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The neat rows of colonial-style homes looked warm and welcoming in the cold night as Rachel and Novak pulled up to Dr. Manning's address.

The neighborhood straddled that delicate line between aspirational and attainable—the kind of place where successful professionals settled when they wanted good schools without the pretension of the truly wealthy suburbs.

Manning's house stood out subtly from its neighbors, not through ostentation but through careful attention to detail.

The brick facade was painted a warm beige, with crisp white trim that looked freshly touched up.

A curved pathway led to the front door, bordered by solar-powered garden lights that gave off an ambient blue light in the darkness.

The small front yard displayed evidence of hands-on care rather than hired landscaping: well-tended beds of native plants and a Japanese maple that had been carefully pruned to create an elegant silhouette against the house.

A covered portico protected the entry, its ceiling painted the traditional pale blue common to Southern homes. Rachel noted the premium video doorbell mounted beside the glossy black door—clearly the Mannings took their security seriously.

She pressed the bell, watching as its ring light pulsed blue. After a moment, a woman's voice came through the speaker, polite but cautious: "Yes? Who's there?"

Rachel held up her credentials to the camera. "I'm Special Agent Rachel Gift with the FBI, and this is Agent Novak. We need to speak with Dr. Alexander Manning regarding New Horizons."

The door opened almost immediately, following the sound of two locks disengaging.

When it opened, a striking woman in her early fifties stood before them.

Her blonde hair was styled in an elegant bob, and she wore what Rachel recognized as the unofficial uniform of the comfortable upper-middle class: designer jeans and a cashmere sweater in a flattering shade of marine blue.

"Please, come in," she said, stepping back to allow them entry into a foyer with gleaming hardwood floors and a tasteful Craftsman-style light fixture overhead.

Before they could introduce themselves properly, a man emerged from a doorway to their right.

He had the lean build of a distance runner and wore wire-rimmed glasses that gave him a scholarly air.

"I'm Dr. Manning," he said, his tone indicating he'd overheard their introduction.

He looked back and forth between them suspiciously as if wondering if he could trust them. "What exactly can I help you with?"

Rachel met his gaze directly. "We're investigating a series of deaths that appear to be connected to New Horizons."

A slight furrow appeared between Manning's brows. "I see,” he said, giving a slight nod. “Please, come into the sitting room."

The room he led them into perfectly balanced comfort and sophistication.

Built-in bookshelves flanked a gas fireplace with a classic marble surround, their shelves filled with an eclectic mix of scientific texts and well-worn novels.

Two leather club chairs faced the fire, each with a book splayed open on its arm, suggesting they'd interrupted the Mannings' evening reading.

A plush sectional in warm cognac leather dominated one wall while floor-to-ceiling windows looked out onto a private backyard garden, currently covered in night and shadow.

The room smelled faintly of cedar and vanilla, emanating from a candle flickering on the mantel.

"Please, sit," Manning gestured to the sectional. His wife hovered near the doorway. "Can I offer you anything? Tea? Coffee?"

Novak shook his head, but Rachel smiled. "Tea would be lovely, thank you."

"Peppermint or black?" Mrs. Manning asked.

"Peppermint, please."

As Mrs. Manning left the room, Rachel settled onto the sofa, noting how Manning chose to sit in one of the club chairs, maintaining a slight distance. "Dr. Manning, we'd like to discuss your time at New Horizons. Specifically your feelings about the organization."

Manning's fingers drummed once on the chair's arm before he stilled them. "Are you asking if I harbor resentment for how my time there ended?"

"Do you?"

He let out a short laugh. "I did, for about a week.

I'll admit I said some things to colleagues and other organizations that weren't entirely professional.

But bitter? No." He leaned forward slightly, his expression becoming more animated.

"My concerns were never personal. They were ethical.

I understand what they are trying to accomplish and share the same desires.

We just have different opinions on how it should be presented. "

"Could you elaborate?" Novak asked, his notebook already open.

Manning's eyes took on an intensity that Rachel recognized from other scientists she'd interviewed—the look of someone passionate about their field.

"New Horizons has perverted the entire purpose of cryopreservation research. The technology itself is fascinating, potentially revolutionary. There are certain things they will be able to do within the next decade that are going to blow people’s minds.

But they've turned it into an exclusive club for the ultra-wealthy. "

He stood and began to pace, his earlier reserve forgotten.

"The basic process—the preservation itself—could be offered for as little as fifty thousand dollars, perhaps even less, depending on the preservation term.

But New Horizons charges over seven hundred thousand for whole-body preservation.

Why? Not because of actual costs, but because they can.

They've created artificial scarcity to drive up prices and ensure their client list remains... exclusive. Have you been to the facility?”

“We have,” Novak said.

