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LOCATION: MALLORY’S APARTMENT
CITY: NOB HILL, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA
DATE: JUNE 19, 2025 | TIME: 6:00PM
The stars had just begun to prickle the sky over the Bay, the last blush of dusk sinking into cobalt. San Francisco always looked cinematic after dark, but on a clear night like this one, it shimmered like a jewel box lit from within.
After the long, surreal day at Voss Tower, Mallory and Vanessa had opted for the only logical next step: wine, soft clothes, and good company. They chatted easily on the drive back—light banter, bits of gossip, the occasional snort of laughter—doing their best to peel the weight of the summit off their shoulders.
Mallory’s building in Nob Hill welcomed them with quiet, understated elegance. After parking, they rode the elevator up to the eighteenth floor, heels traded for slippers, blazer buttons long undone. Vanessa ducked into the guest bathroom to change while Mallory slipped into leggings and a soft cashmere sweater, her favorite post-work armor.
When Vanessa reappeared, she walked straight to the massive curved window and stopped mid-step.
“Okay… I thought my view was impressive,” she said, a low whistle trailing behind her words. “But this? You’ve got the entire damn Bay served up like a five-course tasting menu.”
The Golden Gate cut through a trailing strip of fog, glowing gold against deepening indigo. The lights of Fisherman’s Wharf danced below like fairy dust. Alcatraz sat dark and sharp-edged in the water, the whole scene glowing with that surreal light only San Francisco ever seemed to master.
“Tell me this doesn’t make you feel like a Bond villain in the best way possible—maybe minus the evil plot,” Vanessa said, flashing a grin over her shoulder.
“I won’t lie,” Mallory said. “It has crossed my mind.”
Vanessa chuckled and turned back to the view, glassing it with practiced eyes. “I’ve got a corner unit back in Chicago—36th floor, lake-facing. You remember, right? Summer nights I get fireworks over Navy Pier. Winter mornings it’s nothing but glassy blues and frost-laced railings. I thought that was unbeatable…”
She gestured toward the window. “But this? This is unfair. You live in a damn movie.”
Mallory offered her a modest smile and held up two bottles like a game show prize girl. “First things first. White or red? Frank Family Chardonnay,” she said, lifting one hand, “or Marqués de Murrieta Castillo Ygay—2010, I might add.”
Vanessa raised her brows. “Shit, Mal. You trying to seduce me or win a Michelin star?”
Mallory’s smile widened. “Little of column A, little of column B?”
“Red it is,” Vanessa said, laughing as she dropped onto the couch. She leaned back with a pleased sigh, casting half her gaze toward the window—and the other half toward the woman in the kitchen uncorking what was probably the best bottle she’d have all month.
Mallory poured two generous glasses into sleek stemless glasses and returned, handing one off with a wink. Vanessa raised hers first.
“To everlasting life, good wine, and gorgeous views,” Mallory said, tapping her glass to Vanessa’s with a satisfying clink.
“I’ll fucking drink to that.”
And they did.
They spent the next two hours curled into the easy rhythm of women who had survived high-stakes board rooms, impossible male egos, and poorly air-conditioned conference centers. They talked about company rumors, argued over who made the best truffle fries in the city, and danced around the edges of bigger questions: What now? What next? What if we really can live forever?
A little flirting flickered around the edges. A smirk here, a glance that lingered just a beat too long there. But nothing overt. Just the kind of warmth that came when two fiercely smart women dropped their walls, let the wine flow, and kept the world at bay for just a little while.
Vanessa glanced at the empty bottle.
“So… do we crack open the second one, or pretend we’re responsible adults?”
Mallory finished the last sip in her glass, eyes drifting over the woman across from her.
“How about a cocktail as a nightcap?” she said with a sly smile. “You’re welcome to stay here. I was assuming you would, actually.”
At the word cocktail, Vanessa lit up like the lights dancing across the Bay.
“A nightcap it is. What’d you have in mind?”
“You’ll see.” Mallory’s voice had a teasing lilt as she reached for a bottle of Elijah Craig rye whiskey on the shelf.
Vanessa leaned forward on the counter, chin propped on her hand, watching with an amused curiosity as Mallory went to work.
She sliced a lemon from the bowl on the counter, carving two delicate twists from the rind with easy confidence, then squeezed the juice into a shaker. A splash of honey simple syrup followed, then a precise pour of rye.
She shook the cocktail hard—confident, practiced. The motion gave a subtle ripple through her sweater that didn’t go unnoticed. Vanessa smirked quietly but said nothing.
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Mallory grabbed two coupe glasses chilling in the fridge and poured the amber-gold liquid smoothly into each one. The lemon curls floated effortlessly to the surface.
“It’s a Gold Rush,” she said, sliding a glass across the counter. “This Elijah Craig has this peppery-sweet backbone I love. Stands up to the honey without losing itself.”
Vanessa raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed.
“Damn, Mallory. You might’ve missed your calling.”
Mallory lifted her glass. “Cheers—again.”
They clinked. Vanessa took a sip. Then another.
“Mmm. Balanced. Bright. Sneaky good.”
She met Mallory’s gaze over the rim of her glass.
“Kind of like someone else I know.”
They lingered at the kitchen island, their voices low and unhurried as the night wrapped around them. Eventually, Mallory led Vanessa to the back of the apartment, both women exchanging lazy smiles as they washed up.
They finally slid under the covers of Mallory’s oversized bed, barely aware of the hush of the city lights while two glasses dried by the kitchen sink.
