Chapter 11 - The Formula
Brooke denied it first.
Ethan didn’t.
“I saw the formula.”
Every head turned.
“When?” I asked.
“Two years before Eleanor died.”
“Why?”
“Richard asked me to fund research.”
“What kind?”
“A vascular compound.”
My stomach turned.
“Did you know what it could do?”
“No.”
Richard laughed weakly from the bed.
“Liar.”
Ethan moved toward him.
“Shut up.”
I stepped between them.
“No.”
I looked at Ethan.
“What did it do?”
He closed his eyes.
“It weakened arterial walls under certain conditions.”
Dad swore.
“Why would you fund that?”
“It was supposed to have surgical applications.”
“Did Mom know?”
“No.”
“Did Brooke?”
Ethan looked at her.
“Yes.”
Brooke’s face drained.
“You promised.”
That was enough.
“Promised what?”
No one answered.
“BROOKE.”
She broke.
“My father wanted me to destroy the research.”
“And?”
“I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because Ethan said it was worth money.”
I looked at him.
He shook his head.
“That isn’t what happened.”
“You two were laundering company money through her firm.”
“Yes.”
“For the formula?”
“Partly.”
My stomach twisted.
The fourteen million dollars.
Not all stolen.
Some had funded research.
Secretly.
“Did you use it on my mother?”
“No.”
Ethan answered instantly.
Brooke did not.
I looked at her.
“Brooke?”
Tears poured down her face.
“I didn’t know.”
“What?”
“My father asked me to bring a package to Victor.”
“When?”
“The night Eleanor died.”
Time stopped.
“What package?”
“A small insulated case.”
“What was inside?”
“I didn’t look.”
“Where did you take it?”
“Victor’s apartment.”
“What time?”
“Seven p.m.”
Hours before Mom died.
“Then what?”
“He said thank you.”
I turned toward Victor, who had entered with Dad.
He went white.
“I never opened it.”
“Where is it?”
“I gave it to Jonathan.”
Everything stopped.
My father looked stunned.
“What?”
Victor pointed at him.
“You asked me to bring everything Eleanor was investigating.”
“I meant documents.”
“I gave you the case.”
Dad stared.
Then memory hit.
“I put it in my office refrigerator.”
“When?”
“Eight thirty.”
“Then?”
“I went to dinner with Eleanor.”
My mother and father ate together that evening.
“When did you return?”
“Ten.”
“Was the case there?”
“No.”
“Who had office access?”
Dad whispered.
“Six people.”
Daniel checked.
One badge entered at 9:17.
Adrian Cross.
The former CFO.
The man who had helped Ethan target me.
The man we had trusted because he confessed first.
We called Vermont.
No answer.
Security searched his property.
Empty.
Again.
Another frightened man running.
But this time, Daniel found something under the floorboards.
A freezer.
Inside were three vials.
One label matched Catherine Mercer’s formula.
Another matched my mother’s prescription lot.
The third contained a handwritten code.
E.C.
Ethan Cole.
I looked at him.
He went pale.
“I didn’t put that there.”
I wanted to believe him.
That was the worst part.
After every lie, every betrayal, every humiliation, some stubborn part of me still wanted him not to be capable of murder.
Then Daniel found an email sent from Ethan to Adrian twelve hours before my mother died.
May you like
Deliver tonight.
No mistakes.
