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Content Warning: This section of the guide references death, death by suicide, suicidal ideation, substance use, addiction, sexual content, illness, mental illness, and death.
Following the publication of Baker’s initial MTL article, the story about the Stanford President and his research spreads rapidly online. The university responds with surprising speed, announcing that its Board of Trustees will oversee an investigation. Soon after, scientific integrity expert Elisabeth Bik provides Baker with evidence of potential manipulation in a third MTL paper, which was not part of the original story. Holden Thorp, the editor-in-chief of Science, contacts Baker to admit the journal had erred by failing to publish corrections MTL had submitted in 2015. While this initially seems to partially absolve MTL, Thorp later reveals MTL never followed up after the journal’s error.
The university’s investigation raises concerns about the integrity of MTL’s research. However, the Board Chair, Jerry Yang, praises MTL’s character even as he announces the review. Baker discovers via SEC filings that a member of the investigating committee, Felix Baker, has an $18 million investment in MTL’s biotech company. After Baker emailed Stanford’s communications office and failed to receive a response, he gets an email from Aidan Ryan, a crisis communications executive from “one of the most powerful public relations firms in the world” (70) whom Stanford has hired to handle any communication about the investigation. Ryan tells Baker that Felix has already requested to step down from the committee. As more of his papers are questioned, MTL launches a website to post rebuttals but refuses interviews. An op-ed defending him, orchestrated by his close friends Susan McConnell and Richard Scheller, is published in The Stanford Daily.
The story escalates when Science and Cell, two prestigious, peer-reviewed scientific journals, issue “Editorial Expressions of Concern” about MTL’s papers. Thorp pushes other journals to mark the papers as well. In a parallel investigation, Baker reports that decorated Stanford professor Stan Cohen was found liable for fraud in a $29.2 million lawsuit. Stanford’s communications office falsely claims to have been unaware of the case, and Baker receives his first legal threat from Cohen’s attorneys. Baker receives an anonymous letter alleging MTL helped cover up research misconduct at the company Genentech, which only spurs Baker on to uncover the truth. His parents gift him a custom T-shirt with a quote that encapsulates his tenacity and journalistic fervor: “Theo Baker is a fucking menace!” (117).
Derek, the founder of a Unicorn—the Silicon Valley term for “a startup that reaches a valuation of $1 billion or more” (119)—takes Baker to lunch at a luxurious hotel with a U.S. Senator and Derek’s young toddler, whom he feeds tiny bites of expensive caviar during their meal. This encounter allows Baker to experience the opulent world of wealth and excess he would potentially be giving up to pursue a career as a journalist. Baker describes Stanford’s elite ecosystem where venture capitalists (VCs) aggressively court promising undergraduates. In this world, investors offer lavish perks and even “pre-idea funding”—capital for a startup that does not yet exist—based on a student’s reputation rather than a specific idea.
After Baker is denied entry to the secret, exclusive, “How to Rule the World” seminar, he pursues additional information about it through interviews with current and former participants. He learns that “Rule,” as the class is known, functions primarily as a selection mechanism for its instructor, Justin, to identify and cultivate future assets. The class teaches a cynical and manipulative worldview focused on extracting value from others and achieving goals by any means necessary. Baker contrasts this ideology with a more traditional and ethical entrepreneurship class, “Lean LaunchPad,” taught by Steve Blank, who warns, “We’ve lost the moral compass for what we invest into” (136). Former Stanford President John Hennessy and OpenAI CEO Sam Altman echo this concern, positing that the hyper-commercialized, VC-driven campus culture is a recent and potentially negative development.
The author’s personal life begins to fray as his investigation intensifies. He and his long-distance girlfriend, Lily, break up, and a campus-wide COVID-19 quarantine leaves him feeling deeply isolated. His reporting on the MTL scandal stalls, and public opinion on campus shifts. Where he was once celebrated on the student social media app, Fizz, for his articles, he’s now accused of damaging the university’s reputation, making him a polarizing figure and erasing his hopes for a normal college experience.
As the author’s sense of impending crisis deepens, he learns from Twitter that Blake Hounshell, a close family friend and professional mentor, has died by suicide. This loss prompts a reflection on the widespread mental health crisis affecting his generation, particularly at high-pressure institutions like Stanford. He describes the phenomenon of “Duck Syndrome,” where students appear to be gliding effortlessly on the surface while paddling furiously underneath just to stay afloat. He reflects on the recent death by suicide of Stanford soccer captain Katie Meyer, whose death led her family to bring a wrongful death lawsuit against the university, who responded in turn by blaming the parents. Katie’s name went unmentioned at the women’s soccer team’s mental health night, even as 12 other colleges publicly honored her memory. Baker experiences a moment of reprieve from his anxieties and grief when his high school best friend, Frank, visits for his 18th birthday, and his colleagues at The Stanford Daily throw him a surprise party, offering a welcome sense of community.
Baker paints a picture of Tessier-Lavigne as publicly robotic and formal but privately driven by immense ambition and capable of intense anger. Sources from MTL’s early career suggest that as his fame grew, his lab’s culture shifted, and scientists in another lab became convinced that MTL had taken one of their reagents—a substance added to an experiment to cause a reaction—without permission in order to publish a discovery first—though Tessier-Lavigne denies the reagent was taken without permission. MTL’s resulting paper went on to be cited over 1000 times in other studies. Meanwhile, the official Stanford investigation proceeds opaquely, with no public timeline, budget, or commitment to releasing its findings. A public relations representative for the board refuses to confirm that Stanford will apply its own rigorous research accountability policies to its president, and a trustee later admits the board initially dismissed the allegations.
