SOPHIA - Age of Intelligence

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  Saks, Fifth Ave.

  “HELLO,” Rose said, answering an unidentified call. She readjusted a large shoulder slung purse and continued perusing the aisles of her favourite clothing store on Fifth Avenue. She was considering accessories for the dress she had already chosen for tonight’s concert. Upon hearing a familiar, unwelcomed voice, shopping became a distant concern.

  “Sister,” Prav stated. “We need to talk.”

  Rose’s heart sank. Her eyes darted upward, across the room and then struggled with what her brother’s subdued tone was intended to elicit. “Look, you have to stop calling me.” Rose further lowered her voice. “You know I don’t have any authority over who gets access to the super genome.”

  Although Rose dealt with several phone calls from her brother in the days following her IBC meeting, what annoyed her the most about today’s enquiry was that he was now concealing the fact that he was the originator of the call. Rose had already refused to answer two prompts from the number she dispassionately stored as ‘Brother’ in her phone’s contact list.

  Prav slowly walked from his yacht’s rear lounge out onto the exterior deck. They were passing through the narrows separating Brooklyn and Staten Island, heading for open waters. “I understand that now, Roshnie,” Prav stated, somberly. “It was wrong of me to ask you to intervene on my behalf.”

  Rose sensed her brother’s attempt to disarm her. She loathed his abuse of familial loyalty, that it was merely a fulcrum from which their relationship might be rekindled. She knew her brother would only use it to leverage his devious ways. Inexplicably, though, something beckoned her to listen further.

  “They’re going after everything, Rose,” he said.

  Confidently, she asked. “What do you mean by everything?”

  Prav avoided her question, choosing instead to relive something more pleasant. “Do you remember the summers we spent in Goa? The beaches. The sunsets. Our souls were still pure then, weren’t they?”

  Rose took several paces toward her exclusive store’s exit. Her brother’s philosophical, injured tone tempered her instinct to terminate the call.

  “I hope you don’t mind me indulging a longing for simpler times, Sister,” Prav said, staring out over Gravesend Bay. The water’s calmness, both present and past, suspended a perspective lacking in ulterior motive. “We were such good friends then, you and I.”

  Concern deepened in Rose’s eyes. Every step was increasingly pensive. She dared to ask: “What’s wrong, Brother?”

  “I’m going to home to Mumbai, to salvage what I can. I’ll say hello to Father for you, if he’ll receive me … goodbye, Roshnie.”

  Rose looked at the display on her phone. The call had been terminated. She could barely believe what she had just heard. Even more distressing, she hated herself for nurturing the desire to call her brother back.