The Goldbergs and seven-year-old Adam sat in the opulent consulting room of Dr. Parel. The walls were adorned with fine artwork, no doubt expensive originals. The entire office was wood-panelled, evoking the atmosphere of a Victorian-era Harley Street doctor’s office—an odd contrast to the modern, minimalist, high-tech waiting room they had just left behind.

  Dr. Parel, seated behind an imposing mahogany desk, was casually swivelling in his Chesterfield chair as he reviewed a medical report. The report detailed Rachel’s suitability for carrying the child they were about to design. Across from him sat the Goldbergs, with Adam deliberately placed between his parents so he could feel included in the process of designing his sibling.

  Lowering the report, Dr. Parel looked up and began. “From our initial consultation, you were planning for two designer children. A boy first, then a girl two years later, correct?”

  Rachel and Stan exchanged a quick smile, then nodded toward the doctor.

  “Well…” Dr.Parel hesitated, his tone turning sombre. Rachel and Stan instantly sensed the shift. “Looking at your medical report, Rachel, I believe your womb will only be able to sustain one more pregnancy.”

  The couple froze. Stan frowned as Rachel let out a frustrated sigh. “Okay, then we’ll just have a girl,” she said, knowing full well it would provoke Stan.

  “Like hell we will!” Stan retorted. “I’m paying for this!”

  “And it’s my womb!” Rachel shot back, her voice rising. The light-hearted atmosphere in the room collapsed, and tension filled the space as the couple began to bicker. Adam, wide-eyed, covered his ears.

  “Please, please!” Dr. Parel interjected, raising his hands in a calming gesture. “There may be a solution that satisfies both of you.”

  The Goldbergs fell silent, anxiously waiting.

  “Have you considered twins? Not identical, but a boy and a girl, both sharing the same womb. It will require more work during and after the pregnancy, but it’s entirely possible.”

  Rachel and Stan exchanged a look, their previous frustration melting away at this unexpected compromise. Smiles crept back onto their faces, and the tension evaporated. Adam, watching quietly, felt a wave of relief as his parents finally stopped fighting.

  “Yes, I’m fine with that,” Stan conceded, his voice lighter now.

  Rachel beamed. “Me too. Twins!” She reached over, squeezing Stan’s hand, the excitement clear in her eyes.

  “Great,” Dr.Parel said, his professional tone giving way to enthusiasm. “Now that we’ve settled that, let’s start designing.”

  They began selecting the traits you’d expect any parent to want—high intellect, physical and mental health, resistance to obesity and cancer. “Can they be kind?” asked Rachel quietly. “Caring and compassionate? I want them to be a good brother and sister to Adam.”

  Dr. Parel smiled warmly, but out of the corner of his eye, Adam noticed his father roll his eyes. Still, Stan didn’t object. ”Of course they can. We need more of that in the world, not less,” said Dr. Parel with a smile

  As they left the room, Adam felt a glow of hope. Perhaps having siblings wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  The following day, the dynamics shifted. Dr. Parel found himself seated in Stan Goldberg’s penthouse office—a vast, luxurious space encased by floor-to-ceiling glass, offering a breathtaking panoramic view of New York. The room was bathed in natural light, with marble floors that gleamed under the sun, giving the space an air of refined elegance. Subtle hints of ancient Greek and Roman architecture echoed throughout the design, a fitting tribute to the headquarters of Goldberg’s towering business empire.

  The serene atmosphere felt at odds with Goldberg’s personality, a man whose success was built on anything but peace. His empire spanned multiple industries, but it was New York real estate that formed the backbone of his wealth and power.

  Ordinarily, Dr. Parel would have demanded that Goldberg come to him. But Goldberg's PA had assured him that this meeting would be well worth his time, financially speaking. And so, here he was, sitting on the 100th floor of a sleek skyscraper, with Central Park stretching out below like a sea of green.

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  "Thanks for coming. Take a seat," Stan said, motioning to the chair across from his desk.

  "No problem," Dr. Parel replied, settling into the chair. "What can I do for you?"

  Without answering right away, Stan stood and walked toward the window. He gazed out over Central Park, his broad frame outlined by the shimmering skyline. Dr. Parel watched, but all he could see was the silhouette of Stan’s back, his posture unyielding.

  Stan began to speak, his voice firm and deliberate as he stood, arms folded, unconsciously striking a pose that radiated power. "Wherever you look in this city," he said, his eyes fixed on the view, "you’ll see one of my buildings. It took decades to build this empire."

  He paused, glancing briefly over his shoulder to ensure he had Dr. Parel’s attention. "It wasn’t easy. My family made hard choices—ruthless ones, at times. But we did what we had to do. Nothing was given to us."

  His voice hardened. "But we’re not bad people. I’m not a bad man. My company provides thousands of jobs—jobs that enable people to buy homes and send their kids to college. I do my part for charity, support the arts."

  He paused again, as though weighing his following words. "I want my family’s legacy to continue. Adam’s a good kid, but he doesn’t have the edge needed to run a business. He doesn’t have the grit for tough decisions."

  Stan took a deep breath, turning back toward the window. "The boy—the twin—he’s the one who will inherit the business. I don’t need him to be designed kind or caring. I need him to be like me—a ruthless bastard, ready to make the hard calls when necessary."

  He strode back to his desk, still speaking with conviction. "You can let Rachel design the girl however she wants. But the boy? He needs to be like me. A soft brother for Adam isn’t what matters. What matters is an heir who can keep this empire alive."

  Dr. Parel and Stan Goldberg haggled over the price—an unspoken agreement threading through every word—for the genetic design of Stan’s son. The task was monumental but straightforward: shape the boy’s personality in the image of his father. On ethical grounds, he should disclose the full extent of the modifications to Mrs. Goldberg. However, the contract the Goldbergs had signed when they first enlisted his services was riddled with enough legal loopholes to shield him from any consequences.

  Besides, Rachel Goldberg wouldn’t sue her husband, not when Stan held the financial reins so tightly.

  When the final number was reached, Stan smiled, and Parel could almost hear the sound of victory in the air. They toasted with an aged, impossibly rare single malt—Stan’s customary ritual for sealing a deal. But this was no ordinary deal. Stan wasn’t just securing a transaction; he was buying a genetically designed heir to his empire, a boy who would inherit not just his name, but his very mindset. Dr. Parel couldn’t deny the gravity of what they had just set in motion. This child wouldn’t just fit into Stan’s world. He’d dominate it.

  As Parel stepped into the sleek, glass elevator, it hummed smoothly, descending past each floor of the cavernous, sparsely populated office building. He imagined what the place had looked like a decade ago, bustling with workers before AI took over. Stan had mentioned “hard decisions,” and Parel wondered if this was one of them—letting machines replace people.

  The doors slid open, and Dr. Parel walked across the empty lobby to his Nikola Dragstar electric car. He slid into the passenger seat and activated the autonomous mode with a simple voice command: “Home.” The vehicle responded immediately, slipping into the flow of the city’s automated traffic, weaving effortlessly among other driverless cars. As the cityscape blurred past, Parel leaned back, letting the alcohol warm his blood, his mind wandering.

  Rachel would never know. Not at first, anyway. She’d think the boy had the personality she'd chosen. But after three years, the truth would begin to emerge. Slowly, imperceptibly at first, the boy would start to reflect Stan—his arrogance, his ruthlessness. By then, she would have formed a bond with her child. And... if she’d tolerated those traits in her husband, she could learn to love them in her son. The odds of her raising hell would be slim.

  Dr. Parel smiled faintly as his eyes grew heavy, the car guiding him home in silence.