The Curse of Curing Cancer Chapter 4

Julian Rivers-Martin wasn’t quite sure his pencil was at an exact right angle to his diary. His desk was inexcusably large; because he was very important, but he liked to keep everything in one corner at right angles to each other. He was very important and very busy, very busy indeed straightening his pen. After that was done he’d probably do something else, like have a coffee. The fact of the matter was that Julian Rivers-Martin’s job was an important job making him an important man. He wasn’t the important man, not by a long way but, that being said, he was more important than a lot of people. Allow me to make one small fact clear, I am not using the conventional definition of the word ‘important’. In this instance, ‘important’ doesn’t refer to something of significance or value, it means he gets paid a lot. I also stated that Julian was a busy man, I’m afraid that was a lie. He had a lot to do, that much was true, but he had cleverly delegated to a lot of less important people who were paid much, much less. If you were to use the traditional definition of ‘important’ you may mistake these people as important and furthermore, may conclude Julian Rivers-Martin was dispensable. They were wrong of course, or rather they didn’t have enough money to be right.

Julian worked for a pharmaceutical company called Vermartius which sounded just soothing enough for the public and just imperious enough for the egos of the men who ran it. His job title was long and confusing and full of big words that didn’t mean anything either. He moved in a world of long words that no one really understood, that helped a lot with the process of making obscene amounts of money. Basically, the people below him went through all the new advancements in various medicines and drug trials and weigh up whether Vermartius should invest in the product. The few products that get referred to Julian Rivers-Martin were the very cutting edge of medicinal advancement. Julian’s job was to then enter into negotiations with the people producing the drug about how they were going to split the money that was to be made from the product. This tended to involve the people responsible for all the work on the new drug got a large sum of money initially and then Vermartius received a much larger sum of money in the fullness of time. After this was all concluded, Julian would then make a case from the new product to THE BOARD. THE BOARD consisted of several old, rich men, also with double-barrelled surnames and enormous pay-checks. But it was controlled by one man if truth be told, and his pay-check was so big you couldn’t tell anyone about it. If that was successful the drug would be funded through any further tests to bring it just up to, but in no way exceeding, a legal standard and then distributed to the public or hospitals for lots of lovely money. I feel I may have painted Julian Rivers-Martin in an unfavourable light. Do you dislike Julian? If so I fear some of the blame must lie with me and my bias story telling. I have emphasised his driving desire for money, a trait that quite a few of us possess I dare say. Money may not buy happiness but it does buy food, housing, clothes, holidays, luxuries, utilities, etc. which make me very happy, I dare say we all desire money. And yet, we despise Julian, why? I hypothesize it is because he has been widely successful in his search for money whereas most of us haven’t. The means by which he does this could not be said to be entirely honourable but that does seem to be a key requirement for making money. Furthermore, it should be noted that while he does make money by forcing people to pay for their health, the result of his job is that drugs that do help people are made available. This is the distinction I really do hope you keep in mind during this tale; Julian Rivers-Martin liked making money for himself a hell of a lot but, at the end of the day, he loved helping people. He was a pretentious, self-important, greedy, lazy, privileged twerp but he wasn’t a total arse.

Philippa Yates the receptionist came in with Julian’s coffee which prompted him to very suddenly become busy, or rather appear busy.
“Thank you, Philippa, just pop it down there. Please do remember to knock, I may be on a call.”
“I do apologise, sir, anything else?”
“That will be all. Thank you.”
Philippa walked back out of the room aware of his eyes studying her rear. She considered being offended but she found it all rather funny. He was a rather laughable man, hardly did anything yet insisted he was terribly busy and he tried very hard to assert some semblance of authority but she was beautiful and young, she knew who really had the power. She’d probably let him shag her one day then enjoy the extravagances he bought her in return for her silence. Delivering coffee, allowing herself to be objectified and a quick shag was a small price to pay for that sort of power.