“Then you’ve seen what I’m talking about…the way they present themselves. They want you to think what they are doing is some sort of science fiction fantasy come to life. And they do a good job of it. They make themselves look almost…almost ethereal …and are able to charge ridiculous prices.”

Mrs. Manning returned with a delicate china cup of tea, steam rising in fragrant wisps. Rachel thanked her and took a careful sip; it was warm and soothing, as she’d hoped. Meanwhile, Novak continued the questioning.

"Have you had any contact with anyone at New Horizons since your departure?" he asked.

Manning settled back into his chair, looking almost defeated. "I emailed Margaret Fenway a few months ago. I apologized for some of the things I'd said when they let me go. I told her I’d be happy to talk it over in person, but she never responded.”

Rachel watched him carefully as she asked her next question. "Would it surprise you to learn that someone connected to New Horizons appears to be murdering people?"

His reaction seemed genuine—a slight paling of his complexion, a barely perceptible flinch.

But he sat back up in his chair again, his eyes filled with shock and concern.

"I'd be shocked beyond measure if any of my former colleagues were capable of murder," he said quietly.

"They are, after all, working very hard to extend life. "

Rachel knew that the recent murder of Peter Wells had occurred within the last three hours, making it simple to rule out Manning if his whereabouts could be verified. It was one of the many advantages to getting to a fresh scene. "Where were you this afternoon, Dr. Manning?"

"Teaching an online course until 5:30, then Sandra and I went out for dinner. We came home and started reading—until you knocked on our door."

“What school was the course for?”

“Aspen Paget University—a strictly online university,” he answered.

"Can you prove the dinner?" Novak asked.

Mrs. Manning, who had been listening silently from her perch on the arm of her husband's chair, pulled out her phone. The whole time, Rachel watched Manning to see if he’d get upset about the questions, about basically accusing him without coming out and stating it.

"We paid with my Apple Card,” his wife said, showing her phone. “Here's the receipt."

Rachel glanced at the timestamp—it aligned perfectly with Manning's story, and the online course would be easy to verify. Still, she had one final question. "During your time there, was there anyone at New Horizons who gave you pause? Anyone who raised red flags?"

Manning was quiet for a moment, clearly giving the question serious consideration.

"The truth is, most of the staff were idealists.

Brilliant minds who truly believed in the potential of the technology.

Even Margaret, for all her faults, believes in what she's doing.

She's just... lost sight of the broader possibilities in favor of immediate profits. "

His expression grew distant, and Rachel could see him mentally reviewing his time there.

"The labs were state-of-the-art, of course.

Everything was pristine, controlled. But there was always this undercurrent of.

.. desperation. Not from the staff, but from the clients.

People who were essentially trying to buy their way out of death.

Some of them would visit regularly, checking on their future 'accommodations.

' The way they talked about it—as if they were booking a long-term stay at some exclusive resort. .."

He shook his head. "But no, I can't think of anyone specific who worried me. The ethical issues were systemic, not individual."

Rachel and Novak exchanged a glance. They had what they needed.

As they stood to leave, Rachel noticed a framed photo on one of the bookshelves—a younger Manning in a lab coat, surrounded by other scientists, all smiling broadly.

The picture spoke of enthusiasm, of possibility.

Whatever had soured at New Horizons had come later.

“Well, thank you for your time,” Rachel said. “And the tea.” She took another sip before placing the cup down and starting for the door, Novak followed, taking one last look around the room.

At the door, Rachel saw Manning's wife touch his arm gently. "Alex, should we be worried? About all this?"

"No," Rachel answered for him. “Not for now. But we appreciate your time and cooperation. If you think of anything else, please call." She handed Manning her card.

As they walked back to their car, the solar lights along the path had fully illuminated, creating pools of soft light in the gathering darkness.

Rachel couldn't shake the feeling that Manning's insights about the clients' desperation might be more relevant than he realized.

Sometimes the most dangerous person wasn't the one with the grievance, but the one with everything to lose.

"What do you think?" Novak asked as they pulled away from the curb.

Rachel watched the Manning house recede in the side mirror. "I think we need to look more closely at the clients. The living ones, though. Not the ones already on ice."

“How do we do that?”

“We pay another visit to New Horizons.” She sighed, looking out into the darkness. “But I suppose that will have to wait until tomorrow. I doubt anyone on staff right now, at this time of day, is only in the realm of security.”

“I can call and make sure,” Novak offered.

“Sure.”

But as they headed for the car, she knew how it would play out.

If they wanted to speak to Fenway in any real capacity and hope for any real information, they’d need to be at the office.

She supposed they could call Fenway and demand that she meet them at New Horizons but with the woman already being a bit difficult, Rachel didn’t see the point in pissing her off.

So they’d have to wait until the morning.

Which meant the killer would have the entire night to scheme and plan…which made Rachel feel far too uneasy and uncertain.