When he got home, Tyler called me. From the tone of his voice he
seemed a nervous wreck. He asked whether I had disclosed our
communications to Theranos. Absolutely not, I replied, telling him I
took the promises of confidentiality I made to sources very seriously.
We tried to figure out what had happened.
It had been three weeks since we had met at the beer garden in
Mountain View. Back in New York, Matthew Traub had continued
putting off my requests for an interview with Holmes and had asked
me to send him questions instead. I had sent him an email outlining
seven main areas I wanted to discuss with Theranos, ranging from Ian
Gibbons to proficiency testing.
I forwarded the email to Tyler and he scanned it while we were on
the phone. In one section about assay validation, I had included a
coefficient of variation for one of the Edison blood tests, not realizing
that it was a figure Tyler had calculated himself. There was nothing
else in the email that could point to him, so Tyler assumed that was
what they had seized on. He seemed to relax. He could easily explain
that number away, he said. It could have come from anyone.
Tyler didn’t tell me he was about to go see his grandfather, only that
Theranos wanted him to come to its offices the next day to meet with
its lawyers. I advised him not to go. He no longer worked for the
company and was under no obligation to accede to the request. If he
went, they would try to smoke him out, I warned him. Tyler said he
would think things over. We agreed to touch base again the next day.
—
TYLER ARRIVED at his grandfather’s house at 8:45 p.m. George and
Charlotte weren’t home yet, so he waited out in the street until he saw
their car pull into the driveway. He gave them a few minutes to settle
in, then walked into the house. He found them sitting in the living
room.
“Have you spoken to any reporters about Theranos?” George asked.
“No,” Tyler lied. “I have no idea why they would think that.”
“Elizabeth knows you’ve been talking to the Wall Street Journal.