Chapter 51
Chapter 51:
The atmosphere inside the Apex Bio headquarters in midtown was electric.
Following the dramatic reveal at the Summit, the company’s stock had surged fifteen percent within the first thirty minutes of the market opening.
June stood in the center of the main laboratory in her crisp white lab coat, staring at the large digital monitor mounted on the wall. The final clinical trial data for the Neural Blocker was locked in. The neuron repair rate was an unprecedented ninety-two percent.
Miles Prescott popped the cork on a bottle of champagne. The foam spilled over his hands and onto the linoleum floor as the entire research team erupted into cheers and applause.
Brogan stood at the back of the room. He raised his plastic cup, catching June’s eye over the celebrating crowd, his expression filled with quiet, genuine pride.
June’s phone vibrated in her pocket. Dr. Zhang. Her mentor’s voice was thick with emotion. He told her the data was flawless, and that he was officially submitting her name for a Lasker Award nomination.
June closed her eyes and let the words move through her. She was finally free.
Then a piercing siren shattered the celebration.
Red emergency lights began strobing across the ceiling.
The head of building security burst through the laboratory doors, his face pale and sheened with sweat.
“We have a breach!” he shouted over the alarm. “The main lobby has been overrun by protesters p>
𝗦𝗁𝖺r𝘦 𝗒𝗈𝗎r 𝖿𝗮𝗏𝗼𝘳i𝗍е𝘴 𝖿𝗋оm
June and Brogan ran immediately down the hall to the security control room, pushed past the technicians, and stared at the wall of CCTV monitors.
The live feed from the ground floor showed complete chaos.
Dozens of people had forced their way through the revolving glass doors. They held massive, professionally printed vinyl banners bearing words written in dripping red font: APEX BIO MURDERERS!
Several middle-aged women in cheap black mourning clothes sat on the lobby floor, clutching framed photographs of deceased people and wailing.
Outside the glass walls, a swarm of tabloid reporters and news vans were already deploying tripods, broadcasting the scene live.
A bearded man stood on a lobby chair with a megaphone pressed to his mouth.
“June Erickson is a butcher!” he screamed. “She concealed fatal side effects! Our families died of brain hemorrhages during her phase-one trials p>
The protesters began throwing raw eggs and hurling buckets of red paint against the pristine glass walls.
Brogan’s face darkened. He pulled out his phone. “Get PR down there immediately. Initiate a Tier One crisis lockdown p>
June stepped closer to the monitors. Her eyes moved across the screens with clinical precision, her heart pounding while her mind stayed terrifyingly clear.
“Look at the banners,” June said, pointing at the screen. “The grommets are perfectly spaced. The font is custom-designed. And the reporters — they are all from gossip outlets, and they arrived before the police did p>
Miles, who had followed them into the room, dragged both hands through his hair. “If the FDA sees this broadcast, they will suspend our fast-track approval before the day is out p>