The Negotiation
“But someone else. Not you.”
“Exactly. Certain information, if released prematurely and without the relevant context to understand it appropriately, will be extraordinarily dangerous to the person releasing it.” Medici stood, and moved to the window that looked over the lights of the Bay. “Have you wondered, Mr. Porter, why Dr. Patterson and Dr. Stahl died?”
“I assumed they were killed to protect HemaTech’s research.”
“They were murdered,” Medici said quietly, “but not to protect HemaTech. They were killed because their research presented threats to certain parties who possess secrets of their own. And these same parties would view your article as an even greater threat to them.”
Porter’s mind raced through the implications. “You’re suggesting there’s some kind of conspiracy—”
“I’m suggesting,” Medici turned to face him, “that you’ve stumbled into a complex situation that you can’t possibly understand. I’m offering to help you understand the situation, and to allow you to tell the story accurately, safely, and completely. But I can only do this if you’re willing to wait.”
“One month.”
“One month. And I can assure you, the story will still be there for you in a month. In fact, it will probably be even more interesting, even more relevant, in one month than it will be tomorrow.”
Porter considered the offer. Every journalistic bone in his body revolted against accepting further delays, against striking deals with sources. But there was something convincing about Medici, something that suggested the man was telling the absolute truth about the danger to him.
“It’s definitely an intriguing offer,” Porter said carefully, “But if I’m going to agree to it, I need something in return. It has to be something big enough to justify such a long delay to my editor.”
“I understand. Name it.”
“I need you to confirm, on the record, whether HemaTech has developed viable life-extension technology.”
The room fell silent. Grahame shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The two women exchanged glances. But Medici simply smiled.
“Mr. Porter,” he said, “if I answer that question honestly, then you must agree to the delay. One month, and during that time, my protection in exchange for your patience. And you may not share my answer with your editor or with anyone else. Do we have an agreement?”
Porter thought about his wife, his two daughters in college, one at Dartmouth, one at Brown. He thought about Dr. Patterson and Dr. Stahl, both dead under seemingly accidental circumstances, and now confirmed to have been murdered. And most of all, he thought about the Pulitzer Prize that would certainly await the journalist who broke the story of the century, indeed, perhaps the biggest news story of all time!
Pulitzer Prize? Forget the Pulitzer Prize. The book rights and film rights would mean millions, perhaps even tens of millions to him!
“Does your protection extend to the period after the revised story appears?”
“It does.”
“All right, we have an agreement,” he said. “I’ll sit on the story for one month at your request.”
Medici nodded gravely. “Thank you, Mr. Porter. And now I am pleased to answer your question. The answer is yes. HemaTech has developed viable life-extension technology capable of fundamentally prolonging the human lifespan.”
Porter’s hand moved instinctively toward his recorder, but Medici raised a finger in warning.
“You agreed to wait one month. What I’ve given you is confirmation, not information.”
“That’s just semantic—”
“That’s our agreement,” Medici corrected. “In one month, you’ll be given access to everything you need. Every scientist, every study, every piece of data. You’ll understand not just what we’ve achieved, but why we’ve handled it as we have. And when you publish your story—your complete, accurate, and contextual story—you will reshape how humanity understands life, death, and everything in between.”
Porter wanted to push, to demand more answers immediately. But something in Medici’s eyes—ancient, patient, dangerous—reminded him that he was playing a game whose rules he didn’t fully understand.
“How do I know you’ll keep your word?” Porter asked.
“Because, Mr. Porter, I’ve been known for keeping my word much longer than you have been alive.” Medici moved toward the door, then paused. “Miss Achermann will provide you with a schedule for your first interviews. I suggest you take your time and prepare very thoroughly for them. What you’re about to learn will challenge everything you think you know about human biology.”
“Wait,” Porter called out as Medici reached the door. “Just one more question.”
Medici turned, one eyebrow raised.
“The genetic markers Dr. Patterson found, the anomalies. What did she mean by them?”
For the first time since entering the room, Medici showed genuine surprise. Then, slowly, he smiled, an expression that was as amused as it was predatory.
“That, Mr. Porter, is exactly the right question. And in one month, you’ll have your answer. But I suspect that when you do, you’ll wish you hadn’t asked.”
With that, he was gone, leaving Porter with more questions than ever. But now he had something he hadn’t had before—confirmation that his instincts were right, that HemaTech had achieved something extraordinary. The question was whether he’d survive long enough to tell the world about it.
Grahame stood, extending his hand. “Welcome to the story, Mr. Porter. I think you’ll find the next month very… educational.”
Porter shook the offered hand, noting the unusual coolness of Grahame’s skin. “I sincerely hope so. My reputation is on the line here.”
“Just your reputation?” Chiara del Giorgio spoke for the first time, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. “Mr. Porter, with all due respect, that’s the least of your concerns!”
As Porter left HemaTech that night, escorted by the same graceful security guard, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just made either the best or the worst decision of his career. The parking lot was empty except for his Toyota Camry and four black Chevrolet Suburbans.
He sat in his car for a moment, thinking about what had just happened. Lorenzo de Medici had confirmed it—HemaTech had developed life-extension technology. Real, viable technology that could extend human lifespans. It was the story of the century, and he had exclusive access to it.
But at what cost? And what did Medici mean about parties who would view his publication as a threat? Who could be so invested in keeping life-extension technology secret that they would kill for it?
Porter started his car and pulled out of the parking lot, unaware of the sleek black sedan that pulled out behind him, maintaining a discrete distance. He had one month to uncover the truth. One month to understand what HemaTech had achieved and why it was being hidden.
One month to learn the secrets that some would kill to protect.
Out of the Shadows is available in Kindle, KU, audibook, and hardcover editions.
I expect this article that was published a few days ago by the BBC will make your blood boil!
‘I'd rather pay thousands on a holiday: Meet the pensioners spending the kids' inheritance’
https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/cje8y3w2zdpo
This is perhaps the worst quote from the piece:
‘‘Karen Green, 60, says she has been very upfront with her children. "I have been quite explicit to say there is unlikely to be a legacy because I'm anticipating spending it all."