Chapter 9 - THE RECORDING THAT COULD DESTROY AN EMPIRE|
The flash drive was smaller than my thumb.
Yet as it lay in my palm, it felt heavier than anything I'd ever carried.
Lucian stood beside me.
Marco waited in the doorway.
Nobody spoke.
I looked at the handwritten note again.
“If I disappear, tell the world everything.”
My hands began shaking.
“Why would Dr. Voss give me this?”
Lucian studied the envelope.
“Maybe he wanted someone outside the program to have a copy.”
“Then why hide it from me?”
“Perhaps he was afraid.”
I looked up.
“Afraid of what?”
His expression hardened.
“That's what we're trying to find out.”
We brought the drive to the living room.
Marco contacted an independent digital-forensics specialist and arranged for the device to be examined without connecting it to my personal laptop.
I would never have thought of that.
I was too busy imagining every terrible possibility.
What if it contained photographs of patients?
What if it contained proof that Sofia had suffered because of an unapproved treatment?
What if it revealed that my entire medical history had been deliberately manipulated?
And what if knowing the truth wouldn't save me?
Lucian sat beside me while we waited.
“You're exhausted,” he said.
“I'm terrified.”
“I know.”
“There's a difference.”
“Yes.”
He looked at the untouched cup of tea on the table.
“Drink something.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“You really can't stop giving orders.”
“It's an unfortunate personality trait.”
“You should work on it.”
“I've been told that before.”
“By Sofia?”
His expression softened.
“Constantly.”
I picked up the tea.
“What was she like?”
He leaned back.
“Stubborn.”
“Like you?”
“Worse.”
“Impossible.”
He smiled faintly.
“She loved arguing with people who thought they knew everything.”
“That sounds useful around you.”
“She thought so.”
I looked at the photograph he'd left on the table.
“She would have liked you,” he said.
The words caught me off guard.
“You don't know that.”
“She had a weakness for people who refused to be impressed by me.”
I laughed quietly.
Then the laughter faded.
“Lucian?”
“Yes?”
“Do you ever wish you could go back and change one thing?”
His gaze moved toward the window.
“Every day.”
“What would you change?”
“I would have asked Sofia what she wanted instead of assuming I knew how to save her.”
I stared at him.
He continued.
“When she got sick, I started treating every problem like a battle.”
“I paid bills, hired consultants, and threatened people who gave us bad news.”
“But I stopped listening.”
His voice grew rough.
“She wanted me to sit beside her.”
“And I kept leaving the room to make another phone call.”
I reached for his hand.
“She knew you loved her.”
He looked down at our joined fingers.
“I hope so.”
“I think she did.”
He didn't answer.
But he didn't pull away either.
An hour later, the specialist called.
The flash drive contained encrypted files, but the examination had identified a directory of video recordings, clinical documents, and financial spreadsheets.
One video had been recovered.
It was dated eighteen months earlier.
Lucian asked if I wanted to see it.
I said yes.
Marco connected a secure display to the television.
The screen flickered.
Then Dr. Voss appeared.
He sat alone in an office, his face pale beneath fluorescent lighting.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he looked directly into the camera.
“My name is Dr. Nathaniel Voss.”
I gripped Lucian's hand.
“I am recording this statement because I believe patients participating in a privately funded treatment program have been exposed to unacceptable risks.”
The room seemed to shrink.
Voss continued.
“The program began as an experimental investigation into severe inflammatory disorders.”
“Several participants experienced significant complications.”
“Some patients died.”
Lucian went still beside me.
“The initial research was sponsored through a network of private companies.”
Voss swallowed.
“Those companies were linked to a medical investment group controlled by Adrian Bell.”
Marco cursed softly.
I stared at the screen.
The doctor looked exhausted.
“After early safety concerns emerged, I recommended suspending the program.”
“My recommendation was rejected.”
Tears gathered in my eyes.
“Certain adverse events were reclassified as progression of preexisting disease.”
I covered my mouth.
My disease.
My worsening condition.
The explanations I'd accepted because I trusted the people treating me.
Voss continued speaking.
“I signed documents I should have refused to sign.”
“I failed patients who trusted me.”
His voice cracked.
“And I carry responsibility for that failure.”
Lucian leaned forward.
Then the doctor said something that made him freeze.
“Patient Twelve, Sofia Moretti, experienced a severe adverse reaction during an earlier phase of the program.”
Lucian's hand tightened around mine.
“The medical team failed to communicate the full extent of the reaction to her family.”
I heard Lucian inhale sharply.
Voss lowered his head.
“Sofia's death should have prompted an immediate independent investigation.”
“Instead, pressure from the program's financial backers led to the concealment of relevant findings.”
I looked at Lucian.
His face had become completely expressionless.
But his eyes shone.
The recording continued.
“Patient Forty-Seven, Amelia Carter, has developed complications that may be associated with exposure to an investigational treatment.”
My heart stopped for one terrible second.
“Further review is required to determine the precise relationship.”
“Her existing illness is real and serious.”
“However, her prognosis cannot responsibly be established without a complete reassessment of her medications, imaging, and laboratory findings.”
The video ended.
Nobody moved.
I stared at the black screen.
For three years, I'd believed every decline meant my disease was winning.
Now there was evidence that some of my suffering might have been caused or worsened by treatment I hadn't fully understood.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to cry.
I wanted to find every person who'd signed those documents and demand to know how they slept at night.
Instead, I whispered, “They knew.”
Lucian turned toward me.
I looked at him.
“They knew something was wrong.”
He nodded.
“And they kept treating me.”
He couldn't answer.
I stood.
My legs trembled.
“They watched me lose my hair.”
“Amelia.”
“They watched me spend Christmas in a hospital room.”
My voice broke.
“They watched me plan my own funeral.”
Lucian rose.
I stepped backward.
“Don't.”
He stopped immediately.
I pressed my hands against my face.
“I don't know what to do with this.”
“You don't have to decide tonight.”
I shook my head.
“I thought I had seven days.”
“I know.”
“And now I don't even know whether that was true.”
His voice was gentle.
“That's why we're getting another opinion.”
I stared at him.
“What if the damage is permanent?”
He didn't look away.
“Then we'll face the truth.”
“And if I still die?”
His expression tightened.
“Then nobody gets to tell you your life didn't matter.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks.
He stepped closer.
This time, I didn't move away.
He wrapped his arms around me.
I buried my face against his chest.
For a moment, I forgot that he was a feared man.
I forgot his reputation, his money, and the danger surrounding him.
He was simply someone holding me while the world I understood fell apart.
Then Marco's phone rang.
He answered and listened.
His expression changed.
“Boss.”
Lucian loosened his arms.
“What is it?”
Marco swallowed.
“They found Dr. Voss.”
I pulled away.
“Is he okay?”
Marco hesitated.
“He's alive.”
I exhaled.
“But he's in police protective custody after reporting that someone tried to force him into a vehicle.”
Lucian's jaw hardened.
“Does he know who?”
Marco looked down at his phone.
“He identified Adrian Bell.”
Silence fell.
Then Marco continued.
“Bell also sent a message through one of our old business contacts.”
Lucian stared at him.
“What message?”
Marco looked at me.
His expression filled me with dread.
“He says he'll trade the original research records for one thing.”
I whispered, “What?”
May you like
Marco answered.
“Amelia Carter.”
