Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“Thank you.” Laurel accepted the lanyards and passed one to Walter before driving forward.
The road curved through trimmed hedges and past fountains, water running over polished stones. The landscaping was deliberate, designed with symmetry and clear lines. The parking garage entrance was marked with illuminated signs, bright and clear.
The garage itself was cool and dim, the lights placed evenly without dark spots. Laurel followed the arrows to the guest section and parked. The air held a faint lemon scent, likely artificial and pushed through the ventilation system.
“This place is efficient,” Walter said, glancing around. His fingers tapped lightly against his thigh, a habit he didn’t always notice.
Laurel stepped out of the SUV and adjusted her lanyard over her head. “The setup is organized, maintained, and rather pretty.”
Walter nodded, his gaze already moving to the nearest exit. “They’ve put a lot of money into it.”
They walked toward the elevator, where Laurel stepped inside with Walter close behind her. The elevator doors closed with a soft hiss when she pushed the correct button. The walls were brushed steel, polished and clean.
The elevator moved smoothly, the air inside filtered and cool. The doors opened onto a third-floor lobby painted in pale gray with glossy white trim. The floor was polished stone, the pattern subtle but precise. Modern art hung at regular intervals in bright, geometric pieces that likely cost a fortune.
A woman approached them, her heels striking the floor with measured steps.
“Hello,” she said with a polite, open smile. “I’m Dr. Bertra Yannish, and please call me Bertra. Welcome to Oakridge Solutions. We’ve been expecting you.” She held out her hand, shaking both of theirs with a firm grip. Her hand was cool, her shake quick and efficient. She appeared to be in her mid to late forties, with sandy blond hair pulled into a smooth, low twist. She wore gold-rimmed glasses over brown eyes.
“I was Dr. Liu’s assistant,” she said. “Please, come this way.” She led them down a wide hallway past several glass-walled offices. Each office contained a sleek desk, computer monitors, and chairs arranged with precision. The surfaces were clear of clutter. No loose papers, cords, or personal items in sight. Potted plants—broad-leafed, healthy, and real—stood at regular intervals along the hallway.
Bertra stopped at a corner office near the rear of the building, opened the door, and gestured for them to enter. “This was Miriam’s office.”
Laurel stepped inside. The office was large, with dark wood furniture and a polished desk. A closed laptop sat at the center. Several framed certificates and degrees hung on the wall, their labels clean and legible. Bookshelves lined one side of the room, filled with medical texts and neatly labeled binders. The air here was slightly warmer than the hallway.
“What projects was she working on at the time of her death?” Laurel asked.
Bertra stood near the door, hands clasped in front of her. “Just one. We’re working on a clinical combination aimed at preventing Alzheimer’s and certain dementias, as well as potentially curing them. Dr. Liu was heavily involved in the project.”
Laurel walked over to the glass windows and looked out at the rolling hill leading to a mountain. “How many floors do you have in this building?”
“Three above ground. Four below.” Bertra remained by the doorway. “Most of our research and anything involving chemicals is documented and protected. Neither of you have clearance to enter the laboratories, but if you obtain it, I’d be happy to give you a tour.”
“Was Dr. Liu working exclusively on this trial?” Laurel asked, turning her attention back to Bertra.
“Yes. We have contracts with several pharmaceutical companies, private investors, and government agencies.”
Footsteps sounded from the hallway, and a man entered without knocking. He appeared to be in his early fifties, with brown hair streaked with silver. His eyes were brown, and he wore a dark suit with no tie over a lean body.
“Matteo,” Bertra said. “These are the agents from the FBI.”
The man nodded once, his gaze clear behind wire-rimmed glasses. “Dr. Matteo Sandoval. Chief of Operations. Bertra, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I had another call.” His voice was smooth and even. He stepped into the office, reaching out a hand. “I worked closely with Dr. Liu.”
He shook Laurel’s hand first in a firm grip. Then Walter’s. Afterward, he moved around the polished desk and settled into the high-backed leather chair.
Bertra shifted her feet, her lips pressing together.
Walter lifted an eyebrow, his expression sharpening in that way it always did when he noticed something off. “I take it you got the new office.”
Dr. Sandoval nodded. “Yes. This has a better view than my previous one, and since Dr. Liu and I shared resources, the files are already here.” He gestured toward the two leather chairs facing the desk. “Please, have a seat.”
Laurel sat. The chair was firm but comfortable. Walter lowered himself into the other chair, his shoulders loose but his gaze steady.