Citing Stanford’s history of covering up misconduct, Baker decides he cannot trust the university’s process and rededicates himself to his own investigation, inspired by his childhood hero, the literary character Harriet the Spy. He focuses on the anonymous tip he received about a research cover-up at the biotech company Genentech, where MTL once worked, and secures a secret, in-person interview with a former executive. While biking to the clandestine meeting, the author is shocked to see MTL himself driving in his direction, from the area of the rendezvous point, causing Baker to crash his bicycle. Though rattled, he proceeds with the interview, which proves to be a major breakthrough. Hours later, he texts his editor: “jackpot.”
These chapters document the escalating stakes of the author’s investigation, tracing its expansion from a campus story into a significant scientific controversy with the potential to end the career of a powerful man. The university’s initial reaction provides a case study in Institutional Protection Over Accountability. Even as Stanford’s Board of Trustees announces an internal review of the allegations against MTL, Board Chair Jerry Yang is quick to praise MTL’s integrity: “‘I also want to note,’ Yang wrote, ‘that since President Tessier-Lavigne’s appointment in 2016, he has effectively led the university with integrity and honor’” (105). As Baker researches the members named to the investigate committee, he scrolls “through the investment firm’s filings at the Securities and Exchange Commission” and discovers that “that Felix Baker, the only person on the committee with any kind of scientific background […] maintained an $18 million investment in Denali Therapeutics, the company that Tessier-Lavigne had cofounded in 2015” (105). This inclusion of a trustee with a financial interest in MTL’s work, and the hiring of a high-powered crisis communications firm all suggest that the university’s first priority is damage control rather than transparent inquiry. Baker reinforces this impression by highlighting the university’s denial of its involvement in the Stan Cohen fraud lawsuit, which establishes a clear precedent for dishonesty when powerful faculty are implicated in misconduct.
Baker contrasts Stanford’s response to his article with the institutional response from the scientific community, emphasizing their willingness to admit past errors and pursue truth. Science magazine publicly admits to a past mistake that benefited MTL, and its editor, Holden Thorp, also takes a proactive role in placing “Editorial Expressions of Concern on several Tessier-Lavigne papers […] warnings [that] officially notified readers that the validity of data was under question, and undercut MTL’s defense” (111), making it clear that the scientific establishment was taking the allegations seriously, even if the university appeared to be closing ranks. As Stanford’s investigation into MTL proceeds with deliberate opacity, the author doubles down on his own journalistic methods, framing his work as a necessary counterweight to an institution more interested in protecting its reputation than pursuing accountability.
The narrative juxtaposes the public, institutional machinations of Stanford’s crisis response with the author’s private struggles, demonstrating the personal and psychological toll of the reporting. As the author’s reporting gains influence, his personal life suffers. His breakup, the social isolation of a COVID-19 quarantine, and the hostile turn in campus opinion transform him from a celebrated student journalist into a polarizing figure. This personal crisis is amplified by the death of his mentor, Blake Hounshell, which forces the author to confront the widespread mental health issues afflicting his generation. He uses the metaphor of duck syndrome—in which Stanford students appear to be gliding effortless through their studies like ducks across the water, but under the surface they’re furiously paddling for their lives. Baker highlights the tragic death by suicide of student-athlete Katie Meyer as an example. He implicitly critiques Stanford’s handling of Meyer’s death—blaming her parents and erasing her from campus events—and suggests that such a response mirrors Stanford’s handling of the MTL and Cohen scandals, demonstrating a consistent institutional pattern of avoiding responsibility, whether the issue is academic fraud or student well-being. The brief emotional reprieve Baker experiences during a surprise birthday party emphasizes the author’s deep need for connection amid professional and personal turmoil.
Structurally, Baker pairs the narrative of MTL’s scandal with a broader analysis of the university’s cultural ecosystem, critiquing the system that reifies the power and influence of figures like MTL, enabling unethical behavior. Baker’s interaction with Derek, a Silicon Valley CEO, illuminates a system in which venture capitalists aggressively recruit students, offering “pre-idea funding” and other perks that transform Stanford’s educational landscape into a speculative market. Baker describes as “a classic Silicon Valley success story, a man who achieved what so many Stanford students dream of: He was a Unicorn founder,” having built “a startup [with] a valuation of $1 billion or more” (119). Yet, as Derek tells Baker, “my secret job is working with interesting people” (120), reinforcing The Commodification of Talent as a central theme in the text. Like the How to Rule the World seminar that serves as a talent hunting ground for its instructor, Justin. The contrast between the cynical, value-extractive ethos of the “Rule” class and the ethical framework of Steve Blank’s “Lean LaunchPad” class reveals a central ideological conflict within Stanford that points to Silicon Valley’s Illusion of Meritocracy. As Blank laments, “We’ve lost the moral compass for what we invest into” (136), emphasizing that the university’s culture has shifted from one of innovation to one of financialization, creating an environment where the performance of success is often valued more than its substance.
Baker uses literary allusion to define his journalistic identity in opposition to the university’s flawed institutional process. His self-identification with the literary character Harriet the Spy, who wanted to “be a spy and know everything” (164), frames his investigation as a personal calling rather than a side hobby. This persona provides a moral justification for his persistence in the face of an official review that lacks a clear timeline, budget, or commitment to transparency. He concludes that he cannot trust an institution with a history of cover-ups to police itself. He underscores his own growing disenchantment with his idealized view of Stanford by building a more complex psychological portrait of MTL, presenting him as a man of immense ambition and hidden rage, whose labs were marked by suspicion long before the current scandal. The narrative builds to a cinematic climax as the author narrowly avoids a collision with MTL en route to a secret interview, a moment that collapses the distance between the reporter and his subject before the “jackpot” discovery promises to break the case open.



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