Julian reasoned that as he had been pretending to read his emails he may as well read them. He also reasoned that he would like to drink his coffee. Seen as the two aren’t mutually exclusive he elected to do both activities simultaneously:

Julian started his laptop up, singing along to the starting music as he always did absent-mindedly. He also tested the temperature of the coffee and removed the lid to help the cooling process along. He then opened up his emails and let the notification buzzing sound sweep over him as it repeated sounded with the realisation of each new email while he added milk, two sugars and stirred. He quickly eliminated the general spam and then the emails from the people paid a considerable amount less than him alongside blowing profusely on him coffee that refused to cool at the rate he desired. Finally, Julian settled on an email worthy of his time and began to read and as he read he brought the coffee to his lips and poured. He completely missed his mouth sending a stream of coffee cascading towards his crotch, and it certainly wasn’t cool enough despite his best efforts. The burning coffee seared away at his crotch but he continued to read. His mind was busy, filled to capacity with trying to grasp the meaning and consequences of the words he couldn’t believe he was reading. By the time he had finished the reading and understanding of the email his groin was only a soggy, luke-warm mass of pain that used to be. He had more important things to do than worry about his groin and that’s quite a thing for a man to admit.
“Philippa! Philippa!!! PHILIPPA!!!!!!!” yelled Julian at the unyielding door. He sighed before pressing a button on the intercom: “Philippa.”
“Hello, sir. How can I help.” Replied Philippa with an immediacy that almost gave away the game.
“I need you to put me through to the Sebastian.”
“Sir Sebastian?”
“Yes!”
“You want me you check his schedule?”
“No I want you to put me through to him right away.”
“He is normally rather busy I’m afraid and he doesn’t like unplanned called.”
“I, Philippa, am rather busy!” hissed Julian threw his teeth, trying to sound as indignant with as much dignity as he was entitled which, owing to his sudden as-of-yet unexplained hysteria, was not a considerable amount.
“Yes sir but…” Philippa knew all she had to say.
“And what?!” came the reply, low and menacing and hilarious. Philippa stifled her laughter, she had to sound oblivious enough to pass for innocent. That way she could say whatever she wanted.
“But, you know, he’s properly busy. You know, doing things, real things, like running the company.” She savoured the following pause. She’d trained herself to listen out for the sound of her boss’ redundant lips moving up and down like a fish with nothing but air to show for it. Julian decided to give up the battle for his dignity and head a single-channelled attack with indignity alone.
“You. Will. Put. Me. Through. NOW.”
Julian seemed impressed with himself at the excessively punctuated sentence he’d just released. Philippa would soon see to that.
“I will put you through now…what?”
Julian had two options, he could get what he wanted right after he said one word or he could continue a battle that even if he did eventually win, he wouldn’t have won.
“Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please will you put me through.”
“To who?”
“Please will you put me through to Sir Sebastian…please!”
“Sorry sir, he is rather busy and you do know he doesn’t like unscheduled calls.”
And then Julian Rivers-Martin went snap.
“I am your boss, Philippa! I am your boss! I AM IN CHARGE” said no one who was ever truly in charge ever, “You are paid to do this job for me, I keep you homed and fed! Remind me why the hell I do this!? You will put me through to Sir Sebastian because I have told you to do so. I can tell you to do so because I am your boss. I don’t care if Sir Sebastian is busy and nor do you because I have told you to do it and I am your boss. So you will put me through to Sir Sebastian this instant because I AM YOUR BOSS!!!”
“Is that so?”
Those three words came back quickly and, while they don’t carry much semantic meaning on their own, they set of a sequence of realisations in Julian’s brain. This sequence went as follows:

1. That was not Philippa’s voice.
2. That was a man’s voice.
3. He knew that voice.
4. That voice did not sound very pleased at all.
5. Julian had just said a lot of things that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

“Oh, hello Sir.”
Julian heard his own voice, weak and thin, and then waited like a man who had just dropped an unpinned grenade into a bag of identical grenades.
“Julian, this better be damn important.”
“It is sir, I promise.”
“If it isn’t Julian I shall dedicate the rest of my life to destroying yours.”
“Sir, I am sorry but…”
“I will sell this business that I have raised from nothing, that I have worked my entire life to build so as to dedicate my entire being to the destruction of you.”
“D…”
“What!?”
Julian recalculated.
“Sir. Sorry, I have received an email containing a report that suggests that…well, it suggests that someone has invented the cure for cancer.”
Julian let himself enjoy the pause that followed. It was pregnant with thought, the same thought process Julian had been through minutes before. Finally, the reply came:
“Shit!”
That had not been what Julian had expected at all.
“Sir, this is good news.”
“Shut up for a moment will you,” Julian obliged, “I need to think. God, Jesus, Mother ffff…shit. Right, I need you to meet me for lunch in the usual place. Be there for 12:30, ok?”
