"The problem, Mrs. Parsons," Mr. Derringer said, walking to the other side of the conference table and resting his fingers against the sleek black surface. "Is that Miratran seeks to change people at their very core. A drug that forces them into a comatose state and pushes them to live out a fantasy of the user's choosing, forcing them to be someone that they're not with the expectation that when they wake up, they will simply BE that person. That works for a period of time, but at the end of the day, they're either going to revert, or you're just going to have a lot of broken people wandering around. That's why we broke with Miratran, and as a stockholder, you should be pleased."

“And you’re sure this is the right move?” Mrs. Parsons scribbled a few notes on a yellow legal pad before looking back toward Mr. Derringer who towered over here. She wasn’t intimidated in the least. I sat at the end of the conference table typing the meeting notes into a laptop provided to me by the company. I wasn’t sure why I was here; he could have done this with a tape recorder. This was one of the nicer conference rooms, a table made of solid tempered glass, black rolling chairs, a massive OLED screen set into the wall at the head of the table. Normally it was flashing the company logo, but today it was blank, for whatever reason.

“Mrs. Parsons,” Mr. Derringer, Michael smiled. “You have a son, Miles, is that correct?”

“You’re up to date it seems,” Mrs. Parsons nodded.

“What if your son, or your daughter, Brianna, identified as something…other than straight. How would you react?”

“I’d still love them, obviously, what does that have to do with anything?”

“Miratran is…how should I put this? The ultimate weapon in conversion therapy. By itself, it’s a mood regulator and works legitimately with decent effects. When combined with another catalyst however, it becomes something else entirely. Imagine a sort of…simulation if you will, manufactured by the resources of the mind. It forces a person to live a scenario or even an entire life as the person you want them to be. If a boy decided to be a girl, for example. The parents use the effects of Miratran to place the child in the mental state of the ‘boy’ they believe them to be and ensure that their body matches when they wake up. They won’t remember the dream, of course, they’ll simply go on living as their new persona. Pretty handy for some religious families if the heir to the family fortune turns out to be a flaming homosexual.”

“You’re telling me that…Miratran can do that? It can make someone live an entirely different life?” Mrs. Parson’s eyes were wide.

“A life that passed by in minutes in real time. The perfect tool for conversion therapy. I have it on good authority that Garron, the owner if Miratran used his own son, or daughter as a guinea pig. Sent her away to camp, she came back as a ‘he’, and all seemed to be going just fine, until he hung himself in his bedroom closet,” Mr. Derringer looked directly at me for a moment, I felt my right hand clench into a fist. I was shaking. “I assure you, our company and our stockholders can move forward without Miratran as a partner. Mrs. Parsons, I suggest you go home and spend time with your children; the world is a very dark place right now.”

“I think I’ll do just that,” Mrs. Parsons nodded. “Thank you for clearing this up, Michael.”

“Any time,” Mr. Derringer nodded as he showed her to the door of the conference room. “My secretary will show you to the lobby.”

Mr. Derringer closed the door slowly and turned, making his way toward the front of the table once again. The room was silent, the glass walls of the conference room permitted no sound to pass from the outside, and the only sound was the scuffing of Mr. Derringer’s shoes against the carpeted floor. The room was bathed in white light, but all I could see was red.

“The real reason, is money, of course,” Mr. Derringer said finally as he turned and placed his palms on the conference table. “If a product like Miratran becomes mainstream, it’s going to leave a lot of broken families behind. I can’t even imagine what will happen when the FDA gets ahold of it. We should probably be glad Trump pulled us out of the Human Rights Council; possibly the only thing he ever did to help us…in this situation at least. The problem Aleah is that we were partnered with Miratran because they were promising as a company. I should have examined their intentions a little more closely, because when this all hits the fan, and it will, they’re going to go after Miratran and everyone who was ever affiliated with them. This company will burn and there’s not a thing we can do about it unless we stop it before it starts.”

“I don’t understand,” I shook my head. “What can I possibly do about it?”

“Well,” Mr. Derringer said, walking slowly around the outside of the table in my direction. “I could take care of it myself, that would be easy, but you’re a good employee, you show a lot of promise. I think we could take our business relationship to the next level, and so I have a question to ask you, Aleah. Miratran has to go, it needs to go down in flames, and it needs to happen yesterday. Your friend Jayne died because her father believed he could change the natural order with a pill and a few implanted memories. He took her from you, you understand. So I’m asking you, Aleah, if I put the man in front of you, and I put a gun in your hand, would you pull the trigger?”

“You’re asking me if I want to kill James Garron?” I stared at him incredulously. On one hand it was a horrible suggestion; something I didn’t even want to think about. On the other hand, why wouldn’t I want to kill the man if I could get away with it? I stared at the laptop for a moment and tried to wish myself away. I knew what I was becoming, but after Jayne’s death, and Mr. Garron’s de facto takeover of the Woodcrest board, I was having a hard time separating what I should do, with what I was going to do. I guess the real question was, could I live with myself if I did it? Mr. Derringer was waiting silently, patiently just in front of me. I could hear his shallow breaths, complimented by my labored breathing. Finally, I said it. I had to say it. “Yes, I would do that.”

“Good,” Mr. Derringer nodded. “I’m going to give you the opportunity, and soon, I promise you, but it all starts with you.”

“What do you mean?” I furrowed by brow. “What could I possibly do?”

“I need you to something for me, and it involves a friend of yours. Audrey Remeika.”