Chapter 6
Chapter Six
I wake the next morning to a flood of emotions. Last night’s encounter with Romello has thrown me off balance. Part of me wants to believe there’s more to him—that perhaps he’s not the villain I imagine. The other part of me thinks he’s trying to distract me from getting the information I want.
Determined to find answers, I dive back into my investigation. At a local café, the aroma of freshly baked pastries mingles with the rich scent of coffee. I spread out my notes, and the soft murmur of patrons provides a comforting backdrop.
As I sift through the documents, a particular file catches my eye—an internal memo with Romello’s signature. My eyes scan the lines, each word sinking like a stone in my stomach.
“Initiate Project Eclipse. All research and prototypes related to the contraceptive drug are to be terminated effective immediately. Ensure all data is secured and personnel are reassigned.”
Staring at the page, I feel a sense of disbelief giving way to a crushing sense of betrayal. He’s been orchestrating the suppression all along.
The café suddenly feels stifling. I gather my things hastily, needing fresh air. I shove everything into my messenger bag haphazardly, with crumpled pages and all. Outside, the city buzzes around me, oblivious to my turmoil. My world is spinning with rage. I want to turn green and smash everything within sight.
My phone rings—it’s Mia. I know it before looking because I have our favorite song set as her ringtone. This month it’s “Rain” by that masked man that has the world guessing his real identity. I wait until the beat drops then answer the call.
“Hey, are we still on for lunch?” she asks brightly.
I swallow hard. “Actually, something’s come up. Can we raincheck?”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just work stuff.”
“All right, but don’t overwork yourself,” she chides gently.
“Talk soon.”
I end the call, leaning against a lamppost. The weight of my discovery presses down on me. How could I have been so blind?
I grip my bag tighter against my chest and decide to walk back to my apartment rather than take a ride share. The brisk air does nothing to clear my head of all the racing thoughts. Even less to check the feeling that had crept in for Romello. How could I be so stupid to think there was actually an option there?
Once back in my apartment, I stare blankly at my laptop screen. The spark that fueled my investigation feels dimmed by personal hurt. I type up my findings, the clacking of keys echoing in the quiet room.
I have plenty of tabs open to the internet and dark web pages. Everything adding to the puzzle of why they would want to suppress this groundbreaking new drug. Nothing is giving a clear-cut answer though. There doesn’t seem to be anything that screams cover-up.
Seemingly, the math isn’t math-ing here. Zenith Corp and their big wigs are set to make billions of dollars in the first year alone. Billions from just the projections that don’t include cash patients without insurance coverage, too. Why would they give all that up after years of pouring cash into the product to get it through to this last round of human trials?
I need to scream, throw something, or smash something. I am so frustrated with this whole scenario. I really am a peaceful person, so having all this internal rage bubbling to the surface is taking its toll on me.
A notification pops up—a message from an anonymous sender:
Stop digging or face the consequences.
A chill runs through me. Quickly, I check my apartment’s locks, paranoia creeping in. The shadows seem darker, every sound amplified. How did they get through my security protocols?
I try to type back but the moment I click on the messenger—that looked suspiciously like an old version of AOL—it closed and shut power to my laptop completely.
“Fuck!”
I press the power button and luckily the screen fired right back up. I click on the menu and restore all my previous browser history. Moving as quickly as my fingers can I back up all of the data onto a removable drive and start sending zip files to my cloud.
Just as I am finishing with the last file of my research my heart sinks. A grainy picture of Romello and I kissing on the veranda flashes across my screen.
I am not normally an overly paranoid person. This…this makes me pause.
My brain is running a marathon right now with how fast the thoughts are careening by. How long have I been watched? Who is following me?
Am I just collateral damage, and this is just more ammo against Romello? Surely, it has to be someone out to smear him. He’s a top executive in a Fortune 500 company.
“Who are you people?”
I have the distinct feeling that I am in some kind of danger. My gut is rarely ever wrong, but I have been distracted by my hormones and that man.
Romello is my kryptonite. I am the Superman in this story, Zenith the Lex, and Romello the only thing poised to derail everything I have done to stop this villain from winning. My daydreams and playtime featuring him are my fault, true. But that kiss…
Fuck this. I will not be silenced.
I decide to send my findings to Mark. At least if something happens, the truth won’t die with me.
“Try and stop me now, mother-fucker!”