Page 45 of Ivory Obsession
The folder’s name stared back at me: “Neurogenetic Projects - Confidential.” My gaze lingered on the label, the words alone enough to raise the hairs on the back of my neck.
“Here goes nothing,” I whispered to no one, clicking open the file. Rows upon rows of documents lined the screen, each one a Pandora’s Box begging to be left alone. But I was past the point of no return.
I plugged in my USB—a lifeline back to my world of shadowed alleys and silent promises. Dragging and dropping, I copied the files, watching as the progress bar filled up. Each percentage was a step closer to unlocking the future—or damning it.
“Come on, come on,” I urged the machine, my impatience a pulsing beat in my veins. The seconds stretched out, infinite as space, until finally, the transfer completed. A digital heartbeat echoed through the silence—the potential for pioneering brain regeneration now at my fingertips, nestled among the mundane on a piece of plastic and metal.
My father might’ve been a real estate mogul–among other things–but he had no idea what kind of riches awaited the Moretti family, if I could just sell this to the highest bidder.
“Gotcha,” I breathed out, relief washing over me in an unsanctified baptism. With the data secured, I pulled the USB free, its weight now immeasurable in my pocket.
I turned back to the workstation, the embers of victory cooling into the hard, cold reality of what needed to be done next. My fingers danced over the keyboard as I navigated through the system’s history. The login records stared back at me, evidence of my ghostly passage through their digital world.
“Nothing personal,” I murmured, and with a few keystrokes, I wiped the logs clean, eradicating my digital footprint. It was like I’d never been there—a specter in the wires, unseen and unheard.
Satisfied, I stood up, pulling on my gloves with deliberate care to avoid leaving any lingering trace of myself behind. I scanned the workstation one last time, ensuring not a single fingerprint or stray piece of DNA remained. The Moretti name was built on being untouchable, and I intended to keep it that way.
The exit greeted me with a rush of crisp night air, a sharp contrast to the sterile hum of conditioned air inside. I filled my lungs with it, letting it clear my head for a moment. But as I descended the steps into the deserted street, that brief solace was ripped away by the gravity of what I carried with me—the potential to change lives or destroy them. The data was a beast in my pocket, whispering sweet promises one minute and growling dark threats the next.
I slipped into my car, the leather seat familiar beneath me. As I drove through the streets, the city seemed to hold its breath, waiting to see which path I would tread. My mind raced, each thought a ricochet bullet, bouncing between the miracles and menaces nestled within Jade’s research.
“Careful, Dante,” I told myself. “This is bigger than you can imagine.”
I took a turn, my hands steady on the wheel despite the storm brewing inside me. Street lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows that played across the dashboard, reminding me that no matter how far I drove, I could never outrun the choices I had to make.
Once I reached the familiar confines of my place, the door shut with a weighty thud behind me. The silence was a stark canvas to the chaos of my thoughts. I shrugged off my jacket and made straight for the laptop sitting on the dark wood desk, an unassuming witness to the nights spent unraveling secrets best left in the shadows.
I booted up the machine, its screen cutting through the darkness, illuminating my face in its blue glow. I didn’t bother with lights; they’d only serve as a beacon for prying eyes. Instead, I let the moon spill its silver judgment through the windows, casting slanted bars across the room like a jail cell.
The files opened with a click, their contents spilling out before me—charts, graphs, emails, all pieces of Jade’s life’s work. I scanned the data, my heart hammering at the implications of each document. Groundbreaking didn’t even begin to cover it. Neuroplasticity, the brain’s ability to rewire itself, to heal—she’d cracked it wide open.
I dived deeper, my brows furrowing as I consumed her complex explanations and calculations, the technical jargon swimming before my eyes. It was like trying to read a foreign language, one riddled with complex equations and biological terms that transcended my understanding. Yet the implications were clear—this was monumental, unprecedented even.
With each scroll, I felt more of Jade’s passion bleeding into me. The enormity of the impact this could have on humanity was staggering—treatments for brain injuries, cures for neurodegenerative diseases, the possibilities were endless. And dangerous. The power to manipulate the very fabric of human cognition could easily become a tool for control in the wrong hands.
This was some sci-fi shit.
Forget making the Moretti family wealthy for as long as we were around. Owning this research meant controlling the fucking world.
Suddenly, the grim reality of my actions hit me hard. I was holding something that could rewrite the laws of nature, something Jade had created out of pure altruism and passion for her research. And here I was, ready to sell it to the highest bidder—ready to betray Jade in the most profound way.
“God damn it.” I scrubbed at my face, feeling the rough stubble beneath my fingertips. My reflection stared back at me from the glossy laptop screen, distorted by codes and graphs—the traitor in the mirror, wearing a look of regret.
Regret...it was a bitter pill to swallow, but there it was, irrefutable and heavy in my chest.
I retrieved my cell phone from my pocket, my thumb hovering over Jade’s contact. For a moment, I hesitated. There was still time to undo this—to warn her. But then would come questions—questions laden with suspicion and doubt. Questions I wasn’t ready to answer. Not yet.
My thumb wavered, but then I shoved the phone back into my pocket. The die was cast, for better or worse.
I sat back in my chair, staring at the screen until the words blurred together. The hum of the city seemed to grow quiet as if holding its breath in anticipation of what was to come. An eerie silence filled the room, amplifying the rapid beat of my heart. This wasn’t just about money or power anymore. It was about the future, about lives that could be changed—or ruined.
And it was better that it was in my hands instead of someone like Lorenzo Caruso’s.
Right?
Chapter Eighteen: Dante
I’d spent all day chewing on what I needed to do next…and this was a meeting I definitely didn’t want to have.