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LOCATION: VOSS TOWER, 15TH FLOOR
CITY: SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA
DATE: JUNE 20, 2025 | 8:00 AM
By eight o’clock sharp, the fifteenth-floor conference room was humming with tension. Executives from nineteen companies specializing in nanomanufacturing, logistics, and high-volume manufacturing were gathered, all of them clearly used to running their own empires.
Mallory McInnis had been assigned to run this meeting. She didn’t pace. She didn’t fuss. She simply stood near the door, watching as the executives filtered in—some trying to press questions on her immediately.
She gave them the same answer each time:
“Please find your seat. We’ll begin at eight.”
A few grumbled. One or two hinted that Elliot Voss wouldn’t appreciate her tone. She didn’t blink.
At 8:00 a.m. on the dot, she closed the door. A final executive, Damian Crestwell—CEO of KepharTech Industries—slipped through just in time. Without a word, Mallory turned and locked the door. The room went quiet.
Then she turned and saw Damian sprawled smugly at the head of the table—her seat. He was already talking.
“Thank you all for being here this morning. Given what we heard yesterday, it’s clear that KephraTech will be leading the charge on molecular assembly for both compounds… What are they again—Vitalyx and Rejuvenex, yes, naturally…”
Mallory didn’t move from her spot. Her voice cut clean through his monologue.
“Mr. Crestwell. You’re in my seat.”
He glanced up at her, casually amused. “I assumed the seat at the head of the table would be reserved for leadership. Or perhaps you’d like to sit beside me?”
“You assumed incorrectly,” Mallory said, still not moving. “That chair is for the person running the meeting. And that’s me.”
Crestwell’s smile tightened. “All due respect, Ms. McInnis, but I do run the most advanced nanoassembly company on Earth. If this discussion is about manufacturing—”
“—Then you’ll want to pay attention,” she cut in smoothly. “And take notes. For now, you’ll find a seat over there,” she quipped, pointing to the seat toward the far end of the table to the side.
He blinked. “You’re joking.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Not even remotely.”
Then she walked to the head of the table and sat down, adjusting her tablet without so much as a glance in his direction. Crestwell gathered his things with stiff hands and made his way to the open chair, grumbling under his breath the whole way.
“Now that we have the seating arrangements resolved,” she said lightly, her voice cutting through the last few complaints, “let’s get started. Please open your tablets.”
A chorus of tablet chimes followed as the executives powered on their devices. Gasps and murmured exclamations rippled around the table as the data came into view.
“As you’ll see, on track to meet our quotas for both Vitalyx and Rejuvenex. Our projected volumes—”
“Excuse me, Mallory?”
It was Dr. Elise Draven, CEO of CleanGene Therapeutics. Her tone was respectful, but there was clear frustration underneath.
Mallory nodded. “Yes, Dr. Draven?”
Draven hesitated for only a second before voicing the question the entire room had been circling since the night before.
“I’ve spoken with several of my peers. None of us had any knowledge of this production—of these compounds even existing, let alone being manufactured at this scale. Where is all of this being done? And… why were we kept in the dark?”
The words landed hard. Around the table, a few others chimed in, voicing similar sentiments. The temperature in the room spiked as confusion turned into a low rumble of argument, frustration, and disbelief.
Mallory sighed, resting both hands on the table. She let it go for a moment—long enough for them to feel heard, but not long enough to let it spiral out of control.
When she spoke again, her tone was calm. Even. But firm.
“You’re not wrong to ask,” she said. “I understand how this feels. Many of you assume you are operating at the cutting edge of your field—pioneering new ground, making meaningful contributions. And you are. Your companies, your breakthroughs, your teams… all of it matters.”
She let that settle before continuing.
“But none of you were given the full picture. That was by design. Not to exclude you. Not to belittle your work. But to protect it. To protect you and your people. And to protect what’s coming.”
“You’re here now because you’ve earned your place. And from this point forward, you’ll be fully engaged in what happens next. I’ll answer what I can. But understand—some details remain classified. And some, even I’m not cleared to discuss yet.”
Silence followed. Not angry this time—just thoughtful. Tense, but beginning to shift.
Mallory took a breath.
“Now… shall we begin?”
The tension in the room had visibly reduced, and Mallory proceeded with her briefing. Manufacturing of all Vitalyx and Rejuvenex doses would be complete within six weeks, and the global distribution plan—first to secured hubs, then to frontline delivery points—was outlined in detail. There were many questions, and Mallory answered what she could.
The biggest question was one she wasn’t ready to answer:
“Who decides who gets it first?”
She paused, letting the silence stretch across the room. Then, calmly:
“That question is irrelevant… because we plan to produce eight billion doses of Vitalyx, and fourteen billion doses of Rejuvenex.”
The room went still.
She let that hang for a beat, then stood.
“For those doing the math—yes, that’s one dose of Vitalyx for every human being on Earth. And enough Rejuvenex for each person to return to a biologically optimized age of thirty. Plus, of course, one dose for anyone younger than that. Those are our production quotas. And we are on track to meet them—in full—within six weeks.”
She expected another eruption. Instead, there was only silence—an entire room of power players suddenly realizing the sheer magnitude of what was coming.
Taking the opportunity, Mallory closed her tablet with a soft click.
“Today’s session is concluded. I know you have more questions, and I promise—answers are coming. For now, please remember the confidentiality protocols. Additional documentation has been released to your devices. Review it carefully and stand by for further instructions. Thank you.”
As the room began to stir with the rustle of tablets, shoulder bags and footsteps, Mallory exhaled slowly through her nose.
One more meeting down.
And the storm was only just beginning.