I swallow hard. I could never forget that Fleming is coming to Portland. He is the chemist that inspired the first article I wrote with my dad. “Yes, it’s on my calendar.”
“Good, good. In the meantime, one of the school’s donors is coming this Friday to see the department’s progress. I know this is not a great time for you but your thesis experiment has been our gem this year. Would you mind giving a presentation on your supplement?”
“Friday? As in tomorrow?” I yelp.
“Last minute, I know. I meant to tell you on Tuesday but forgot. Can you do it?” Denton’s words gush faster than the rain’s pellets. Whoever the sponsor is, he or she must be integral to the success of the department, and Denton is the chair. No matter how much I dread public speaking, I have to support him.
“Of course I’ll do it. If you don’t mind the good reputation of the department resting on my public speaking skills.” I force a laugh.
“Nonsense. This is your baby and you know it better than anyone. I’ll email you the details in about sixty seconds.”
A roll of thunder rumbles in the skies and I use my scientific thinking to convince myself that it is not an omen.
“Will you have time to put together the presentation this afternoon and we can practice?” Denton continues.
My heart picks up some rhythm from my nerves. Something it has not done since…well, since Mr. Hale’s apparitions. “Sure. Right after my stereochem final. How many people are going to be there?”
“Two. I’ll get the small lecture hall—conference room B—so it’s close to the lab. Good?”
“Yes, that’s great. What does the company do?”
“Venture capitalism. I’ll give you some background today so you can spend what time you have on the presentation.”
I thank him even after he hangs up. Any other week, I would be a puddle on the floor from nerves. Now I’m grateful for them. I was dreading the time I would have after my last final. Bloody hell, things must be bad if public speaking feels like a gift from the gods.
*
After my last exam, I plod to Denton’s office in my squishy canvas sneakers that are still soaked from the trek to the bus stop.
Denton is waiting for me. “Hey, kid. How did the finals wrap up?”
I shrug. “I wish they hadn’t.”
He gives me a sympathetic look but does not linger. “Okay, let’s talk about tomorrow. Here’s what I know: Hale Holdings was founded by Aiden Hale…” Denton’s professorial voice is muted by a sudden pounding of blood in my ears. Hale? As in my Mr. Hale? My Mr. Hale? Bloody hell, I’ve lost it.
“Isa?”
“Yes, sorry. Still here.”
“Good. Now, HH is a venture capital firm. Hale started it out as a small fund and now it owns equity in over one hundred companies around the world. He runs them single-handedly, which is unique even among venture capitalists. Most are notorious control freaks. How the man does it, I have no clue.” Denton laughs. His eyes twinkle as they do when he witnesses a scientific wonder.
“Anyway, HH has the smallest carbon footprint in the U.S. for companies its size, and its philanthropy is astounding. From funding stem-cell research to supporting low-income schools. But its pet cause is the rehabilitation of U.S. veterans.”
Denton goes on like this for a while. I absorb everything I can. “Do you know who they’re sending?”
“No, but I’m sure it will be someone who knows enough to ask pointed questions. Let’s get the PowerPoint slides going.”
My nerves start creaking again. To distract myself, I wonder whether my Mr. Hale is the son or grandson of whomever founded HH. Or maybe he is not at all related and does not even spell Hale the same way. I shake my head at myself.
By eleven, my slides are all finished and we have run through them five times. I feel confident about my material. I’m just worried about phrasing it right and unexpected questions. Denton drops me off at home in his environmentally friendly Prius and reminds me sternly to get some sleep.
I nod back as enthusiastically as I can. No need to tell him I have no hope of following his instruction.
Chapter Seven
Mr. Hale
When my alarm goes off at 5:00 a.m., I am still awake. Mr. Hale has kept me company all night—lulling me into a trance between dreams and reality. Reluctantly, I force him out of my mind to rehearse my slides. But the mental distance fills me with a sense of loss, so I escape to the restroom to shower and get ready. Last night, Reagan insisted I wear one of her suits, but as I slip it on this morning, it feels strange. Suits are not for scientists. I decide on a pencil skirt with my mum’s white blouse instead. Maybe it’s not quite as professional but at least I’ll feel like me.