The phone in Dr. Julian Sterling’s office buzzed with a blocked number. He answered it, assuming it was a supplier confirming the new equipment delivery.
“Dr. Sterling,” the smooth, metallic voice of Jaxson Vane purred. “I trust the grant money has settled nicely?”
“The clinic is running at full capacity, Jaxson,” Julian said, closing his office door. “I’ve already set up a repayment schedule. I can wire the first fifty thousand next week.”
“I don’t want your money, Julian,” Jaxson laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “I gave you that check because I invest in *talent*. And now, I need a consultation.”
“What kind of consultation?” Julian asked, his stomach tightening.
“I’m opening a new bio-hacking wellness center in the Meatpacking District,” Jaxson explained. “The zoning board is being tedious about safety protocols regarding our cryotherapy units. I need a medical director to sign off on the variance permits. Someone with a trusted name. Like Sterling.”
“I can’t sign off on a facility I haven’t inspected,” Julian protested. “That’s malpractice.”
“That check you cashed wasn’t a gift, Julian; it was a leash,” Jaxson’s voice dropped, becoming the ‘Shark’ he truly was. “Sign the papers, or I tell Dr. Khan exactly where her ‘anonymous grant’ came from. I imagine she has strong feelings about taking money from devils.”
The line went dead. Julian stared at the phone, realizing the trap had snapped shut.