“Erm…of course, sir…”
Despite the firm insistence on a sir seconds before, the phone had hung up half through Julian’s last one. It was 12:02 now and Julian had to get across town, he was going to have to go immediately so that ruled out getting Philippa to get a car. Julian jogged out of his office and into the lift where he continued to jog on the spot for no real reason. He then jogged through the lobby and into the nearest taxi he could see.
“Dear man, get my to Tenterton Road and as quick as you can.”
“Got to keep to 30, mate. Sorry, I don’t write the rules.”
“I will tip you your average speed getting there.”
“Well, 30 is just a guideline isn’t it.”
And so, by defying the laws of time and space and the highway code, Julian arrived with seconds to spare. The lighter something is the faster it goes and that explains why Julian was now moving so fast as he had just shed a lot of weight from his wallet. He ran into the restaurant, taking only the smallest of moments to compose himself before giving a customary nod to the waiter. The waiter knew him of course, he didn’t need to say a word. Julian was walked to his usual table which was empty. He looked at his watch; it was 12:01. He took a seat, fifteen minutes later he was still alone and starting to wish he hadn’t gotten quite so carried away.

Sir Sebastian had fantastic posture. He held himself in such high esteem that it showed in the way he held himself. He sat, smart as a button, in the back of his chauffeur-driven car. A glance at his watch and the chauffeur would speed up, a steadying hand on the handle to the left of him and they’d slow down. If the chauffeur gave him a glance that could be interrupted as, in any way, unfavourable then he’d be replaced with the hour. If Sir Sebastian was bored he need only raise his hand and in five minutes he’d be driving a sports car…or a speed boat……..or a helicopter. Sir Sebastian really didn’t need to speak, people watched him closely. Every room he walked into he owned, every person he met his inferior. One time, the room he had walked into was in Buckingham Palace, for his knighthood. Her majesty has rich, posh and respected as they come but even she fell into the trap of being an aristocrat. The problem was she acquired her riches, pedigree and respect from her family. She was breed just like her corgies, she was a dog and men like Sir Sebastian were there to remind her of that.
Sir Sebastian was born into an ordinary, working class family but he was born. Without wealth, without prestige, without any spectacular brains but he did have a certain attitude to life. This attitude led him to make two decisions that brought him wealth, prestige and respect. His parents had been on benefits for a long period of his childhood and it had sickened him. The idea that they had been dependant on more successful people, sucking in money like parasites, it sickened Sir Sebastian. Why would the strong keep the weak? If a bottle of wine was corked you wouldn’t drink it for charity, you had it thrown out and another brought to the table. Things that do not for fill their purpose should be removed and replaced. It was following this logic that caused him to make his first decision; he would not be a parasitical failure like his parents. This led to a second decision; he would be a success. Now this was far more challenging attitude to live by. He noticed that there were only a few people who were as powerful as he desired to be and deduced that this was because there were only a set amount of powerful positions. Unfortunately, a vast amount of people were seeking these positions and, like rats fighting over scraps, the battle to be the one who has the power was vicious. This was always the way when the many want the finite, no matter now abstract the finite was and make no mistake, power is as abstract as it comes. Power doesn’t really exist.
It was the drive in Sir Sebastian that showed him that the best way to succeed was to make sure others didn’t and it was the very same drive that allowed him to do just that, excellently. He cheated, tricked and swindled his way to the top and he didn’t lose a night’s sleep over it. Morals wouldn’t help him. Sir Sebastian hadn’t got a great mind and he had the sense to acknowledge that if he had figured out the key to success was to destroy the competition then other people would. And then he’d just be another failure propelling someone else’s success story. In an ideal world this wouldn’t be the case but, again, Sir Sebastian had the sense to acknowledge the fact that it wasn’t an ideal world or even close.

Allow me to attempt an analogy, say life was a game that you can never stop playing. As with all games there are rules to maintain a manageable structure to support all the players of the game equally. The more you play the game the more skilled you become so the older and more dedicated players start to pull ahead. This is a game that, because of the rules, favours hard work and quick learning which mean that when they succeed at the game they have worked hard for it. However, it only takes one average player who isn’t working as hard or as long or even someone who just isn’t as naturally gifted and they want the success without the journey. They think hang on, I’m not being held back by my own ability, I’m being held back by the rules. As soon as someone remembers the rules are arbitrary they can break them and then it’s no competition. The players of the game see this and think to themselves “Why am I working harder for less success when this person is winning?” They could try and work even harder and catch up but that is futile, the other player hasn’t just changed the rules, he’s playing a different game. The choice is whether to join that game and succeed but break the rules of the game they’ve worked so hard to play for. The smart leave and the moral stay which is why the moral hate the smart and the smart sneer at the moral.

