The Fraternity moved like a well-oiled machine when Smith gave the order. Within hours, operatives from the Assassin's Brotherhood were boarding flights to San Francisco, carrying false credentials and cover identities that would let them blend seamlessly into the city's landscape.
Some posed as investors interested in the Life Foundation's work. Others became maintenance workers, delivery drivers, janitorial staff—people so ubiquitous they became invisible. All of them had the same mission: watch, listen, and report everything about Carlton Drake's operation.
At the same time, Friday worked through terabytes of data, her algorithms sifting through financial records, personnel files, supply chain manifests, and security footage. The AI didn't sleep, didn't get distracted, didn't miss patterns that human analysts might overlook. Every piece of information she uncovered was catalogued, cross-referenced, and flagged for relevance.
The web was tightening around the Life Foundation, and Carlton Drake had no idea.
San Francisco—That Evening
Eddie Brock sat across from Anne Weying in a dimly lit bar in the Marina District, nursing a beer he wasn't really drinking. The place was one of their favorites—quiet enough for conversation, loud enough that they wouldn't be overheard. Jazz played softly through speakers mounted in the exposed brick walls.
Anne looked beautiful tonight. She always did, but there was something about the way the warm lighting caught her features that made Eddie forget, just for a moment, about his frustration with work.
"I don't understand why Bushkin gave me this assignment," Eddie said, breaking the comfortable silence. He set down his beer with more force than necessary. "This isn't what I do. I'm an investigative journalist, not a corporate mouthpiece."
Anne reached across the table and took his hand. "Eddie, I don't work for Carlton Drake. He's just a client of my firm, same as any other."
"Yeah, but—"
"My mother always told me," Anne continued, her tone gentle but firm, "that anything worth having in life requires sacrifice, patience, and hard work."
Eddie couldn't help but smile. "I'm not patient. At all."
Anne's expression softened, her thumb tracing circles on the back of his hand. "I'm saying you've earned this. The Smith Doyle interview? That's huge, Eddie. You deserve the recognition that's coming."
"Meeting you was the real luck of my life," Eddie said, the words coming out more earnestly than he'd intended.
Anne laughed, the sound light and genuine. "Smooth talker."
Eddie grinned. "Hey, I'm very popular. My mom told me so."
That got a real laugh out of her, the kind that made her eyes crinkle at the corners. Then her expression turned curious. "Speaking of the Smith Doyle interview—I heard it went well. Is he really as powerful as the media claims? As... otherworldly?"
Eddie considered the question, thinking back to his time at the Fraternity headquarters. "He's peaceful. Calm, almost unnaturally so. Like some of the media reports say, he really does seem like something out of a comic book. A god walking among us."
He took a sip of his beer. "But what struck me most was his optimism. He genuinely believes more people will step up to become heroes. He thinks every newborn child has the potential to become something extraordinary."
Eddie's voice grew quieter, more thoughtful. "Maybe our kids will be like that someday. Enhanced. Extraordinary."
Anne's eyebrows rose. "Wow. You rarely praise anyone like that."
She squeezed his hand. "Eddie, your interviews usually dig into the dark side of things, the corruption and lies. That's your strength. I'm just... I'm worried you'll make the same mistakes you made in New York. Going after the wrong person, pushing too hard."
Eddie stood up abruptly, the stool scraping against the floor. "Smith Doyle is different, Anne. He's actually doing good in the world. Real, measurable good. The Universal Capsule Company is revolutionizing technology, and the property insurance program has helped thousands of people."
He softened his tone. "And for the record, I wasn't kicked out of New York. I still have a reputation there. I came to San Francisco for you."
Anne looked up at him, her expression shifting from concern to something warmer. "Stop talking and kiss me."
Eddie didn't need to be told twice.
Later, Eddie drove Anne home on his beloved motorcycle, the city lights blurring past them as they wound through the hills. Back at Anne's apartment, they picked up where they'd left off in the bar, the conversation abandoned in favor of more immediate connection.
Afterward, Anne fell asleep curled against him, her breathing deep and even. Eddie lay awake, staring at the ceiling, his mind refusing to settle.
Around two in the morning, he gave up on sleep and slipped out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake her. He padded barefoot to the kitchen, intending to get water.
That's when he saw Anne's laptop sitting on the dining table, screen still glowing. She'd left it open when they'd gotten home, too distracted to shut it down properly.
Eddie stood there for a long moment, conscience and curiosity warring in his chest.
Anne was a lawyer. The laptop probably had client files on it, confidential information protected by attorney-client privilege. Looking at it would be a violation of trust, both personal and professional.
But Anne worked for a firm that represented the Life Foundation. And Eddie's instincts were screaming that Carlton Drake was hiding something dark.
Just a quick look, Eddie told himself. Just to confirm my suspicions. Then I'll leave it alone.
He sat down at the table and pulled the laptop closer. The screen showed a document that had been open when Anne stepped away—a legal memorandum with "CONFIDENTIAL" stamped across the top in red letters.
LEGAL MEMORANDUM
RE: Life Foundation - Attorney Work Product - Privileged
Eddie's eyes scanned the header. It was addressed to Anne from a senior partner at her firm.
