My father barred me from entering my own medical school graduation ceremony because my stepmother wanted her daughter to use my ticket. “You’re just a nurse’s assistant anyway, let your sister have her moment,” my father sneered, pushing me toward the exit.

His face crumbled at the sound of his name on my lips.

“But as you once told me,” I continued, tilting my head slightly, “when you’re in the presence of greatness, you have to get out of the way. You have to let the real achievers have their moment.”

I didn’t wait for a response. I didn’t need to see his tears. I simply turned my back on him. I walked away, my white coat billowing slightly, passing through the secure glass doors of my laboratory, leaving him standing completely alone in the cold, unforgiving lobby of the empire I had built without him.

As I sat back down at my desk, exhaling a breath I felt like I had been holding for twenty years, the silence of the lab was broken.

My secure personal phone chimed with an incoming, encrypted international call. The caller ID flashed briefly: Stockholm, Sweden.

I picked up the receiver, my heart suddenly hammering against my ribs. I pressed the phone to my ear, listening to the heavy, prestigious, accented voice of the chairman of the Nobel Committee’s selection board.