“Yeah, I'm calling about Jill Satterfield."
Rachel straightened in her seat, expecting to hear that she’d taken a turn for the worse or even passed away. "How is she?"
"Stable as of about an hour or so ago. Doctors say we can start questioning her if needed."
"Good to hear." Rachel exchanged a quick look with Novak. "We're following up on another lead right now, but I'll keep that in mind. Thanks for letting me know."
She ended the call, her mind already shifting back to their current destination. The GPS showed another twenty minutes to New Horizons. The facility's website had shown a sleek, modern building, all glass and chrome among a huge expanse of lawn and ornate gardens – trying hard to look more like a tech startup than a morgue.
"What do you think we'll find there?" Novak asked.
Rachel considered the question. The whole setup made her uneasy. Modern medicine had its share of snake oil salesmen, but at least most of them limited themselves to fleecing the living. Cryonics felt different – more predatory somehow. Taking advantage of people's deepest fears, their desperate hope for immortality.
"Best case scenario? A paper trail connecting Thomas Whitman and Diana Foxworth…or maybe someone on the inside that will have all the answers we need. Worst case…a fancy presentation on an approach to cheating death that comes right out of a science fiction movie.”
Her gut told her they were dealing with something bigger than a single murder. The precision of the kill, the specific targeting – it felt systematic, planned. And now it also seemed to be connected to cryonics.
And in the midst of it all, the irony wasn't lost on her – investigating a murder tied to people trying to cheat death, when she'd come so close to death herself.
The difference was, she'd fought her battle with science that actually worked, with doctors who dealt in facts rather than far-fetched promises. The idea of preserving a body in liquid nitrogen, waiting for some hypothetical future cure, struck her as a particularly cruel form of false hope. She'd seen too many people in the hospice cling to similar promises, watching their families drain their savings on treatments that had no chance of success.
Yet even as these thoughts crossed her mind, she remembered the desperation that had driven her to research cryonics in the first place. The late nights in the hospital, pain keeping her awake, scrolling through websites that promised a way out. She remembered thinking about Paige, about all the moments she might miss. In those dark hours, even the smallest chance of seeing her daughter grow up had seemed worth any price.
She kept this at the center of her mind, determined not to judge those who might see cryopreservation as a way to cling to their lives. When faced with death, people got desperate.
And maybe, if this case was any indication, they tended to get violent as well.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The gates of New Horizons greeted them with a strangely warm and inviting feel—ironic, Rachel thought, given the sort of work that went on inside. First, there was the entrance flanked by a guard shack that looked more like a stylish pool house. It looked like it might have been designed by Apple. They were checked in, and the guard didn't seem to even bat an eye when they showed their badges in order to be given access.
Once they were beyond the gates, a long, paved drive led them to a thin strip of asphalt that served as the parking lot. Rachel could see dense tree coverage beyond the perimeter—a natural barrier that promised additional privacy. The morning sun caught the security cameras mounted at regular intervals, their presence both obvious and intentional. This wasn't a place that hid its surveillance; it advertised it.
"Some setup they've got here," Novak said, pulling their Bureau vehicle up to the security checkpoint. The guard booth itself looked like it had been designed by Apple—a seamless blend of brushed metal and curved glass that made standard guard shacks look like relics from another century.
As they followed the curved driveway, the main building revealed itself gradually through breaks in the perfectly maintained landscaping. The lawn stretched out in emerald waves, broken only by artfully placed native stone formations and clusters of local flora. The cold temperatures of January gave the large, open space the feel of another planet.
Rachel had seen plenty of modern architecture in her time, but New Horizons looked like something out of a science fiction film. The structure seemed to defy gravity—a sweeping curve of white composite and electrochromic glass that changed opacity as clouds passed overhead. The main entrance featured a cantilevered overhang that extended at least forty feet, sheltering a circular drive without visible support columns. The building itself appeared to float above its foundation, an illusion created by recessed lighting and clever engineering. To say the building was striking was an understatement.
"Makes you wonder what the electric bill looks like," Rachel said, noting the vast expanse of climate-controlled glass. But she knew the real energy demands lay beneath the surface, in the preservation systems that promised their clients a chance at a second life—or an extended life, she supposed. It really all depended on how you looked at it.
The parking area was surprisingly modest—perhaps thirty spaces total—with a separate service entrance visible around the eastern curve of the building. Each space was covered by an elegant solar array that doubled as a charging station. Novak found a spot marked for visitors, and they made their way toward the entrance.
Automatic doors whispered open, welcoming them into an atrium that managed to feel both intimate and vast. The ceiling soared three stories up, but clever use of wood paneling and indirect lighting created a warm, almost cozy atmosphere. A living wall of lush greenery stretched floor to ceiling behind the reception desk, which appeared to be carved from a single piece of white marble. The air carried a subtle scent—something clean and vaguely botanical that Rachel couldn't quite identify. Maybe eucalyptus.
Water trickled down a geometric sculpture near the seating area, its gentle sound masking conversations and creating acoustic privacy zones. The floor was polished concrete, but inlaid with strips of metal that caught the light, creating subtle pathways that guided visitors through the space.
The receptionist looked up from her curved display screen, her smile practiced but genuine. Her charcoal blazer matched the building's aesthetic perfectly, as if she'd been chosen to complement the architecture. She looked to be thirty or so and was somewhere between beautiful and gorgeous. "Welcome to New Horizons. How may I help you?"
Rachel showed her credentials as she and Novak approached the desk. "Special Agents Rachel Gift and Ethan Novak, FBI. We need to speak with whoever's in charge."
The woman's smile faltered slightly, a crack in the perfect facade. "Of course. One moment, please." Her fingers moved across the hidden interface of her desk, the surface responding to her touch like ripples in water. She turned away slightly as she picked up the sleek desk phone. Within seconds, she says, "Ms. Fenway, you have C-level guests down at the lobby." She ended the call and returned her attention to the agents. “Ms. Fenway will be right with you. Please, make yourselves comfortable."
“Can I ask what a C-level guest is?” Rachel asked.
“Government or commercial visitors.”
It made Rachel wonder what A-and-B-level visitors were, but she didn't think it mattered. And she honestly didn't feel like getting into it right now. So, with a pained smile, she started walking to the small waiting area to the left of the desk.