Dear Ms. Weying,
Enclosed please find a summary of pending matters requiring your attention. Please advise if you need additional documentation or have questions regarding any of these cases.
Sincerely,
Mr. Lita Green
Senior Partner
Eddie clicked on the attachment before he could talk himself out of it.
The file that opened made his blood run cold.
LIFE FOUNDATION WRONGFUL DEATH CLAIMS
Case Numbers: 02-93 through 02-147
Status: Pending Settlement - No Public Filing
There was a list. A long, detailed list of names—fifty-four people, all identified as "economically disadvantaged volunteers." Next to each name was a date, a case number, and a clinical description of cause of death.
Subject 02-93: Respiratory failure following experimental compound exposure
Subject 02-94: Cardiac arrest, cause undetermined
Subject 02-95: Systemic organ failure, rapid onset
On and on it went. Pages of dead people, all of them homeless or living in poverty, all of them having "volunteered" for Life Foundation experiments.
At the bottom of the document was a note: Settlement terms confidential. No public record of deaths. Families compensated where applicable. Zero media exposure.
Eddie sat back, his hands shaking slightly. Carlton Drake wasn't just playing fast and loose with ethics. He was conducting fatal human experiments on vulnerable people and buying silence with settlement money.
And Anne's firm was helping him cover it up.
Eddie closed the file, returned the laptop to exactly how he'd found it, and went back to bed. But sleep didn't come. He lay there in the darkness, Anne warm and peaceful beside him, and tried to figure out what the hell he was going to do with what he'd just learned.
Life Foundation Headquarters—The Next Day
Eddie arrived at the Life Foundation's San Francisco campus with his camera crew at exactly nine in the morning. The facility was impressive—a gleaming complex of glass and steel that spoke of cutting-edge research and unlimited funding.
Inside, Carlton Drake was in the middle of what appeared to be a carefully staged PR event: showing a group of elementary school children around the facility, explaining his vision for humanity's future in space with the kind of enthusiasm that would make any parent feel good about sending their kids on a field trip here.
"And that's how we'll find new homes for humanity among the stars!" Drake was saying, his arms spread wide as the children stared up at him with awe.
A man in a lab coat—Dr. Skirth, according to the ID badge clipped to his pocket—approached and cleared his throat apologetically. "Mr. Drake? I'm sorry to interrupt, but the interview team is here."
Drake's smile didn't waver. "Ah, of course! Duty calls, kids." He addressed the children with practiced warmth. "Thank you all for visiting. Keep dreaming big, and maybe one day you'll work here too!"
The children applauded as Drake excused himself and headed toward the changing rooms to swap his casual clothes for something more camera-ready.
Twenty minutes later, Eddie found himself walking through the Life Foundation's pristine corridors beside Carlton Drake, camera rolling, assistant checking audio levels, and all his professional instincts screaming at him to drop the softball questions and go for the throat.
But he'd promised Bushkin. Softball questions only.
For now, Eddie thought.
"At nineteen," Eddie began, his tone conversational and friendly, "you developed a revolutionary gene therapy that doubled life expectancy for pancreatic cancer patients. Is that correct?"
Drake's smile was modest, practiced. "Actually, the results showed a tripling of life expectancy in our trials. But who's counting?"
Eddie made a note on his tablet, playing the interested journalist. "Right. And then at the remarkably young age of twenty-four, you founded the entire Life Foundation." He gestured around them at the gleaming facility. "This empire."
"Well, there was substantial preparation beforehand," Drake said with false humility. "A lot of groundwork, securing funding, assembling the right team. These things don't happen overnight."
They turned a corner, passing glass-walled laboratories where researchers in protective gear worked with equipment Eddie couldn't begin to identify.
"And now you've pivoted into aerospace," Eddie continued. "Building rockets, sending them into space to explore what's out there. That's quite a shift from medical research."
This was where Drake's eyes really lit up. You could see the true believer emerging, the fanatic hiding beneath the polished executive exterior.
"To be perfectly honest, Eddie, I've always believed that space exploration is absolutely crucial to solving Earth's problems." Drake's pace slowed as he warmed to his subject. "Think about it this way—first we conquered the oceans. Then we settled every habitable landmass. Now, the next frontier has to be space."
"How so?" Eddie asked, genuinely curious despite himself.
"Resources," Drake said simply. "There are asteroids out there—just single asteroids—that contain more rare earth metals than we've mined in all of human history. There are planets with atmospheres we could potentially terraform. Space represents unlimited potential."
Eddie seized the opening. "Speaking of resources, I couldn't help but notice that the pharmaceutical company you founded already seems to have plenty of untapped resources here on Earth." He let the implication hang in the air. "This is all part of your larger plan, isn't it?"
Drake's expression didn't change, but something flickered behind his eyes—recognition that Eddie might not be quite as compliant as expected.
"Of course," Drake said smoothly. "Everything is connected, Eddie. Medical research funds aerospace development. Discoveries in space inform medical breakthroughs. It's a virtuous cycle of innovation and capital."
Eddie nodded, playing along. "And the rocket that crashed yesterday? Life One? That was part of this grand vision?"