Chapter 11 - The Smiling Devil
I stared at the typed words until the black ink began to blur together. Your father's stroke was deliberately induced, and the person who ordered it is smiling at you right now. My breath caught in my throat. A sharp knock on my open office door snapped me out of my paralyzing shock. I jerked my head up.
Richard was leaning casually against the mahogany doorframe, looking impossibly handsome in a tailored navy suit. He held two steaming cups of artisanal coffee in his hands. A warm, perfect, and utterly terrifying smile was plastered across his face.
"Good morning, Madam Vice President," Richard said smoothly, stepping into the spacious room. "I brought your favorite. Venti caramel macchiato, extra foam."
My blood turned to absolute ice. I smoothly slid a blank corporate legal pad over the heavily redacted medical file, praying my hands were not visibly shaking. I forced the corners of my mouth to lift into a reciprocal smile.
"Thank you, Richard," I replied, my voice sounding completely hollow to my own ears. "You really shouldn't be playing delivery boy. You are the CEO of a billion-dollar empire now."
Richard chuckled, walking around my desk and placing the warm cup right next to my trembling hand. He leaned down, his face inches from mine, his expensive cologne suddenly smelling overwhelming and suffocating.
"I will always take care of the people who are loyal to me, Maya," he whispered softly. "We survived the fire together. That binds us forever."
He gave me one last charming smile before turning around and walking out of my office to attend a board meeting. I waited until his footsteps faded completely down the carpeted hallway before I exhaled a ragged breath. I locked my office door, pulled the curtains shut, and pulled the file back out.
The documents detailed a highly classified pharmaceutical trial from five years ago. My father had been a participant in a localized study for a new experimental nerve regeneration drug sponsored by a shadow subsidiary of Vitalis Health. The dates aligned perfectly. Three days after his final dosage, my father suffered a massive, fatal stroke. The official cause of death was listed as natural hypertension.
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I flipped to the last page. There was a single signature authorizing the termination of the trial and the subsequent cover-up of all adverse patient reactions. The signature was sloppy, but unmistakable. It belonged to Richard Vance.
I had traded a family of sloppy, greedy murderers for a single, brilliant psychopath. Richard hadn't just used me to survive his family's assassination attempt; he had orchestrated this entire narrative. I was the perfect, tragic, loyal pawn. And now, I was sitting right in the center of his web. I pulled out my cell phone, my fingers flying across the screen as I searched for the one person who might have the answers I desperately needed. It was time to pay a visit to federal prison.
