Havana, August 2003

Boris sipped his lemon water and wondered if his suit had been a mistake. He'd hoped to present himself formally as a possible to Dr. Casseras. Typically creating the impression of a formidable businessman was no problem, but doing so while sweat dripped down his face could be a challenge. The air conditioning would have to fail today of all days. Still it was too late to change now. As he wiped his brow with his handkerchief, he heard the sound of high heels approaching. He quickly stuffed the square back in his pocket.

Moments later a dark-haired woman was led out onto the shaded patio.

"Bienvenidas, Dr. Casseras." He extended his hand to his guest, relieved that it at least remained dry. The last thing he wanted was for this stunning woman's first impression of him to be sweaty palms. Not of course that he cared for personal reasons. He appreciated the woman's aesthetics, but from an amorous perspective she was as off limits as they came.

"English is fine, Mr. Kuester von Jurgens-Ratenicz. Sofern Sie es nicht bevorzugen, unterhalten wir uns auf Deutsch?" Boris blinked, momentarily nonplussed. It wasn't often people offered to switch to his birth language.

"No, English is a fair compromise. It puts us on a more even footing, no?" His smile, which various women had in the past called charming, didn't seem to have any effect on Dr. Casseras. Instead she raised a sardonic eyebrow.

"We are currently standing in your remote multi-million dollar mansion, which I presume is solely occupied by you and your servants. I'd say that stilts things slightly in your favor, wouldn't you?"

Again Boris felt himself somewhat at a loss. It wasn't that he hadn't intended to use his property to awe the doctor. It was a tactic he employed semi-regularly. He just wasn't used to being called on it.

"My apologies. I desired a private interview and this location was best suited to that purpose. You are, of course, under no obligation to stay." He was quite pleased by the nonchalance in his voice, as though this wasn't a critically important meeting for him. Dr. Casseras smiled thinly.

"I'll bear that in mind. Now, if you'd be so good as to tell me why I'm here?" She gracefully lowered herself into the chair across from him, causing Boris to mentally slapped himself. He hadn't offered her a seat. His mother would be rolling in her grave for such a lapse in manners.

He sat himself and gestured to the lemon iced water he'd had brought out for her. Dr. Casseras' smile became a fraction less sharp and she sipped her drink politely.

"I understand you plan to establish a genetic research facility. I wish to invest. Significantly." His words had the opposite effect than he'd hoped. Her lovely face didn't brighten in excitement. Instead it clouded with suspicion. She set her glass down on the table with a noticeable clink.

"How would you know that? I haven't even been able to gain a permit for the structure." Boris was well aware of the current obstacles in Dr. Casseras' path. Bureaucracies were universal entities. They flourished across the developed world, their red tape snaring every attempt at progress. Fortunately green (or whatever shade the native currency was) trumped red every time.

"You will, shortly. As for donors, you'll find they work a bit like lemmings. Once one jumps, the rest tend to follow." Every nation's upper echelon seem to share a universal fear of being first or last to the party. God forbid one of them struck out on their own and thought for themselves.

"And you would be the first lemming in this scenario?" Boris fought the urge to grimace. It was his own fault. He had introduced the metaphor after all.

"Officially, no. My donorship would be completely anonymous. I can, however, help you find an appropriate benefactor that will cause others to open their wallets." There were always ways to influence the wealthy. Boris would be only too happy to lend his powers of persuasion to this enterprise.

"Why would you do that?"

A fair question. Many men in his position would consider her too young and inexperienced for such an undertaking. Others might be hesitant because of her beauty. Males less enlightened than he frequently had trouble crediting gorgeous women with a surfeit of intelligence. There was a pervasive belief that they had somehow used their attractiveness to attain their credentials.

That wasn't to say some women hadn't learned to turn to those assumptions to their own advantage, but it didn't appear Dr. Casseras was one of them. The way she was interacting with him demonstrated that all too clearly. Her attitude from the beginning of this conversation had been far from flirtatious. Rather it had been suspicious, almost adversarial. An intriguing demeanor to take, given that he had the power to make her professional dreams a reality.

"Your work is the most promising I've come across, or so that experts I've consulted tell me. Your paper on quantitative genetic inheritance was particularly inspired."

Dr. Casseras eyes narrowed at him, as Boris had expected them to. That last sentence had been intended to rile her a bit further. He couldn't quite put his finger on why, but there was something about this woman that made him want to poke the bear.

"I was only a research assistant for that study, Mr. Kuester von Jurgens-Ratenicz."

Her voice had gone colder than the ice in her glass. She was not at all pleased he'd uncovered her true role. Her ire, for some perverse reason, made him want to chuckle. He didn't of course, but it was a near thing.

"Boris, please. I appreciate your loyalty to your former employer, but we both know you were the assistant in title only. I'm compelled to ask: Doesn't it chafe to have him take the credit for your hard work?"

In this matter he was truly curious. The custodial staff member his investigators had found had only been able to report on who had truly been working around the clock for 6 months and who had been out spending his days drinking in local bars. They hadn't been able to offer much insight on the interpersonal dynamics of the scientists.

