of hair, every eyebrow arch, and every whispered question churned in her stomach like distant thunder.
Lester Hayden stepped up, polished and composed in a dark suit that hugged his broad shoulders. His storm-gray eyes swept the assembly before fixing on the teleprompter. Marlowe hovered behind him, flanking either side. To the world, it was a routine statement: “Yesterday's health scare was the result of executive exhaustion and a brief power interruption. I appre
