They say you never know the moment your life changes forever.
I did.
Knowing things was how I stayed alive. Made myself useful. The kind of useful that powerful men keep close and don’t ask too many questions about. Somehow through will, luck, and a decent-sized pair, I ended up as driver, bodyguard, and when required, fixer for one of the most connected men on the planet.
Which is how I knew about Friday, January 17th, 2037. The day the world found out we’d cracked the problem no one was supposed to solve.
Death.
Or, if you’re being a smartass about it, aging.
That day, Dean Sackler, the chief of NeoVita Inc (my guy’s boss), stood before the world and said very emotionally “trial participants aged biologically at an average rate of just 5.4% over two calendar years.” Jesus Christ. He was drier than a turkey on Thanksgiving Day.
But I digress. One biological year now buys you twelve calendar years. Start young, and you’re looking at over nine hundred years. Nearly a millennium.
You might think I don’t care due to my talking so matter-o-fact, but that’s just what happens when you’ve lived a long time.
Around the time NeoVita’s scientists proved this groundbreaking gene therapy (REGEN-3X) worked, they also found a fly in the actual ointment. Meaning the therapy would only be effective on about 45% of the global population. The rest? Their cells were too much damaged.
The largest indicator was age, but that wasn’t the only thing. It came down to a cocktail of biomarkers. Cellular integrity. Genetic luck. This fact scared the hell out of the people in charge.
NeoVita’s analysts ran simulations and estimated the risk of global panic at greater than 15%.
It made sense.
What the hell do you tell a country like Italy, where most of the population is likely too old for treatment? What do you say when the privileged inevitably jump the line? How do you parent someone who lives a thousand years?
So, the major heads of state got together and agreed: NeoVita would keep this inconvenient detail quiet until protections were in place. Better for the public to believe in equality for now and buy the nations more time.
Funny thing, time.
Was it ever possible to have too much of it?
When NeoVita had submitted its REGEN-3X application to every major regulatory body: FDA, EMA, MHRA, you name it. The world barely reacted. NeoVita’s stock surged on early speculation. And though there was buzz from the scientific community, most were doubtful.
Then it happened. NeoVita got fast tracked by the FDA three months later. But it was when they were cleared to disclose the eligibility criteria, that the world lost its mind. It was like opening the gates to paradise just long enough for everyone to get a look inside, then slamming them shut.
Everyone wanted answers. Who qualified? How would they know? What were the side effects? When would REGEN-3X hit the shelves? Every country rushed to roll out the genetic eligibility tests while building the infrastructure to process results.
But it wasn’t all paperwork and logistics. If there’s one thing the world’s richest and most powerful people love, it’s a reason to celebrate.
Jim Barros, richest man on the planet and, incidentally, one of NeoVita’s newest shareholders, was throwing a party to usher in the dawn of a new age.
Now something you should know about me.
Very little escapes my notice.
But when it does?
I use my imagination.
By the time the party came around, it was high summer. The Barros estate glittered on the cliffside like a jewel strung above the Anguilla coastline.
Overhead, drones drifted lazily, capturing aerials for whatever documentary would one day frame the night as a historic cultural shift. Inside, statuesque models in silver bodysuits stood motionless near the cocktail bar, serving as living art installations. One held a tray of crystal flutes filled with something herbal, sparkling, and faintly green. The cocktail was named: the Elixir.
We arrived alongside tech founders, world leaders, celebrities, and geneticists, just in time to catch the end of Jim’s speech. He stood on a raised dais at the edge of the infinity pool. Bathed in shifting blue light from the water below, he looked like some kind of tech angel.
“…to the brilliant scientists behind the project REGEN” he said, raising a glass. “To the relentless policymakers who cut the red tape and made this moment possible. To our partners who shared in our vision. And to my own people working tirelessly with our government to ensure if you qualify, you’ll have access. This is the beginning of a new era.”
He gestured upward, toward the inky sky, stars only faintly visible due to light pollution.