Once you shift the rules, change the game and divorce your morals you can do so many things better. Things like arguing, morals are the death of arguments. People don’t argue for truth, people think they do but actually they generally argue to win. You don’t have to be correct to win an argument you just have to be the better arguer. Another common mistake with arguments are that they are to persuade your opponent that your opinion is right. That is very often a lost cause, the very fact they are arguing against you suggest they will be just as stubborn as you. The point of an argument is to influence the people listening. Play to the audience and if they go with you then you’ve won whether or not your opponent agrees. And the beauty of arguing, as I’ve said before is that people THINK that the winner has the right opinion. Sir Sebastian Rivers-Martin was a man of no morals but he was an excellent debater and therefore, he was always right. He left the car, and entered the restaurant. The waiter knew him of course, he didn’t need to say a word. He was escorted to his usual table without a word said. He sat down, nodded for the waiter to leave and began to study the menu. He studied it for a long moment and then, finally, acknowledged his son.
“Julian, tell me this is a joke.”
“It isn’t father.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“I don’t care if it is or isn’t. Tell me it’s a damn silly joke.”
“I…I’m confused, this is good news. We’ve finally discovered the c…”
“Shut up!” growled Sir Sebastian, not raising his voice but piercing Julian’s sentence like his words were a knife. Sebastian raised a hand and inch and a waiter was there. A waiter who’s whole learned must have consisted on Sir Sebastian’s hand judging by the speed of his arrival. He whispered something in the waiters ear, it was short but it was words. He had spoken words to a vessel significantly below himself, this was important. The waiter nodded and then began hurriedly whispering to his peers who began to go about the process of emptying the restaurant of all it’s current custom. A few of the more indignant customers try to enquire as to why they were being thrown out half way through their meals but they were pointed in the direction of Sir Sebastian and they went very suddenly quiet and very quickly left. It wasn’t long at all before the only people remaining were Sir Sebastian, Julian and the waiter.
“What on earth is going on, sir?!” hissed Julian but Sir Sebastian wasn’t looking at him, he was staring at the waiter. The waiter saw the stare and tried to pretend he hadn’t but he could feel it searing away at his skin, through his bones, right inside him. The waiter could feel himself melting, any scrap of mass he possessed was irrelevant to this man who had locked his eyes into the waiter’s. Sir Sebastian waited a little while longer before mustering what seemed like a gargantuan effort and emitted a single syllable that carried a world of menace: “Wine.”
The waiter swept out of the room as fast as his legs could carry him, he didn’t slow down until he could no longer feel that relentless stare. Finally, Sir Sebastian turned to his son.
“Tell me exactly what you know about this.”
Julian took a deep breath, he had no idea what he’d been getting wrong but he knew he really had rather get it right…whatever it was.
“A few days ago an anonymous package was delivered to one of our research labs.”
“Which one?”
“Suffolk. They thought it was a prank at first but one of the researchers tested it for fun I think, in a lunch break or something like that and…well, it checks out. It’s legitimate. There is a cure for cancer.” Sir Sebastian jerkily glanced round the room, saw no one and returned his gaze to Julian, “I mean, it will need testing and refining of course. But this will launch us into infamy, da…sir. The world will know our names, they’ll celebrate us and we get all the money! I’m not joking, the package was anonymous. We aren’t dealing with percentage shares, there are no companies to negotiate with, we own it.”
“We do? You are sure?” said Sir Sebastian, his face perking up, his grimace transforming momentarily into the briefest of smiles. It was the first time he had shown a positive response and it spurred Julian on further.
“It belongs to Vermartius! It’s ours, we can call it the Rivers-Martin cure. Oh, what’s that? You have cancer? Oh poor you, here pop a Rivers-Martin pill, with a glass of water and BAM! Cured, thank you, thank you, here’s billion of pounds. It all goes to us because we own it.”
It occurred to Julian he may have said “we” a little too much for his father’s liking. He corrected himself: “You own it.”
“Good,” replied Sir Sebastian swiftly, “then we’ll destroy it.”
Julian heard but for a few moments he didn’t believe. After a long moment of futile reasoning and fruitless pondering he managed to utter three letters: “Why?”
