“Yeah.” She nodded again. The question, the one she’d come here to ask, was starting to take shape in her mind. “Knowing all of this. Knowing how important Tom is to Adam, if you had proof of . . . of how Tom really is, would you show Adam?”
To his credit, Holden didn’t ask what the proof was, or proof of what. He scanned Olive’s face with an intent, thoughtful expression, and when he spoke, his words were careful.
“I can’t answer that for you. I don’t think I should.” He drummed his fingers on the podium, as if deep in thought. “But I do want to tell you three things. The first you probably already know: Adam is first and foremost a scientist. So am I, and so are you. And good science only happens when we draw conclusions based on all available evidence—not just the ones that are easy, or that confirm our hypotheses. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Olive nodded, and he continued.
“The second is something you may or may not be aware of, because it has to do with politics and academia, which are not easy to fully grasp until you find yourself sitting through five-hour-long faculty meetings every other week. But here’s the deal: the collaboration between Adam and Tom benefits Tom more than it does Adam. Which is why Adam is the main investigator of the grant they were awarded. Tom is . . . well, replaceable. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a very good scientist, but most of his fame is due to him having been our former adviser’s best and brightest. He inherited a lab that was an already well-oiled machine and kept it going. Adam created his own research line from the ground up, and . . . I think he tends to forget how good he is. Which is probably for the best, because he’s already pretty insufferable.” He huffed. “Can you imagine if he had a big ego, too?”
Olive laughed at that, and the sound came out oddly wet. When she raised her hands to her cheeks, she was not surprised to find them glistening. Apparently, weeping silently was her new baseline state.
“The last thing,” Holden continued, unbothered by the waterworks, “is something you probably do not know.” He paused. “Adam has been recruited by a lot of institutions in the past. A lot. He’s been offered money, prestigious positions, unlimited access to facilities and equipment. That includes Harvard—this year was not their first attempt at bringing him in. But it’s the first time he’s agreed to interview. And he only agreed after you decided to go work in Tom’s lab.” He gave her a gentle smile, and then looked away, beginning to collect his things and slide them inside his backpack. “Make of that what you will, Olive.”
Chapter Twenty
HYPOTHESIS: People who cross me will come to regret it.
She had to lie.
Again.
It was becoming a bit of a habit, and while she spun an elaborate tale for the secretary of Harvard’s biology department, one in which she was a grad student of Dr. Carlsen’s who needed to track him down immediately to relay a crucial message in person, she swore to herself that this would be the last time. It was too stressful. Too difficult. Not worth the strain on her cardiovascular and psychophysical health.
Plus, she sucked at it. The department secretary didn’t look like she believed a word of what Olive said, but she must have decided that there was no harm in telling her where the biology faculty had taken Adam out for dinner—according to Yelp, a fancy restaurant that was less than a ten-minute Uber ride away. Olive looked down at her ripped jeans and lilac Converse and wondered if they’d let her in. Then she wondered if Adam would be mad. Then she wondered if she was making a mistake and screwing up her own life, Adam’s life, her Uber driver’s life. She was very tempted to change her destination to the conference hotel when the car pulled up to the curb, and the driver—Sarah Helen, according to the app—turned around with a smile. “Here we are.”
“Thank you.” Olive started getting out of the passenger seat and found that she couldn’t move her legs.
“Are you okay?” Sarah Helen asked.