Page 41 of The Hitman’s Final Job

We talk for a few more minutes about the timeline, the resource requirements, the question of whether I’ll travel to Uganda for the initial trial setup, and then we say goodbye.

I close the laptop and sit for a moment in the quiet of my office, thinking about how close I am to fulfilling my goal. World hunger could be a thing of the past in just a few years.

This is why my work matters.

Not the academic recognition or the acquisition offers from companies that want to own it.

I pick up my phone to check the time and find a message from Rowan.

Rowan:

Dad. Me and Silas are on the Arkansas today. White water rafting with Hux. Camping overnight at the overlook. Don’t wait up.

I try not to think too hard about the dangers of white water rafting.

Vaughn:

Be careful. Both of you. Come back in one piece. And tell Hux I said hi.

Rowan:

You’re such a dad. Love you.

I pick up my pen and go back to the seedling data.

I’m in the middle of annotating the root length measurements of tomato seedlings when Priya knocks.

“Come in,” I call.

“There’s a package for you,” she says. She’s standing in the doorway holding a small cardboard box.

“We didn’t order anything.”

“No, we didn’t.”

“What courier was it?”

“Don’t know. Just dropped it at the front entrance,” she says. “The security camera shows a van. No markings. The driver didn’t come to the desk.”

I take the package and grab the knife to open it. It’s probably one of those joke gifts Rowan sometimes sends us. We’ve so far received T-shirts, paperweights, sticky notepads and coffee mugs. All with some kind of plant-related pun. He probably forgot he ordered it.

The box is heavier than usual. When I open it, the first thing I see is a note.

In case you ignored the email.

I go still.

I set down the knife, then go to the window that faces the access road. All I see is Clayton’s truck in the distance.

Nothing else. No van. No unmarked vehicle.

I go back to the desk, but instead of the book, I check my emails. With the excitement of work, I haven’t looked at my mailbox all morning.

The email is at the top of the unread list. The subject line says A friendly warning before this becomes unfriendly.

It’s from a law firm called Hargrove & Associates. I recognize the pattern immediately. Not this specific email, but the shape and language of it. It’s a combination of legal formality and implicit threat that I’ve been receiving in various forms for the better part of two years. Someone has decided they want to own my research by implying I stole someone else’s intellectual property.

Well, I’d like to see them prove that, but they’re not interested in taking this further. They want me to be scared enough to sell my work.