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“Hey, guys?”
    “Quiz, she always does this,” said Madison. “She never stops to consider—”
    When he saw the alarmed expression on Quiz’s face, Madison stopped abruptly, midsentence.

Ten
    Dr. Christian Madison’s Office
34th Floor, Millennium Tower
Manhattan, New York
    “No. Stop it. Stop it.” Quiz frantically rubbed the palm of his right hand with the thumb of his left. His fingers curled inward in a contorted muscle spasm.
    “What is it?” asked Grace.
    Beads of sweat popped out on Quiz’s forehead. The color drained from his face.
    “Your pills,” Madison prompted.
    Quiz dug in his pocket for the plastic prescription vial. He struggled to remove the cap, finally wrenching it free and spilling dozens of tiny blue pills to the floor. With a trembling finger, he fished out one caplet and popped it in his mouth, swallowing hard.
    Grace’s eyes grew wide. “What’s happening?”
    “He’s having another seizure,” said Madison.
    “They always start like this,” said Quiz, grimacing in pain. “My hand twists up. God, that hurts…”
    “You need to sit down,” said Madison, rising from his chair. “Grace, can you—”
    Grace took Quiz by the arm, leading him to one of two chairs parked in front of Madison’s desk.
    The memory of Quiz’s first seizure six weeks ago flashed in Madison’s mind. Madison had stopped by Quiz’s office one morning with a sack of onion bagels and cream cheese and found him lying on the floor in the throes of a full grand mal attack. Madison would never forget the look of sheer terror in Quiz’s eyes as he lay helpless on the concrete floor, his limbs jerking and twitching uncontrollably.
    Quiz closed his eyes. Cold sweat trickled down his face. His breath came in short gasps.
    “Breathe, Stefan,” urged Grace.
    “Do you want me to call an ambulance?” asked Madison.
    Quiz shook his head. “No…I think it’s easing up.”
    Slowly his breathing returned to normal and the muscles in his fingers and hand began to relax.
    “Thank God for Depakote,” he said.
    “I didn’t know you had epilepsy,” said Grace.
    “I didn’t either. At least until last month. If Madison hadn’t been there to call 911…”
    “What did the doctors say?”
    “Adult-onset epilepsy. Unknown cause. These pills really seem to help,” he said, shaking the prescription vial. “No driving for at least six months. That’s state law. Other than that, take my meds and try to avoid stress,” said Quiz.
    “Not much chance of that around here,” said Madison, smiling.
    “No,” said Quiz. “No, I suppose not.” He sighed.
    “Grace, I’d rather that people didn’t know about this,” said Quiz. “I don’t feel comfortable with—”
    There was a loud knock at the door.
    Before Madison could respond, his office door swung open. An enormous black man, with a shaved head and barrel chest, filled the doorway. His eyes scanned the room.

Eleven
    Dr. Christian Madison’s Office
34th Floor, Millennium Tower
Manhattan, New York
    “Pardon the interruption, Dr. Madison,” said Omar Crowe, Triad Genomics’ chief of security. He spoke the Queen’s English with a proper British accent.
    As he scanned the room, his eyes lingered on Quiz.
    “Is everything okay here?” he asked.
    Crowe towered over the office’s occupants. The top of his shaved head barely cleared the door frame. Powerful shoulders and thick musculature strained the seams of his navy-blue blazer, adorned with the Triad Genomics logo on its breast pocket.
    Quiz nodded.
    “Yes,” said Madison. “Everything’s fine. Why?”
    Crowe ignored the question.
    “Dr. Madison, will you come with me, please?”
    An alarm sounded from the intercom speakers mounted in the ceiling of Madison’s office. The three shrill electronic warbles were followed by a voice.
    “Attention, please. May I have your attention. Triad Genomics is now operating under a level-one security lockdown. External communications are now prohibited.