The drive from the Chronicle office in the city to Malibu's exclusive Sea Crest development took Evelyn three agonizing hours, even at that late hour. The city had faded into rolling hills, which gave way to estates so expensive they didn't have neighbors—just buffer zones.
Dr. Aris Thorne's address was not a home; it was a fortress disguised as a minimalist architectural wonder. Black concrete, soaring glass, and manicured succulents were all shielded from the road by high, impenetrable walls and an electronic gate that looked like it guarded a vault.
Evelyn parked her aging sedan a discreet distance away. The irony was not lost on her: she was investigating a man who traded a cure for half a billion dollars, and she was currently worried about the $4.85 toll charge on her expense report.
She had rehearsed her opening lines. She wouldn't pretend to be a friend, but she wouldn't accuse him either. She needed to appeal to the scientist who had once spoken with zeal about "getting people back to their lives faster."
Evelyn approached the gate's intercom. The nameplate was stark: A. THORNE. She pressed the button.
A moment of silence, then a clipped, professional female voice answered. "Yes?"
"My name is Evelyn Reed. I'm a journalist. I'm hoping to speak with Dr. Thorne about his work with BioGenesis Solutions."
"Dr. Thorne is not available for interviews. He is retired." The voice was sterile, polite, and final—a verbal door slam.
"I understand he's retired," Evelyn pressed. "But his work—the enzyme compound—it was incredibly important. I just have a few questions about the next stage of its development."
A sigh, audible even through the cheap speaker. "Madam, I am authorized to tell you that Dr. Thorne has fully transitioned his intellectual property to Aethel and is no longer professionally affiliated with the biotech industry. All inquiries must be directed to Aethel's corporate communications office."
Evelyn recognized the language. It was carefully crafted, legally vetted, and utterly devoid of human interest. It was Julian Thorne's words, spoken through an expensive proxy.
"Please," Evelyn tried, her voice dropping to a persuasive murmur. "Just tell him that I know he got the message. Tell him I saw the ledger. Tell him I'm interested in the price of that transition."
There was a longer pause this time. The silence was thick, charged with sudden apprehension.
"One moment."
Evelyn waited, her heart thumping against her ribs. The Pacific wind blew cold off the ocean, carrying the scent of salt and privilege. She felt exposed, a tiny speck against the titan-like wealth of the place.
Finally, the speaker crackled back to life, but it was a different voice now—softer, slightly weary, and undeniably that of Dr. Aris Thorne.
"Miss Reed. You're persistent. That's a trait I used to admire."
"Dr. Thorne, I'm not here to judge your choices. I just want to know why a cure vanished. You believed in it."
"And I believe in financial security, Miss Reed. It's... very persuasive." His voice was low, and she strained to hear it over the light hum of the gate's machinery. "I am going to let you in. You have precisely fifteen minutes. And I advise you to leave the audio recorder in your pocket. My non-disclosure agreement is iron-clad, and my legal team is faster than yours."
The heavy gate buzzed and slowly began to swing inward, revealing a driveway paved with imported stone and a clear view of the opulent house.
Evelyn drove up and parked near the entrance. The front door was opened by Dr. Thorne himself. He was dressed in soft cashmere, his silver hair neatly styled. He looked fit, tanned, and deeply, overwhelmingly sad. The wild, focused light she remembered from his video interviews was extinguished, replaced by a dull emptiness.
The inside of the house was stunning: an infinity pool merged seamlessly with the Pacific horizon, and a gallery wall displayed abstract art that likely cost more than Evelyn's entire net worth. This truly was a golden cage.
"I don't know who sent you that file, Miss Reed," Dr. Thorne said, leading her into a sparse living area with a panoramic view. "And I don't care. I care only about the contract I signed. It provides me with everything I need, and it guarantees that if I utter one word—one unauthorized technical detail—I lose it all, and more."
He settled onto a suede sofa, gesturing for her to take an uncomfortable, modern chair.
"The money is worth the silence?" Evelyn asked, trying to keep the judgment out of her tone.
Dr. Thorne didn't flinch. "The money is more than enough. It's enough to ensure my children never know hardship. It's enough to erase a lifetime of worry. And it's enough to ensure Aethel doesn't simply bury BioGenesis, but legally dismantles it, leaving me financially ruined in the process. Julian Thorne doesn't just buy you; he purchases the very air you breathe."
He picked up a crystal tumbler containing a deep amber liquid. "My life's work now funds a foundation for endangered sea turtles. That, Miss Reed, is my new truth. Do you understand? The money spoke, and the words stopped."
"But the cure, Dr. Thorne. That enzyme—it could have helped millions of people now."
His eyes finally connected with hers, and for a fleeting second, Evelyn saw the scientist's pain. "I know exactly what it could have done. I know what Julian Thorne is protecting—his existing lines of long-term care revenue. It's profitable for people to recover slowly. It's devastating for them to recover quickly." He took a long, steady sip of his drink. "But what I know, and what I can legally say, are two different currencies. And I chose the one that keeps this roof over my head."
A discreet chime sounded from his wristwatch.
"Your fifteen minutes are over, Miss Reed. And I've probably already said too much." He stood up, his posture impeccable. "I hope you find the truth you're looking for. But if Julian Thorne offers you a deal, take it. Because his money doesn't just buy silence; it buys peace. And peace is the only thing he can't take back."
As Evelyn walked back to the gate, she felt the oppressive weight of the estate's wealth. She hadn't broken the silence, but she had heard the echo of the man who had traded his legacy for luxury. Dr. Thorne had confirmed everything: Julian Thorne was suppressing innovation for profit, and his primary weapon was not threat, but irresistible temptation.
She got back into her sedan, the engine sputtering to life. The first step was done. She now had the motive and confirmation of the mechanism. The next step was the ledger. She needed Marcus, and she needed him fast. Julian Thorne wasn't just censoring cures; he was buying souls, one staggering wire transfer at a time.