Ch.63: The Twist - He's Not Alone

The hospital room is sterile. White walls. White sheets. The smell of disinfectant is strong enough to choke a horse, but it can't mask the underlying scent of burnt flesh that clings to my skin.

I sit up. The movement pulls at the grafts on my chest and arms.

It’s been three days.

Three days since the fire. Three days since Aris burned. Three days since Isabella took her own life to save mine.

I look at the mirror on the wall.

My face is bandaged. Thick layers of gauze hide the ruin underneath. I don't know what I look like. The doctors haven't let me see.

Thorne is sitting in the chair next to the bed. He’s asleep. His arm is in a sling, and there’s a bandage on his forehead, but he’s alive.

The door opens.

A man walks in.

He isn't a doctor. He isn't a nurse. He’s wearing a suit that costs more than the hospital wing. He carries a leather briefcase.

He looks like a shark in a pinstripe suit.

Thorne wakes up instantly. His hand goes to his holster, but it’s empty.

"Who are you?" Thorne demands.

The man ignores him. He walks to the foot of my bed. He places the briefcase on the tray table.

"Mrs. Vane," he says. His voice is smooth, polished. "My name is Arthur Sterling. I represent the investors of the Janus Project."

Investors.

The word hangs in the air like a guillotine blade.

"Get out," I say. My voice is a rasp.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Sterling says. He opens the briefcase. He pulls out a stack of documents.

"We have a situation, Mrs. Vane. A breach of contract."

"Contract?" Thorne stands up. "Are you insane? Aris Vane kidnapped her. He tortured her. He was running a human chop shop."

"Dr. Vane was a visionary," Sterling corrects him. "And his work was... proprietary."

He slides a document toward me.

"The Janus Project was funded by a consortium of international clients. Very powerful, very private individuals. They invested billions into Dr. Vane's research."

He taps the paper.

"And you, Mrs. Vane, are in possession of their property."

"Property?" I ask.

"The hard drives," Sterling says. "The client list. The research data. We know you took them."

I touch the pocket of my hospital gown. The drives are gone. Thorne gave them to the police. They are evidence.

"The police have them," I say.

Sterling smiles. It’s a cold, dead smile.

"The police have encrypted drives they cannot open. And even if they could... do you really think the local authorities have jurisdiction over the people I represent?"

He leans in close.

"These are people who topple governments, Mrs. Vane. People who make laws. You don't put them in jail. You negotiate with them."

"I'm not negotiating," I spit. "I'm testifying."

"Are you?"

He pulls another document from the briefcase.

"This is a lawsuit. Filed this morning. The consortium is suing you for theft of intellectual property, corporate espionage, and the destruction of the Vane Institute."

"Destruction?" Thorne laughs. "Aris burned it down!"

"Can you prove that?" Sterling asks calmly. "The only witness is a dead woman who left a suicide note confessing to everything."

My blood runs cold.

Isabella.

Her note cleared me of the kidnapping. But it also painted her as the mastermind.

"Isabella Thorne confessed," Sterling says. "She claimed she was the one who drove Dr. Vane to madness. She claimed she was the one who destroyed the lab."

He looks at me.

"Dr. Vane is dead. A tragic victim of his mistress's psychosis. You are the grieving widow who miraculously survived."

He pauses.

"Unless, of course, you release the data."

"If I release the data, the world will know the truth," I say.

"If you release the data," Sterling counters, "you will be buried under so many lawsuits you won't be able to breathe. We will freeze your assets. We will seize your home. We will take custody of your daughter."

"You leave her out of this!" I scream.

"Lily is a Vane," Sterling says. "And the Vane estate belongs to the consortium until the debt is paid."

He looks at Thorne.

"And you, Detective. We know about your... unauthorized entry. Breaking and entering. Assault. Tampering with evidence. We can have your badge by morning."

Thorne steps forward, his fists clenched. "Try it."

Sterling doesn't flinch. He looks back at me.

"The offer is simple, Mrs. Vane. Return the drives. Sign a non-disclosure agreement. And we will let you live your life. We will even pay for your reconstruction."

He gestures to my bandaged face.

"You need it."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then we will destroy you," he says simply. "We will paint you as the villain. The jealous wife who conspired with her lover to murder her husband and burn down his legacy."

He snaps the briefcase shut.

"You have twenty-four hours to decide. After that... the gloves come off."

He turns and walks to the door.

"Oh, and one more thing," he adds, his hand on the knob. "Dr. Vane isn't the only one who knows the procedure. We have his notes. We have his team."

He smiles.

"The project continues, Mrs. Vane. With or without you."

He leaves.

The room is silent.

Thorne sinks back into the chair. He looks defeated.

"He's right," he whispers. "They have the money. They have the power. If we fight them in court, they'll bury us."

I look at the documents on the table. The lawsuit. The NDA.

The seal of the consortium. A two-faced coin. Janus.

I feel the rage building in my chest. A hot, liquid fire.

They think they can buy me. They think they can scare me.

They think the monster died in the fire.

I reach up. I touch the bandages on my face.

"Hand me the mirror," I say.

"Elena, don't," Thorne says. "The doctors said—"

"Hand me the mirror!"

Thorne hesitates. Then he reaches for the hand mirror on the bedside table. He hands it to me.

I look at my reflection.

The bandages are thick, white. A blank canvas.

I find the edge of the tape.

I pull.

"Elena, stop," Thorne pleads.

I rip the gauze away.

It falls to the sheets.

I stare at the glass.

The skin is gone. The muscle is healing, forming a shiny, red scar tissue. My lips are twisted. My nose is a ruin. My right eye is a sewn-shut slit.

I look like a nightmare.

But I am alive.

I look at Thorne. I point to the lawsuit.

"They want a villain?" I ask. My voice is steady. Cold.

"They want to control the narrative?"

I drop the mirror. It cracks, but doesn't shatter.

"Let's give them a story they can't control."

"What do you mean?" Thorne asks.

"Call the press," I say. "Call everyone. CNN. BBC. The New York Times."

"Elena, if you go public... they'll sue you. They'll ruin you."

"Let them sue," I say. "Let them try to hide fifty million dollars of blood money in open court."

I look at the door where Sterling exited.

"They think they're dealing with a victim. They think they're dealing with a widow."

I touch my scarred cheek.

"They don't know who I am."

"Who are you?" Thorne asks softly.

I look at him. I smile. It’s a gruesome, terrifying smile.

"I am the evidence."

The nightmare isn't over. The corporation is the real villain.