Page 16 of Her Last Escape

The waiting area featured low-slung chairs that looked uncomfortable but proved surprisingly ergonomic. Smart glass panels lined the walls, displaying a rotating series of calming nature scenes. Rachel watched as other employees moved through the space—all dressed in variations of business casual that somehow seemed color-coordinated with the building itself. Everything felt choreographed and precise.

"The place looks cleaner than the inside of a soap box," Novak muttered. "Almost too perfect."

Rachel nodded, understanding what he meant. The facility radiated competence and cutting-edge technology, but there was something almost unsettling about its perfection. Like a smile that showed too many teeth.

Before she could respond, the click of heels on polished concrete announced a new arrival. Margaret Fenway moved with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how much power they wielded. Her navy suit was impeccably tailored, and her silver hair was styled in a way that suggested both authority and approachability. She wore minimal jewelry—just a single platinum pendant that caught the light as she walked.

"Agents," she said, extending her hand. Her grip was firm but not aggressive. "I'm Margaret Fenway, CEO of New Horizons. How can I help you today?"

“We were hoping you could give us some insights into two of your clients,” Rachel said. “Locals, from right here in Charlottesville. I’m afraid they’ve been murdered.”

“Oh...oh my God,” Fenway said with genuine shock. “Can I ask…what happened?”

Rachel noticed the slight tightening around Fenway's eyes as she explained about the murders. The CEO's composure cracked just enough to reveal genuine concern—or at least a convincing facsimile of it.

"This is... disturbing news," Fenway said, her voice lowered. "Though I'm afraid I can't discuss specific client information without—"

"We understand privacy concerns," Rachel cut in, "but I’m sure you know that employee records aren't protected the same way. Given the connection between victims, we need to start with anyone who might have had access to both clients."

Fenway's lips pressed into a thin line as she considered this. Rachel could tell that she wanted to ask more questions, perhaps to even argue. But Rachel also figured that running a place like this, public image was everything. The last place a cryonics facility needed were headlines about how they’d been difficult and uncooperative in the midst of an FBI investigation.

After a moment, Fenway pulled out her phone and typed briefly, giving them a practiced apologetic look. "I've just requested a complete staff roster from HR,” she said seconds later when she pocketed her phone. “We should have that shortly. Ten minutes at most.”

“Thank you,” Rachel said.

“While we wait,” Novak piped up, “could you explain how this place operates?”

She gestured toward a hallway with a proud nod. "Of course. And you can have a look around at the same time, if you wish.”

As they walked, Fenway outlined their process with the precision of someone who had refined their pitch over countless presentations. The hallway curved gently, its walls alternating between smart glass and warm wood paneling. Every fifty feet or so, subtle security cameras tracked their movement.

"Initial contact usually comes through referral or our very choice marketing channels," she explained, leading them past a series of consultation rooms. Each featured the same warm wood and gentle lighting as the lobby, carefully designed to put clients at ease. "We screen for serious intent—this isn't a service for the merely curious. Our clients are individuals who understand both the implications and limitations of what we offer."

And the price tag, I’m sure, Rachel thought.

They passed through a security checkpoint that required Fenway's badge and biometric scan. The hallway beyond felt more clinical, though still carefully designed. The temperature dropped slightly, and Rachel noticed the air had a different quality—more filtered, perhaps. Again, she found herself reflecting back to the time when she’d first read about cryonics…and hated the defeated and weak way it made her feel.

"Qualified candidates undergo comprehensive medical and psychological evaluation," Fenway continued, her heels clicking against the harder flooring. "We partner with top specialists in major cities, though many clients prefer to travel here for the full assessment. The psychological component is particularly crucial—we need to ensure clients have realistic expectations and understand the speculative nature of what we offer."

Rachel noticed how Fenway emphasized the word "speculative," a careful hedge against any accusations of false promises.

"The medical screening is extensive," Fenway continued, guiding them through another set of secure doors. "Current health status, genetic predispositions, family history. We're not just preserving bodies; we're preserving data that might be crucial for future revival. Each client undergoes full genome sequencing, advanced imaging, and a battery of tests that often identify health issues their regular doctors missed."

They reached what appeared to be a demonstration room. One wall featured a cutaway diagram of what Rachel assumed were the preservation pods, though the technical details were carefully obscured. She had to suppress a chill when she noticed that the design—according to the diagram, anyway—did indeed look like something you might expect to see in a long-distance spaceship from a movie. The opposite wall displayed a timeline of cryonics research, ending with New Horizons' founding and subsequent breakthroughs. Rachel was quite impressed to see that New Horizons had partnerships with cutting-edge firms and scientists all over the world. She fought the urge to look for the names of hospitals, treatment centers, or medical facilities she had spoken with during her battle with her tumor and the subsequent recovery.

"Once approved, clients make their initial deposit and begin the planning process,” Fenway went on. “This includes everything from legal arrangements to specific preservation protocols based on their medical profile. The full fee..." Fenway paused, perhaps gauging their reaction, "starts at eight hundred thousand, with additional costs for certain options and services."

Novak whistled softly. "Quite an investment."

"In potentially unlimited future returns," Fenway replied smoothly. Her hand moved to touch her platinum pendant briefly—a tell, Rachel noted. "We currently have one hundred and twenty-six confirmed clients, with another fifty in various stages of evaluation. Our expansion in Orlando will increase our capacity to fifteen hundred within four years."

Her phone chimed softly. "Ah, here's the employee list." She glanced at her screen, then back up. Some of the professionalism remained on her face—perhaps from having just given her spiel—but there was also a tightness there as well. She obviously wasn’t happy about handing over the list.

"What email should I send it to?"

Rachel provided her bureau address, watching Fenway's face carefully as the CEO forwarded the information. The warm, professional demeanor she'd shown earlier had cooled noticeably since being asked to share internal information. The change was subtle but unmistakable, like a cloud passing over the sun.

"Is there anything else you need?" Fenway asked, her tone making it clear she hoped the answer was no.

---