Sir Sebastian sighed a weary sigh and adjusted himself in his seat as if preparing for a terribly tedious task. His mind worked differently from his son’s, they went down very different paths with purely the same information. His thought processes tended to take him on a straight road from A to B but Julian usually elected to meander round things like ethical issues, social opinion and worst of all what was the right thing to do. As we’ve already discussed, the right thing to do was whatever Sir Sebastian did. He did find it rather tiresome waiting for his son’s mind to catch him up .
“I can see you very excited about this, you called me immediately after you learnt about this news, without even checking its legitimacy first.”
Julian went to object but his father cut him off with a look and continued.
“I doubt you gave it much time think about what happens after cancer is cured. Have you?”
“Well…we sell it to the governments of the world, or maybe the World Health Organisation. They won’t be able to refuse any price we set, as soon as we publicise our findings the world will be watching. And then we become the richest men in the world and better than that! We will be, you will be the man that defeated cancer. After that the competition can take a hike. There’s no beating the cure for cancer and this will reverse the public perception entirely. We’ll be heroes.”
Sir Sebastian waited a beat for his unchanged, icy glare to do its job, took a breath and then repeated the question.
“And what happens once cancer is cured?”
Julian thought for a moment, trying to figure out the right answer, by definition the answer that his father wanted.
“Then…then we save hundreds of millions of lives over all. And we eradicate cancer.”
“Oh, so cancer has gone?”
“Yes, completely! Wiped off the face of the earth.”
“I see, so no more cancer research funding for us?” Julian was stunned into silence but his father wasn’t, “And then no more customers. We manufacture a drug that puts us out of business. Those and all our cancer treatment, they’re gone too. You see, cancer has really captured people’s imagination. There are charities for it, government funding, the whole world has been mad for a cure for decades now, of course someone would have found a cure if we were looking for one. But no, a lot of work has been put in to make sure the progress into research is either stunted or in the wrong direction.”
Sir Sebastian stopped abruptly as he noticed the waiter re-entering with the wine.
“I’ve brought your usual, sir.” Wimpered the waiter feebly, looking just above his piercing, blue eyes so as to avoid shivering.
“Good.” Came the reply, the waiter shivered slightly.
“Would you like me to open it for you sir?”
“No.”
“Would you like a me…”
“Leave.”
“Yes si…”
“Now”
And the waiter was gone, breaking into a sprint when it all got too much. I believe he quit his job at the restaurant that day which was a lucky escape for the manager’s conscience who would have had to fire him anyway to keep faith with a consistent and very wealthy customer.
Sir Sebastian continued once he was sure they were alone again:
“We do not cure diseases, that does not help us. He ease pain, we temporarily improve and we make phenomenal amounts of money to do so. The Russians cured cancer in 2009, I believe the scientists responsible are in prisoned now, that or dead. We aren’t going to get away with it that simply. I mean, for goodness sake, do you know how many times the cure for the common flu has been discovered, something to do with minerals only found in a certain type of bramble. Every time it’s been covered up, every time someone with a little common sense has stopped it. We don’t make money from making people better.”
That last sentence hit poor old Julian like a freight-train, it promised to derail his entire life. Freight-trains have a certain inevitability to them when they promise to derail you, all you can really do is deny it exists.
“You aren’t being serious, you can’t be. Of course we make people better.”
“I am, we don’t”
The problem with denying freight-trains is they do rather scream their existence as they hurtle towards you. If denial doesn’t work, anger is worth a try.
“But it is expected of you! It’s what you are paid so much sodding money to do and if you bloody don’t they are going to notice!”
“How dare you raise your voice at me.” growled Sir Sebastian.
“And once they notice they will turn on you, old man!”
“Well they don’t notice do they! People stop caring the second after they donate money or volunteer for a weekend or two at the local hospice. They tend to feel they’ve done their part, you naïve boy.”
“And what about the people who actually have cancer?! When do they stop caring?!”
“When they die.”
Those words came out so cold and unfeeling that Julian couldn’t find the words to respond. He poured himself a large glass of wine and gulped half of it down. The problem with being angry with a freight-train, no matter how inhuman they seemed, is that the freight-train is normally far better at being angry. Still, you could always try bargaining with it.
“Sir, please, think of the money. We can ask for anything and we won’t be refused. Imagine the largest number you can and write that on an empty check and someone, somewhere will sign it.”
“You don’t know that, the pressure that would be put on us to release the drug would be crushing.”
