Page 525 of Rage

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 yearalone. 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!”

Chapter Seven

The following days are a blur of jump scares, nail-biting, and tension. I notice unfamiliar faces lingering near my building, cars that seem to follow me. Every small noise has my nerves frayed. My apartment feels like a prison, the walls closing in.

Mark calls with bad news. “Zenith’s legal team is threatening to sue if we publish. The board is pulling the story.”

“What? They can’t do that!”

“Money talks, Wynter. I’m sorry.”

Frustration and helplessness wash over me. “So that’s it? They get away with it?”

“Maybe there’s another way,” he suggests gently. “But you need to lay low for now.”

I hang up, seething. Just then, a knock sounds at my door. Peering through the peephole, I see Mia’s worried face.

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