Why had she lied? Had she possessed affection or pity for the older scientist and chosen to allow him the accolades to bolster his flagging career? Or had she needed the weight his name would bring the paper in order for it to be given the consideration it deserved. Had her employer promised her greater credit and then reneged on his end of the deal? Whichever it was, the expression on Dr. Casseras' face meant he was destined not to know.

"Well, Boris, I see no reason to answer your question, since you won't answer mine." Boris raised his eyebrows at the accusation.

"I thought I had."

"No. I meant what your interest was in anonymously funding my genetic research, not why you feel I'm qualified to do it." An interesting inquiry to make. Generally speaking those hoping to use his capital merely asked "how much?" and "where do I sign?" Dr. Casseras, it appeared, was more thorough.

"When one inherits the kind of wealth that I have, one is obliged to invest a portion into worthy endeavors. I believe this to be a worthy endeavor." Not an outright lie, just a slight obfuscation. After all, his personal affairs wouldn't impact her work in any way. She surely wasn't expecting more from him than that.

"Goodbye, Mr. Kuester von Jurgens-Ratenicz." Dr. Casseras rose swiftly and headed out the way she came. Boris was so stunned he sat there, gaping like a fish, for a full five seconds. She had walked out on him. He was here to offer her life's ambitions decades before she had a hope of attaining them herself and she had walked out on him.

Recovering himself, he stood and started briskly walking to catch up. Luckily for him his legs were longer and she was in high heels. He fell into step with her as she reached the top of the driveway.

"Pardon me, Dr. Casseras, have I offended you in some way?" The look the doctor sent him was scathing.

"Yes. Lying offends me. Your presumption that I'll be so blinded by your "generosity" that I won't question its true purpose offends me." Now Boris' turn to be affronted.

"I have not lied to you." Withholding was not the same thing as lying. Boris considered himself an honest man. He took pride in dealing fairly with people and it was his intention to do the same with this woman. She had no right to insult him.

Dr. Casseras stopped walking and pivoted to face him.

"Wealthy German aristocrats do not randomly pick genetic research as their pet charity. Even if they did, they wouldn't seek out an obscure scientist in an embargoed country to sponsor.

You've obviously dug into my life, shall I share what I found when I dug into yours?" Boris felt a knot growing in his stomach. Somehow it hadn't occurred to him that Dr. Casseras would have the resources to uncover anything of interest. It wasn't as if she had a team of private investigators working for her as he had.

"By all means."

"Three generations of accidental deaths of the men in your family all around the same age. Quite the coincidence." She knew. All the care their dynasty had put into hiding this weakness from the world and this woman had pieced it together within 48 hours.

"My, the internet is a wonderful thing." The world was shrinking as technology was growing. Soon privacy would go the way of the dinosaur.

"What's the matter? You don't like it when the shoe is on the other foot?" Dr. Casseras' hands were perched in her hips, looking for all the world like a scolding wife. He was torn between admiring her flashing eyes and losing his own temper. He had not done anything worthy of admonishment and yet in the course of five minutes this woman had called him a liar, and now a hypocrite.

"I fail to see how any personal interest I may or may not have should affect your willingness to accept my offer." He couldn't believe the turn this conversation had taken. Never in his life had he had to work so hard to get someone to take his money.

"It is relevant because I believe that gift horses should be looked in the mouth. If the Trojans had, then their story would have ended differently. I think you choose me because you think I'm someone you can manipulate. Someone from a poor island nation desperate enough to run your own personal laboratory and ask no questions. Well, you're wrong." Dr. Casseras spun and began her march toward his car. He hadn't anticipated when he'd told her she could leave at any time she would take him up on the offer. The more fool he. He had to stop her. She represented his best hope for survival. If that meant he had to humble himself, so be it.

"Dr. Casseras, wait. Please." Boris couldn't remember the last time he'd used 'Please' as anything other than a formal pleasantry. Saying it in such an imploring tone revealed a weakness he wasn't completely comfortable with, but it was enough to make the doctor halt. She turned, arms crossed over her chest in a manner that temporarily redirected his gaze. Mortified, he quickly drew his eyes back up to her expectant face, praying she hadn't noticed.

"You are quite right. I have not been entirely forthcoming regarding my motivations. Yes, as you have accurately deduced, I have reason to suspect my own genetics are, shall we say, faulty. You are wrong, however, in thinking I selected you for any reason apart from my belief in your abilities and work ethic. I have no intention of installing you at the head of this project only to seize control at some later point. I believe your interests and mine align and that together, we can achieve some truly great things."

Boris could feel Dr. Casseras' penetrating stare, as if she was peering through his bespoke suit and directly into soul. It was an unnerving experience to say the least, but when she finished she smiled at him. Unlike earlier her offerings it was genuine and reached all the way up to her eyes. He'd thought she was beautiful before, but like this she was…transcendent.

"Marisa." This time it was she who offered her slender fingers to him. "If we are to be working together, and you insist on 'Boris', then it would only be fair if we both dropped the formal address. Even footing, yes?"

He managed to pull himself together enough to close the distance and take her offered limb. Boris fought the overwhelming urge to bring her soft hand to his lips.

"Even footing." Even as he said the words, he questioned their truthfulness. Rare was the interaction when the upper hand was not his. At this moment however, staring into this woman's eyes, he felt himself on decidedly slanted ground.