Conley’s smile widens. “Well, well, well. About time I met you.”
Technically we met back in London, if my running onstage during his presentation counts as “met.” But that was a different universe’s version of Wyatt Conley. This one dresses pretty much the same, though: careless rich, faux casual, more like a kid than a tycoon. He seems . . . not homicidal. Whatever that is. I mean, Conley definitely seems to be full of himself, but what do you expect from a thirty-year-old internet mogul?
“Pleased to meet you,” I lie, hoping Conley believes I’m being awkward only because it’s soooo awesome to meet someone famous.
Apparently Theo thinks I’m being awkward, period, because he quickly says, “Thought Marguerite ought to have a chance to look around.”
“Absolutely.” Conley’s smile is so easy, so natural, that despite everything, I could believe he’s actually being sincere—at least, at the moment. “I see the resemblance to Dr. Kovalenka. Your parents are remarkable people, Marguerite. You should be proud of them.”
“Yeah, I am.” And I don’t need you to remind me.
The elevator glides to a stop on the tenth floor. Theo leads me out, but Conley comes with us; either he was headed this way to start with, or he has way too much time on his hands. Even though Theo must be unnerved too, he acts like it’s completely normal for Conley to tag along. Our path takes us along a corridor with one glass wall looking down on the lobby below, so the brilliant colors from the screens shine through. Conley grins as he says, “The daughter of two geniuses. Who knows what we might expect out of you one day?”
“I’m not one of the family geniuses,” I say hastily. “At all.”
“Marguerite’s selling herself short.” Theo smiles sideways at me, an expression gentler than usual. Sometimes I forget how kind he can be beneath all the attitude. “She’s not a scientist, but she’s incredibly talented. An artist, in more ways than one.”
Conley nods. “That’s right. Portraits, isn’t it? Maybe I should get you to paint me someday.”
Two months ago, that suggestion would have been the most exciting idea possible. A painting of Wyatt Conley? That would turn me into a nationally recognized portraitist overnight. Now I have different priorities.
Then again—I’ve always believed that a portrait shows the truth. (I hear in my mind, You always, always paint the truth.) If Conley sat for me for a few hours, and I painted what I truly saw there, maybe I’d learn exactly what kind of man he is.
“That would be amazing.” I smile when I say it, bright and girlish. That’s what he expects from me, right?
Conley chuckles. “I like a young woman who knows a golden opportunity when she sees it. Now, Theo, are you set up for the final-level Mercury tests?”
“Absolutely,” Theo says, doing a great job of acting like he knows what that is. Or maybe he read about it on this Theo’s computer and is about to bluff his way through a whole lot of tech jargon.
At that moment, my phone buzzes inside the pocket of my skirt. I step away from Theo and Conley with the usual apologetic text message—what can you do? shrug. They keep talking while I take up my phone, hoping desperately to hear from Paul but knowing it’s probably Angela wanting to tell me about her big New Year’s date, or Mom telling me to pick up some milk on the way home.
It’s Paul.
His message says, in its entirety: Don’t go in there.
Quickly I type back: Go in where?
Lab Eleven. You have to get out of there NOW.
A chill sweeps through me as I realize: Paul is watching us, even at this moment.
I look around, half expecting him to peer out from behind a corner, though that can’t be right. Then I notice the small mirrored semispheres up by the ceiling, evenly spaced, serving no obvious function. They’re not merely part of the ultrafuturistic decor; some of them must conceal security cameras.
Paul worked here alongside Theo for most of the past few months. He didn’t only sabotage my parents’ data—he also hacked into Triad’s internal security system, which must be one of the best in the world.
My phone buzzes in my palm again. You two didn’t run into Conley by accident. Theo’s not in danger, but you are.
When I glance at Conley and Theo, I can tell that Theo suspects nothing. He’s grinning as they talk, and Conley nods as he listens to Theo’s ideas. So far as I can tell, everything is as it should be.
I glance at the door only a few feet away, the one marked LABORATORY 11.
You have to get out now.
I type back, How else am I going to get any answers? Not from Paul, obviously. How else can I find out what Conley’s after?
Theo looks toward me, more relaxed than he’s been since we walked in. Clearly he doesn’t feel like anything has gone wrong. “Ready?”
Then my phone vibrates with one more text. I look down and read Paul’s next message:
Conley is after YOU.
“Marguerite?” Theo now looks puzzled. “You okay?”