“Time used to be our greatest limitation. Now? It’s our greatest asset.”
The crowd erupted in applause.
Now this, this is where we meet my guy.
Elias glanced at his wife, Tracy, who stunned in a form-fitting dress. She mouthed that she was going to slip away, probably anticipating that he would be swarmed with questions about gene therapy and the testing rollout.
Barely a minute after she left, a massive hand clapped Elias on the shoulder. Two thick gold rings gleaming under the overhead lights.
“Elias, my good man!” boomed a posh British accent.
Elias turned and gave his practiced, affable laugh, then clapped the man back on the shoulder in greeting. It was Ankur Godrej, son of the richest man in India and one of the wealthiest families in the U.S.
They’d met at a high-profile wedding in Lake Como. Elias hadn’t expected to like him. But Ankur’s lack of pretense was rare and refreshing.
“So… a little birdie tells me there’ll be priority access to REGEN,” Ankur said, sipping a green cocktail.
“Ankur,” Elias said in mock betrayal, “are you trying to get me fired? I thought we were friends.”
Ankur feigned choking on his drink. “Pffft. You’re safe. Imagine NeoVita losing the guy managing public opinion in this circus.”
Elias smiled. It was true, his role was essential. He handled communications at the highest level. If it involved regulators, reporters, or reputation, it was his problem first. But most importantly, he gave the other C-suite leaders plausible deniability when they needed it.
“So, I assume you got tested,” Elias asked.
Ankur nodded. “Everyone in the Godrej family has. It’s thrown everything off. We always assumed my eldest brother would take over for my father. Now?” He shrugs.
Elias nodded slowly. “Unprecedented times.”
Ankur laughed, tossing the rest of his drink back. “What are we doing anyway? Droning on about life and death at a party like this… Enjoy yourself. I’m off to make the rounds.”
Elias watched him shimmy off toward the DJ booth, amused, despite himself.
The night wore on. Elias drifted through conversations with practiced ease, shapeshifting as needed. He fielded questions from insurance execs, politicians, even a freshly minted Hall of Famer worried about how a flood of ageless twenty-somethings might upend pro sports.
Eventually, parched, he broke away and scanned the floor for a drink table. Just as he stepped toward one, a man he didn’t recognize intercepted him.
Of all the guests, he looked the simplest. Black suit, neutral tie, black shoes. Almost like hotel staff. He held two drinks.
“Figured you could use a refill,” the man said smiling unnaturally wide.
“Thanks,” Elias said, surprised. As he accepted the drink, he felt a card slip between his fingers and the chilled glass.
“You’ll want to hear what my boss has to say.”
Before Elias could respond, the stranger vanished into a moving group. Still stunned, Elias slid the card into his suit pocket, careful not to draw attention.
Hours later, the music softened as the party drew to a close. I stepped out from the shadows and brought the car around.
That’s me by the way behind the wheel.
“Where to, boss?”
“Hotel, Ev.”
In the backseat of the sleek black car, Elias loosened his collar and turned toward his wife.
I nodded and kept my eyes forward, giving them privacy.
“You won’t believe who I ran into tonight. Marc Devon. Seahawks quarterback Marc Devon.”
She didn’t look at him. Her gaze was fixed on dark horizon, eyes unreadable.
“Hmm,” she said, distant.
Elias chuckled to himself. “Can’t believe he recognized me.”
She didn’t respond.
He studied her face in the passing light. “You okay?”
A beat.
“What if one of us is ineligible?” she said quietly.
Elias reached for her hand, squeezed it. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Margaret and Tim said…” She looked up at him. “Either they’ll take the therapy together… or they’ll grow old together.”
Elias looked away. “Honey, don’t talk like that. There’s no point in worrying now.”
She nodded, but the silence between them ossified.
Outside, the palm trees rushed past.
And in his pocket, the mysterious card, together with their preliminary test results seemed to weigh ten pounds.
[…] Yamanaka […]