I
Oswell did not believe what he had read. A woman who had supposedly been his mistress had given birth to a daughter he claimed was his, that he was her biological father. The woman was claiming alimony for his abandonment. The child was born in 1960, eleven years ago, having been conceived a year earlier in California. Oswell tore up the letter and asked his butler to find out the woman's identity and verify the truth of her story. He recalled that he had indeed been on holiday in California in 1959 and had slept with a number of women. That one of them had become pregnant seemed surreal to him, considering that he always took precautions to avoid such misfortunes. He had yet to meet anyone he could trust to sire an heir, and unlike Ashford, he lacked the will to raise an offspring alone. He did not feel like acknowledging his paternity, nor his responsibility to the product of a one-night stand. The letter ended up in the trash.
His attention was focused on the filing cabinet he had placed on the desk. From it he pulled out a report provided by the US government on its covert operations in Vietnam. One of these operations concerned the use of experimental drugs on soldiers. Umbrella Pharmaceuticals had been selected to distribute and monitor its new hypnotic drug to US troops in exchange for a bloated grant for the construction of facilities on US soil and the favour of the US authorities. The deal had been the brainchild of Ashford and his friendship with the US political elite, which is why he had partnered with them in the first place, because of their political power. If the deal was a success, it would be he himself who would begin to work his way up through the American elite to form his own political influence and not be dependent on Edward's son, whom he never saw as much more competent than his father.
II
James handed the suitcase to his assistant, who took it with some effort. They stood at the gates of the Spencer mansion, located on the outskirts of a town called Raccoon City, on a wooded Appalachian ridge. Why the hell had Oswell built his damn lab there? James didn't know, and preferred not to ask.
He opened the double door with his assistant at his back. Oswell had called him to start up the state-of-the-art laboratory he had recently built in that house. He promised him that, while he was there, he would continue his triple research on the T-virus. He did not refuse the offer because he had outgrown his crowded lab in Switzerland. After Edward's death, he had no choice but to leave England, where he had shared a table with Ashford, and return to Switzerland, where Oswell lent him money to set up the lab. Brandon Bailey took his doctorate and stayed in Africa, so he had to find a new assistant. This assistant, who also served as his secretary, was Richard Miller, a beardless PhD student whom he had persuaded to accompany him in exchange for money and cachet.
In the lobby, they were greeted by one of the mansion's employees, a clerk who introduced himself as the director of the laboratory: Oscar Moore. James reluctantly greeted Moore and urged him to introduce him to the facilities. Moore was annoyed by the rudeness of the new head of research, but complied by warning him about the mechanisms and traps available in the residence, and giving him a tour of the underground laboratory. James told Moore he was pleased with the equipment and the facility. It was state-of-the-art, as Oswell promised. However, he would not stay there forever because what he really wanted was a building of his own, a laboratory of his own and a research team of his own. He was grateful to Edward and Oswell for the capital they had invested in him, but their priorities were qualitatively different. As rich men, Ashford and Spencer focused on economics and politics. He favoured science and despised economics and politics. The machinations of these two for the company were indifferent to him as long as they gave him a space in which to act according to his will.
III
Alexander received a telegram from the Antarctic base. His subordinate notified him that he had completed his task of sealing the secret laboratory and destroying all evidence except the last report he had written shortly after the twins were born.
He tried to tell his mother, but regretted it. It would be more digestible if Elizabeth, in an absurd possibility, found the report herself and they could discuss it in private. What would happen? Would she understand? Would she understand the promise she had made to her father in life? Would she hate them? He didn't know. Elizabeth had been distant with him and very friendly with her grandchildren. She hugged them and played with them, while he remained in the background, apathetic and absent. The depression that re-emerged with his father's death had not abated. Antidepressants worked, but he found it much more effective to lock himself in his office and spend his time reviewing reports and arguing with Oswell over administrative minutiae. In a sovereign effort to pull himself out of his slump, he managed to hire a new research team to resume the development of the T-virus started by his father.
He would try to build up what he could until there was a replacement who could continue it as it deserved. That replacement would come from one of the twins, or both if he was lucky.