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he’s an illegal alien.”

    “I suppose, but it will soon change. I’m not concerned. Thanks to the secretary of commerce, the American consulate in Tokyo is in the process of getting them 18

    all green cards.”

    “Where do he and his family live?” Carl questioned. Given Satoshi’s importance to the success of iPS USA, Carl felt it would be wise to know where he was at all times.

    “I don’t know,” Ben said. “Nor do I want to know, if someone from the authorities were to ask. I don’t think Michael even knows. At least that was my impression the last time we spoke about it. I do have Satoshi’s cell phone number.”

    Carl laughed quietly, more out of amazement than humor.

    “What’s so funny?”

    “Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive,” Carl said.

    “Very clever!” Ben said sarcastically. “Are you trying to say that we shouldn’t have brought Satoshi into this when our efforts at industrial espionage turned up his name and history?”

    “No, not necessarily. It’s just that I’m uncomfortable with our involvement with the Lucia family.”

    “All the more reason for us to sever all contact. It might require a bit more stock options to make them go away than I’m hoping, but it will be more than worth it.
    I’ll leave the negotiations in your and Michael’s capable hands.”

    “Thanks a lot!” Carl murmured equally sarcastically. “Hey, what was that about Pauline and trust documents? What kind of trust?”

    “Satoshi is a little paranoid about Kyoto University and having bailed out of Japan. He worries about his wife and child if something were to happen to him. I realized that it was a good idea for iPS USA to have some safeguards in place as well. So I asked Pauline to talk to him, and she set him up with a couple of wills for him and his wife and a trust for the kid. Of course we stuck a statement in it that will also preserve our license agreement.”

    “Who’s the trustee for the kid?”

    “I am. Not my idea, but we can consider it an extra layer of safety.”

    19

    Satoshi Machita was elated. As he descended in the elaborately decorated, art deco elevator, he realized he’d never been quite so happy in all his life. He’d just moved to the United States, and he and his family were occupying a house just across the George Washington Bridge from Manhattan. Of course, there were a number of things he would eventually miss from his old life in Japan—the cherry blossoms blooming around the glorious temples of his home city of Kyoto, and the view of the rising sun from the peak of Mount Fuji—but those serene pleasures would always be trumped by the sense of freedom he felt about life here: a life that he had learned to love while at Harvard and living in Boston.
    What he was not going to miss about Japan was the smothering sense of duty he’d struggled with for as long as he could remember: duty to his grandparents, duty to his parents and teachers, duty to his lab bosses and to the university higher-ups—even duty to his community and ultimately his country. There had never been any relief.

    He paused inside the building’s entrance to look out through the fogged glass at the scurrying pedestrians and the snarled confusion of yellow taxis and city buses attempting to head downtown in the light rain and dense mist. For a moment Satoshi considered hailing a taxi but then changed his mind. Despite recognizing that the contract he’d just signed would make him a multimillionaire in the not-too-distant future, he still felt like the poor boy he had been growing up. Though the salary iPS USA was paying him to be on the company’s scientific advisory board was generous, given how little work he was doing, it wasn’t much, considering he had eight mouths to feed and rent to pay. Fearing retribution for leaving Japan, Satoshi had come to America with both sets of grandparents, his unmarried sister, and his wife and child. With such thoughts