"I do apologize, Doctor. Mr. Crowe insisted on getting a hold of you immediately," said the voice on the other end of the line.
"My name is Marcy, Dr. Mallory. I am Mr. Phineas Crowe's personal assistant." She said calmly.
Sean paused a moment as his mind was suddenly jerked into gear by the lady on the phone's last statement.
"Phineas Crowe?", Sean asked. "As in, the billionaire playboy,...that Mr. Crowe?" Sean asked again.
"Yes sir, Doctor. He insisted that I get a hold of you immediately." Marcy repeated.
"I don't understand, Marcy, why would Mr. Crowe need to get a hold of me?" Sean asked with a puzzled look on his face.
He sat down on the edge of his bed as his anger at being woken up on his day off so early began to be replaced by his desire to find out what this billionaire could possibly want with a mid-level research scientist from Stanford.
"Mr. Crowe has informed me only to contact you and ask you to meet him this afternoon at 2:30pm in New Orleans so that he can explain it all to you." Marcy explained in a very matter of fact business like fashion.
"New Orleans?" Sean quipped. "I'm in San Jose. How am I supposed to get to New Orleans by 2:30? I don't have a car. I live on campus. Seriously?" Sean asked.
"It's already been arranged, Doctor Mallory. There's a car waiting to take you to a private airfield where one of Mr. Crowes private jets is awaiting your arrival. It will bring you here to New Orleans. Don't pack any clothes. Just get cleaned up and head down stairs. We will take care of the rest. Mr. Crowe wanted me to assure you that you would be back home later this evening if you so choose." Marcy said quickly.
"What if I don't want to go?" Sean asked hesitantly.
"That's certainly your prerogative, Doctor Mallory, but how many times in your life will you be summoned to a meeting with one of the most powerful, rich, and influential men in the world?" Marcy asked triumphantly.
"Well...yeah, I guess I already knew that would be our answer." Sean said quietly.
"Okay. I'll be there." said Sean.
"Perfect! We will see you at 2:30 Dr. Mallory. Enjoy the flight!" said Marcy. The phone clicked dead, and Sean put his phone down on the bed next to him and just stared at it in shock.
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Phineas Crowe was a forty something billionaire playboy. Most of his fortune was handed down to him from his father who had founded Humanatech, a bio-genetic firm that specialized in bridging the gap between medicine and technology, in the early 1980's. They didn't really produce anything of significance until Phineas came to control the company in the early 2000's. Their greatest achievement under Phineas to date was manufacturing Miomex; a drug that had basically brought an end to the debilitating disease known as Alzheimers. Humanatech figured out a way to use nano-technology along with a synthesized formula that was built around an individuals DNA. After many human trials they finally cracked the code and now with a small prick of your finger the DNA sample taken from your blood would be merged with nano technology. Swallow a one-time dose of a liquid mixture and...voila...within hours people who had suffered for years with this debilitating disease were returning to the people they used to be. Memories returned. Mind returned. Complete and utter modern day miracle.
The world flocked to Humanatech. They couldn't produce Miomex fast enough. Because they were the only ones with the miracle drug they could also control the price. They were accused of price gauging early on, but they quickly realized they could make more money by lowering the cost to make it as commonplace as aspirin, and winning the goodwill of the world around them. Not only did it prove to be a brilliant public relations strategy, but it also lined their coffers with more money then most developing nations.
Phineas Crowe had very little to do with Miomex. He was simply the benefactor of some lab rats stuffed down in a research facility that finally happened upon the correct formula and code for the nano-tech to be able to merge and blend with the host DNA, thus being able to "re-program" to some extent the faulty DNA that was causing this horrible disease to take root in the first place. But he did benefit. Handsomely! His net worth was estimated to be over 100 billion dollars. Needless to say, Phineas Crowe was not lacking for anything. If he wanted it...he just bought it. He had a particular attraction to the flamboyant and over the top decadent lifestyle, and if he was ever seen in public, he was surrounded by a bevy of scantily clad women that were half his age. His public image was one of being a spoiled young boy trapped in a forty year olds body. With nothing out of his reach he lived a life of wanton pleasure and endless partying.
It has been rumored in recent years that the board of directors was really leaning hard on Phineas to lead the company into the future; to continue to be the leader in innovation when it came to bio-medical treatments. Being the playboy he was did nothing to erase the pitiful memories of failing to impress and garner the pride of his father. His father was a hard worker that built Humanatech from the ground up. Phineas could have cared less. Their relationship was often strained due to Phineas' constant need to rebel and party.
His father left him everything when he died. It was his way of telling his son that he loved him even though they were never the father and son ideal that he had desired. Phineas changed his ways briefly after his father's passing, but it was short lived once his bank account added a few more zeros to the end of the line.
Phineas lived the life that men everywhere only dream about. But the cost of such living took its toll. The pleasures he surrounded himself with ceased to bring the pleasure it once did. He was always searching and looking for something else to fill the void. He became desensitized to life itself. Nothing shocked him anymore, nothing moved him anymore. Drugs had lost their effect. The highs were just not getting him high enough. He could have sex with anyone he wanted whenever he wanted. Sex had lost its appeal. It was becoming harder and harder to get hard.
Phineas began to devise a plan. He had near unlimited wealth, and he had access to the best labs in the world. He started to contrive a plan that would not only solve his own personal search for happiness, but would catapult Phineas to the top of the list as the most influential and powerful man in the world. Miomex was just the beginning. Finding a cure for Alzheimers was truly miraculous, but it could only benefit people who had the disease. Phineas knew that if he could use that same technology to create a drug that would give him a safe high with unlimited potential, then there would be no end to the people lining up at their doors to use it. A drug that could give people the power to be anyone they wanted to be or experience anything they had dreamed of experiencing. A drug that would cure the boredom that living in this rat race everyday produces. It would be a drug that he would want. A drug that he would use. A drug he needed because his senses had been dulled by his extravagant living.
The problem would be that this would have to be off the books. The board would never go for something like this. The FDA certainly would never approve something like this. He would be shut down the minute any word of this got out. He needed people he could trust, but since he didn't have many friends inside of the company, it would mean he would have to look outside. He would need someone that he could control, and he knew of no better way to control someone then with money and extortion.
Phineas needed a dreamer. He needed someone that was smart enough to help, but that would be in a position that he could not refuse to help even knowing the grey areas that this sort of venture would put them in.
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Sean ran to the window and pulled back the curtain just enough to peek out. Sure enough, there was a black SUV sitting by the curb in front of his townhome. There was a young looking Hispanic woman in a short black skirt with a white shirt and black jacket on top. She wore high heels and dark sunglasses and was standing properly beside the passenger side door waiting patiently. He let the blind go and stood there for a minute. He rubbed his hands in his face and then ran them through his black and wild bed-head hair.
"Could this really be happening?" he thought to himself.
His heart began to pound a little inside as he made his way to the bathroom. He jumped in the shower and washed off. All kinds of thoughts were running through his head. Some made sense, most didn't, and others just terrified him. He put on a white button down shirt and some khaki pants and then grabbed a navy blue blazer; not to formal and not to casual.
"What do you wear to a meeting with one of the richest men in the world?" he thought to himself.
