Chapter 4 - Julian Had Heard Cassandra Predict My Death
I woke in the hospital.
Again.
Dr. Ross replaced part of the dressing and warned me that another injury could compromise healing.
My optic nerves were not severed.
That was the good news.
Inflammation and trauma had caused severe temporary vision loss.
Recovery was possible.
Not guaranteed.
I could eventually regain partial vision.
Maybe more.
No one knew.
Julian appeared outside my room.
I recognized his footsteps before he spoke.
Eleven years of marriage teaches you rhythms you wish your body would forget after betrayal.
“Elena.”
“Leave.”
“I need to tell you something.”
“You need an attorney.”
“I have one.”
“Good.”
“Cassandra knew about the lab maintenance.”
That made me turn toward him.
“What?”
He remained near the door.
“Three days before the explosion, she told me you were going to get yourself killed.”
“That’s not unusual. She thought the work was dangerous.”
“No.”
His voice lowered.
“She said, ‘If she keeps running that system this way, one day she won’t walk out.’”
I felt cold.
“What system?”
“I assumed she meant the reactor.”
The explosion started near our microfluidic synthesis unit.
Aurum compounds were produced in extremely small quantities, but one manufacturing stage used volatile solvents under controlled pressure.
Two safety interlocks should have shut everything down long before ignition.
Neither did.
“Why didn’t you tell investigators?”
“I did.”
That surprised me.
“The fire investigator?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“They said it wasn’t enough to mean anything.”
Fair.
A vague warning isn’t proof.
Then Julian said:
“She asked me afterward whether the trust could transfer if you died.”
That mattered more.
“When?”
“Hospital. First night.”
I gripped the sheet.
“What did you say?”
“I told her I didn’t know.”
“You’re CFO.”
“I never studied the death provisions.”
Of course.
He studied the clauses that benefited him.
Not the ones that protected me.
“What did she say?”
“She said we needed to find out quickly.”
Silence.
“Why are you telling me now?”
“Because tonight she said you should have died.”
He sounded shaken.
Not redeemed.
Shaken.
Then I asked:
“Did you help her access the lab?”
“No.”
“Did you give her credentials?”
“No.”
“Did you tell her my schedule?”
He paused.
There.
“When?”
“She asked when you’d be running the final stability cycle.”
“Why?”
“She said she wanted to prepare the investor deck.”
“And you told her?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes beneath the bandages.
Cassandra knew exactly when I would be alone in the prototype lab.
Because my husband told her.
Again:
Not proof he caused the explosion.
But another door he opened without asking where it led.
Then my attorney, Leah Monroe, arrived.
She waited until Julian left.
“I have news.”
“Good or bad?”
“Complicated.”
Orchid Biomedical had completed its first scheduled payment.
$400 million.
The rest of the two-billion-dollar acquisition depended on milestones.
I had not suddenly become two billion dollars richer.
Most of the consideration would flow through Hart Research Trust, taxes, research obligations, and contingent payments.
But control was secure.
Then Leah said:
“Cassandra filed something this morning.”
“What?”
“A claim that you lacked capacity when you executed the Orchid transaction.”
I almost admired her speed.
“How?”
“Your injuries.”
“She thinks blindness equals incapacity?”
“She thinks hospitalization, pain medication, neurological trauma, and timing may create enough doubt to slow the closing.”
That was the move.
Not win immediately.
Delay.
Freeze.
Create uncertainty.
Then Leah added:
“She has a declaration from Julian.”
I stopped breathing.
“What declaration?”
“Signed six days ago.”
My husband had already supported an argument that I was medically incapable of making major business decisions.
Before the launch.
Before our confrontation.
Before he knew I had sold anything.
May you like
Julian had not merely been cheating.
He had been preparing to legally erase my authority while I lay blind in a hospital bed.
