Chapter 3 - The Ghost of the Lab
The next morning, the front page of every major newspaper featured my face—not the polished, photoshopped portrait Jason had used for corporate galas, but a raw, unedited photo from the courtroom, my scars stark against the sterile light.
The headlines were merciless: COULD MITCHELL MEDICAL BE BUILT ON LIES AND BLOOD? THE SILENT CO-FOUNDER SPEAKS: EXCLUSIVE TRIAL DETAILS.
I sat in Daniel’s office, watching the stock ticker for Mitchell Medical (MTMD). It was in a freefall, down 24% in pre-market trading.
"We've triggered an emergency board meeting," Daniel said, walking in with a stack of files. "The major institutional investors are panicked. They want Jason out. But more importantly, the FDA has just issued an urgent inquiry into the Aegis-5 safety protocols."
"It's starting," I murmured, staring out the window at the bustling city below. "But Jason won't go down easily. He’ll try to liquidate his offshore accounts. He’s probably already planning to flee."
"He can't. I’ve already secured a temporary freeze on all joint assets, including the corporate accounts, pending the outcome of the fraud investigation," Daniel said, a triumphant gleam in his eye. "He’s trapped. He has no liquid cash, and his credit lines are being pulled by the banks as we speak."
"What about Madison?" I asked.
Daniel scoffed. "Madison Brooks is a parasite. The moment she realized the ship was sinking, she went straight to her agent. She’s already trying to sell an 'exclusive tell-all' interview to distance herself from Jason. But we have proof she was complicit."
He slid a manila envelope across the desk. Inside were bank transcripts showing Madison had been receiving "consulting fees" from Mitchell Medical—funds that were actually funneled from my personal trust account before Jason drained it.
"She wasn't just his mistress, Iris. She was his bagman," Daniel explained. "She helped him move over twelve million dollars into shell companies in the Cayman Islands. If we can link those transactions to the offshore accounts, we can charge them both with grand larceny and money laundering."
I picked up the papers, my eyes scanning the signatures. Madison’s handwriting was looped and elegant, the same handwriting that had signed my name on those hotel receipts.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was an unknown number.
I pressed answer and put it on speaker.
"Iris," a trembling, desperate voice came through the speaker. It wasn't Jason. It was Madison.
"Madison," I said, my voice devoid of emotion.
"Iris, please, you have to help me," she sobbed, her voice frantic. "Jason... he's lost his mind. He’s locked himself in his study at the penthouse. He’s burning documents, and he... he hit me, Iris. He said it was my fault the money was frozen. He said if he goes down, he’s taking me with him."
Daniel and I exchanged a quick, sharp look.
"Where are you now, Madison?" I asked.
"I’m in the guest bathroom," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Please, Iris. I know I was awful to you. I know I took your husband, but I didn't know he was a monster! I didn't know what he did to you! You have to help me get out of here before he hurts me!"
May you like
I closed my eyes, remembering the cold, mocking smile she had given me just twenty-four hours ago in the courtroom. Poor thing, she had said.
"If you want my help, Madison, you do exactly what I say," I commanded, my voice dropping to an icy register. "Turn on your phone’s voice recorder. Leave it on. And walk back into that study."
