vowed to find out that crucial bit of information. But he was limited by the reality that the Aizukotetsu-kai were dwarfed by the Yamaguchi-gumi like a developing nation facing a superpower.
“One thing that I would like to emphasize,” the vice minister said. “Whatever is to be done, particularly in America, must be done with the utmost discretion. Any harm to the defector must appear to be natural, and the Japanese government cannot be implicated in any way or form whatsoever.”
“That is a given,” the
TWO DAYS LATER
MARCH 24, 2010
WEDNESDAY, 4:14 p.m.
NEW YORK CITY
Satoshi Machita signed his name boldly and applied his personal
The contract provided for a fair and highly lucrative rate, including liberal stock options that would be in effect for the next twenty years. With a final flourish Satoshi raised his pen to those people present and acknowledged their excited applause. The signing represented a new chapter in both Satoshi’s life and the future of iPS USA, which was now positioned to control the worldwide commercial development of induced pluripotent stem cells, which most molecular biologists were convinced would provide a cure for human degenerative disease. It was to be a revolution in the history of medicine, a breakthrough that would dwarf all others.
As the president and CEO of iPS USA, Dr. Benjamin Corey was the first to step forward and shake Satoshi’s hand. Flashes popped among the cheers, intermittently washing the two men with bursts of frosty blue light. The six-foot-four, flaxen-haired Corey dwarfed his dark-haired companion, but no one took notice. Both were equal in the eyes of the witnesses, the larger man in biotech venture capital, the smaller in the rapidly advancing field of cellular biology.
At that point other members of the iPS USA team approached to shake the hand of the world’s newest multimillionaire-to-be. The team included Dr. Brad Lipson, COO; Carl Harris, CFO; Pauline Hargrave, chief counsel; Michael Calabrese, placement agent responsible for raising a significant amount of the company’s start-up capital; and Marcus Graham, chairman of the scientific advisory board, of which Satoshi was a member. As the mutual congratulations continued, since everyone present was certain to become much, much richer, Jacqueline Rosteau, Ben’s private secretary/assistant, popped the corks of several chilled bottles of 2000 Dom Perignon, and everyone cheered anew at the festive sound.
Drawing to the side with full glasses of champagne, Ben and Carl contentedly glanced out the front windows of Ben’s office onto Fifth Avenue. The building was close to the corner of 57th Street, a busy part of the city, especially as rush hour neared. With a slight spring rain falling, many pedestrians carried umbrellas, and from above they looked like scurrying, insect-like creatures with black carapaces.
“When we first started talking about iPS USA,” Carl mused, “I never would have guessed in a million years we’d get this far this fast.”
“Nor I,” Ben admitted. “You can take a lot of credit for having found Michael with his boutique investment firm and his unique clients. You’re one in a million, my friend. Thanks.”
Ben and Carl had been friends during college but had gone their separate ways. While Ben went to medical school, Carl had gone on to get an advanced degree in accounting. From there he’d gone into the finance world, from which Ben had recruited him with the founding of iPS USA.
“Thank you, Ben,” Carl said. “I try to earn my keep.”
“And it certainly wouldn’t have happened if we hadn’t learned of Satoshi’s existence, what he had accomplished, and how badly he’d been treated.”
“In that regard the real breakthrough was getting physical possession of his lab books.”
“You’re right about that, but don’t remind me,” Ben said with a shudder. Despite the passage of more than three weeks, thinking about the experience and his harebrained decision to participate still gave him chills. It had been a miracle that he’d not been nabbed along with his accomplice that night.
“Has there been any fallout in Japan?”
“No, not that I know of, and Michael insists his contacts haven’t heard anything, either. The Japanese government certainly has a strange, widely known but never acknowledged bedfellow-type relationship with their Yakuza, which is the antithesis of our government’s dealings with our Mafia.”
“Speaking of the Mafia,” Carl said, lowering his voice. “Are you worried about their continued involvement?”
“Of course, I don’t like it,” Ben admitted. “But as our largest angel investor along with their Yakuza partners, and considering the role they have played in our obtaining the lab books and getting Satoshi and his family over here so quickly, you have to grant we wouldn’t be where we are if it hadn’t been for their input. But you’re right. Continuing to allow their participation is like playing with fire, and it has to change. I spoke with Michael earlier about this very issue before Satoshi arrived, and he and I are going to meet in his office tomorrow mid-morning. He understands and agrees. I told him that as of today, his clients’ role has to revert back to their being silent investors, nothing more. We can offer some stock options to make them fade away.”
Carl raised his eyebrows, doubtful it would be so simple, but didn’t respond. Satoshi had come over to say good-bye and excuse himself from the party. “I want to get home to my family and give them the good news,” he said, bowing collectively to both Ben and Carl.
“We understand perfectly,” Ben said, exchanging a high-five with the diminutive and youthful-appearing researcher. When Ben had first met him he thought he was in his teens instead of his middle thirties. “Did you get a chance to meet with Pauline about those wills and trust documents?”
“I did and signed them all.”
“Terrific,” Ben said, exchanging another high-five. Satoshi had gotten his Ph.D. at Harvard and was well versed in American customs. After another round of handshakes, mutual congratulations, and promises to get together socially, Satoshi turned to leave, only to return after just a few steps.
“One thing I wanted to ask,” Satoshi said, looking directly at Ben. “Have you been able to make any progress on finding me lab access?” Still in its infancy, iPS USA was merely office space in the building on Fifth Avenue. It had no research facilities of its own and probably never would. Its business plan was to take advantage of the chaos associated with patents involving stem cells in general and induced pluripotent stem cells in particular. The idea was to corner the stem cell market by controlling the intellectual property associated with other people’s discoveries, and to do it before others knew what iPS USA was up to: a kind of intellectual-property blitzkrieg.
“Not yet,” Ben admitted. “But I believe I’m making progress up at Columbia Medical Center to rent some space in their new stem cell building. We should hear any day now. Stop in or give a call tomorrow! I’ll phone up there first thing in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Satoshi said while bowing. “I am very happy.”
“Keep in touch!” Ben said, giving the smaller man a friendly slap on the shoulder.
“Hai, hai,” Satoshi replied, and continued out.
“Research space?” Carl questioned after Satoshi left the room.
“He’s yearning for some bench time,” Ben said. “He feels a little like a fish out of water when he’s away from the lab.”
“I have to say, you guys have hit it off.”
“I suppose,” Ben said vaguely. “Jacqueline and I have taken him and his wife out to dinner a couple of times here in the city. He’s got a little boy, a year and a half old. I tell you, the kid doesn’t even look real, and he’s silent. Not a sound. He just looks around with these huge eyes as if he’s taking it all in.”
“What is he going to do in the laboratory?” Carl questioned, ever the bean counter. “Isn’t that going to be expensive?”
“He wants to work on electroporation techniques for iPS generation,” Ben said with a shrug. “I don’t know exactly, nor do I particularly care. What I do care about is keeping him happy, which is why we rushed to get him
