Chapter 8 - THE TRUTH ABOUT MY FATHER'S DEATH
My father did not die from a heart attack.
He did not die from Victor’s poison either.
He chose to stop treatment.
That was the truth my mother had hidden.
Dad had been exposed repeatedly to his own research while developing the counteragent.
Neurological damage progressed.
Memory loss.
Tremors.
Pain.
“He knew he was dying,” Mom said.
“So he refused treatment?”
“He refused the experimental treatment Victor offered.”
“Why?”
“Because Victor wanted to test a stronger version on him.”
I understood.
Dad chose death over becoming another experiment.
That hurt differently.
“Did Victor kill him?”
“Indirectly.”
“Did Richard know?”
“No.”
Good.
One less betrayal.
Then Mom handed me Dad’s final letter.
Claire,
If you ever learn what I built, hate the work if you need to. But do not let my worst decision erase every better one I made afterward.
My eyes filled.
He did not ask forgiveness.
I respected that.
The letter continued.
Richard Whitmore may someday find my records.
If he does, judge him by what he chooses after he knows the truth.
I stared.
“How did Dad know Richard?”
Mom looked at me.
“Richard studied under your father.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Medical school research fellowship.”
That explained the admiration.
The access.
The obsession.
Richard had not randomly found Dad’s work.
He had been taught by him.
“Did Dad like him?”
“Yes.”
That hurt.
“What happened?”
“Richard left research after George died.”
“Then returned five years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Because of Victor.”
“Yes.”
Richard had been pulled back into the thing his mentor tried to destroy.
Still his choice.
But now I understood the path.
Alexis recovered slowly.
Her blood tests showed prolonged exposure.
Some of her behavior had likely been amplified by the compound.
Not created.
Amplified.
That distinction mattered.
She had still insulted me.
Still slept with my husband knowingly.
But she had also been used.
I visited her once.
She looked at me.
“I’m sorry about the coat.”
I laughed despite myself.
“That’s what you picked?”
“It’s the first thing I remember clearly.”
“You thought I was the maid.”
“I was awful.”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“I’m trying not to be.”
That was enough for now.
Then she said:
“Richard didn’t start sleeping with me immediately.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“He kept saying no.”
My stomach tightened.
“For how long?”
“Months.”
“Then what changed?”
She looked ashamed.
“Victor increased his dose.”
I stopped.
“Richard was being dosed through what?”
“His blood-pressure medication.”
I closed my eyes.
Again.
Explanation.
Not absolution.
But truth mattered.
Then Alexis added:
“He found out two months ago.”
“What?”
“He knew he was being drugged.”
My anger returned.
“And kept taking it?”
“No.”
“He stopped.”
“Then continued the affair?”
She looked at me.
“Yes.”
There it was.
No chemical shield.
No manipulation excuse.
For two months, Richard knew.
And he still chose Vanessa—
No.
Alexis.
Still chose lies.
That was the part I needed.
Because I did not want to leave wondering whether the drug had destroyed my marriage.
It hadn’t.
Richard’s choices finished what manipulation started.
Then Evelyn called.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“We found something in the company guarantees.”
My stomach tightened.
“More fraud?”
“Not exactly.”
“What?”
“The three-million-dollar exposure isn’t against Whitmore Logistics.”
Relief started.
Then stopped.
“Then what is it against?”
She paused.
“Your personal shares.”
I stared.
“How much of my company?”
“Forty percent.”
My heart stopped.
May you like
Richard had pledged nearly half my company as collateral.
And the lender was Victor Bennett Research Trust.