“Then don’t publicise it. You can take all the credit, they’ll teach children about you in school books.”
“I don’t care about school books, I care about money. Not one big lump, a constant flow. That’s how I made my company, that’s how my company will continue.”
“But it’s not just school books, its legacy. You won’t always be here, sir. Even you are mortal. If you release this cure you will remembered forever. More than remembered, adored…a national treasure.”
“Fuck legacy. I am not the type of fool who A, cares about what lesser people think of me; they can be righteously indignant all they like, it’s all just to disguise the fact they wish they were me. And B, I don’t work for things that I will never enjoy, like a legacy.”
Sir Sebastian was so irate with his son…well, employ. So irate that he failed to see the irony of the situation; his son was trying to break rules and change the game. This is also the problem in freight-trains; they are so caught up in their own anger they tend to be deaf to bargaining. After three attempts to stop a freight-train you are bound to get pretty depressed. Julian certainly was.
“I can’t believe you can do this. Doesn’t it tear you apart?”
Julian waited for a reply and it came but not with words. Sir Sebastian didn’t use words when he didn’t need to; it was in his nature to be economical. He was just looking at Julian, he was completely rigid, sat up in his usual flawless posture. That was what bothered Julian, he was his normal self. Julian remembered how he’d reacted, the burning coffee on his crotch, the feeling like a milestone had been reached that would affect the whole world. Sir Sebastian had heard the same news and nothing had changed in him, probably because he had no intention of letting this situation ever effect anyone, not even one very nervous ex-waiter. He didn’t know what to be more depressed about, the fact that cancer wasn’t going to be cured or that it was the man who raised him who would be responsible for this. That in itself was depressing; he was sincerely comparing the pain of millions to the pain of himself. On paper there is a big difference between the world and one man but in reality, the world for one man is just something that happens to them. Julian wondered if he was a bad person? His role model, father and boss had revealed his nature but that was the man Julian had spent his life trying to emulate. Was it too late now to stop? Obviously, it is too late to stop a freight-train after going through denial, anger, bargaining and depression. The denial is stupid, the anger is exhausting and the bargaining is humiliating. The depression is useless but at least it’s honest and the other stages can’t be said to be of any use, you are still going to die by freight-train. On the other hand, no one want to die depressed so they move to acceptance. Again, this is useless, it really isn’t even a stage. It’s giving up hope that there is a chance to escape death by freight-train, even when there is. Julian had finally and subconsciously completed the five stages of a freight-train metaphor.
“Ok.”
“Ok what?”
“Ok, how am I going to cover this up.”
“There’s nothing to cover up yet. Fortunately, you’ve limited the damage by coming straight to me. Sure there’s a research team in some lab that thinks it’s the cure for cancer but just tell them you had it retested and they were wrong. Fire them for incompetence if you have to.”
“No, I meant how am I going to do it. How can I live with myself.”
“Oh how dramatic,” laughed Sir Sebastian whose mood had lightened considerably, “If you must be such a big girl’s blouse about it then let’s look at it from a different angle.”
Sir Sebastian pondered for a moment, he was prepared to dance this moral dance seen as he’d won the overall battle.
“Ok Julian, so millions of people would be saved wouldn’t they, and that’s a yearly rate so when you stop then that’s millions more people populating the world. Millions more people reproducing with each other.”
“Human beings, dad.”
“Correct. We accelerate the planets demise and we don’t have a cure for that do we? It is irresponsible to let something lose into the world that will cause problems that we can’t yet solve.”
“Ok.”
“Good, I’m glad it’s ok. Now I must be going.”
“But we haven’t eaten yet?”
“No, we haven’t Julian but I am actually rather busy, you know. You can stay here and eat but I have a company to run.”
And with that, the meeting was concluded because that was what had happened. Two members of a company discussing business, not a father and a son sharing a meal, not two men discussing how to save the world from the greatest mass killer it had ever seen. Julian sat catatonic; staring at a point on the wall, the specifics of which are not important as Julian wasn’t really taking the details in. We wasn’t taking in any details at the moment. He was numb to all feelings, thoughts and fears which was good because a man in his position would have lots of those. He knew he’d have to move at some point, he knew that at some point he’d stop being able to tune out the screams from his brain. But, for the time being, he wouldn’t be doing anything but staring at a certain point on the wall with nothing but white noise in his mind .……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..……………………………………………….……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………...…and the cure for cancer.