CHAPTER 28
After the YouTube video, Emmett doubled his efforts to get through to Monstera. Why hadn’t they called him back? What the hell kind of experiment were they running?
When neither his calls nor his follow-up emails received a reply, he took to the company website. The landing page was hazy and bright, as if hidden behind a cloud. An emerald monstera leaf unfurled at the center of the page, revealing a cutout letterM. It rotated, then fell away, clearing the fog to reveal a spare but tasteful homepage.
MonsteraBioSciences
Innovative Solutions to the Nation’s “Biggest” Problems
Emmett navigated to a page titled “Who We Are.”
Beneath a couple of short paragraphs on the company’s history and ethos were the smiling faces of the leadership, their matching headshots displayed hierarchically. He stared, in thrall to Dr. Saito’s beauty: the little tilt to her blond head, her approachable smile, her dark, withholding eyes.
Her bio contained no contact information. He backed out and scanned the executive titles for one that sounded like her boss. If working in retail had taught him anything, it was how far one could get by speaking to a manager.
Cecil H. Smith, PhD—Founder & Chief Science Officer. The only name without a photo.
Emmett clicked through to a short bio:
Prior to founding Monstera BioSciences in 2011, Dr. Smith served on the faculty of the Torrey Pines Medical Discovery Institute and later Allegiant University Health Sciences, including as director of the university’s Center for Obesity Research and Innovation,which he founded. He oversees the departments of Discovery and Translational Development, Drug Discovery, Cell and Gene Therapy, and Product Development. He is the immediate past chair of the Leadership Council of the California Childhood Obesity Coalition (CCOC).
This was the guy. But again no contact info, and Emmett doubted he’d get far calling the main line. On a whim he googledcecil smith monstera phone emailand clicked on the first result. It took him to a PDF uploaded to the CCOC website, what seemed to be a list of members of a planning committee for a community fun fair, years old. There it was, under his name: [email protected]. A phone number followed.
Emmett took a breath and dialed.
Not expecting an answer, he was running through the voicemail he planned to leave in his head when after a couple of rings the call connected.
“Uh—hi,” Emmett said, caught off guard. He waited for an answer, but no one spoke. “My name’s Emmett Truesdale, and I’m a participant in your clinical trial.” Still no answer. “Hello? Is anyone the—?”
Beep-beep.
He pulled the phone away, the call disconnected.
What the fuck just happened?
The device chimed with notifications. More likes and comments on the previous day’s Instagram post. It gave him an idea.
In the search bar he typedMonstera BioSciencesand found their profile. It was sleek and spare like the website, 153 followers. Emmett gloated.
The content was friendly, anodyne. Photos from a recent biotech conference, another of a scientist in a lab coat for International Day of Women and Girls in Science, a group shot of a dozen college-age kids in business casual.
It’s #NationalInternDay, and we’re celebrating our amazing crop of summer interns! Our competitive internship program provides a world-class educational experience to students from a wide range of disciplines and backgrounds, preparing them for careers in #biotech and other STEM fields. Fromclinical operations to product development, we offer a variety of career paths to unlock our interns’ potential and help them flourish.
On second glance, Emmett recognized one of the interns: the nerdy cute kid who’d introduced Dr. Saito at the informational session. His account was tagged. Blake Whitmore.
His grid was plastered with photos of him on the job, and even more of him jogging, working out, flexing in the bathroom mirror at the university gym. Emmett followed him, hoping Blake would recognize a fellow fitfluencer and return the gesture. If he did, Emmett would be able to message him without getting stuck in Message Requests.
Almost at once, a notification chimed. Blake had followed back.
Seizing his opportunity, Emmett opened a chat and fired off a string of messages.
Hey, thanks for the follow!
We’ve actually met. I was at the Obexity info session back in April.
You probably don’t remember me
I looked a bit different then haha
