Page 133 of Vital Signs
"That sounds like a you problem," Misha said coldly.
Nash's mask finally slipped completely. "You're asking me to commit professional suicide. My husband's political career, myboard positions, my reputation. Everything I've built would be destroyed."
"Better than literal suicide," I replied. "Which is what you'll face if these trials continue."
Her composure cracked further as the weight of our threat settled in. No bureaucracy could protect her from the kind of justice we'd delivered to Wright.
The offer of bribery died on her lips as she realized we weren't interested in joining her system. We were there to dismantle it completely.
"Where is Elliot?" Nash asked, voice tight.
"Nowhere," I said coldly. "The kind of nowhere that can't be found even if you cut up the earth with bulldozers."
Nash's eyes darted between us, reassessing the situation entirely. "What do you want? Money? A position in the company?"
Misha laughed. "We want the trials to stop. All of them. Every location. Immediately."
"That's not possible." Nash leaned back, composure returning as she found familiar ground. "The board would never authorize—"
"We're not asking the board," Misha interrupted. "We're telling you. The trials end today."
"Or what?" Nash asked. "You'll go to the authorities? With what? An illegally obtained recording that would be inadmissible in any court? Do you have any idea who my husband is?"
"Senator Robert Nash," I said. "Health, Education, Labor and Pensions Committee. We know your puppet strings reach to Washington."
My hands stayed rock steady as I leaned forward. No tremors. No shakes. My control was returning when I needed it most.
"Tyler Graham was twenty-six years old." I leaned in. "Wright doubled his medication after he showed cardiac irregularities. Then documented his death as 'valuable data on terminal responses.' The FDA has specific protocols for adverse reactions. Protocols you systematically violated."
My gaze caught on a glass trophy behind her desk. "Innovation in Neurological Pharmaceuticals: NeuroPath Research." The same drug that had stopped Tyler's heart. They'd given her a fucking award for the poison that killed my friend.
"Young man," Nash sighed. "The pharmaceutical industry saves millions of lives. Progress requires sacrifice."
"Not Tyler's life," I said. "Not anymore."
Nash's eyes narrowed. "What exactly do you think is happening here? You walk into my office, make threats, and I suddenly shut down a billion-dollar operation? That's not how the world works."
"You misunderstand," Misha said. "We're not here to negotiate. We're informing you of a decision already made."
"By whom?" Nash scoffed.
"By us," Misha replied. “And you’ll comply one way or another.”
Nash blinked rapidly. "You're bluffing."
"Victoria," Misha said, leaning forward until they were eye to eye across the desk, "do I look like a man who bluffs?"
Nash's gaze shifted to me, searching for weakness. She found none. The restlessness that had plagued me in the lobby had vanished, replaced by cold focus.
"You'll shut down the trials," I said. "Every site. Every operation. No record. No paper trail. Just a quiet, complete termination of all field research."
"And if I refuse?" Nash asked.
Misha smiled. "Then you’ll find out what happened to Dr. Wright."
Nash swallowed hard. "You can't just walk in here and threaten me. I have security—"
Her hand moved suddenly toward something under her desk. Panic surged through me. A silent alarm. A gun. Four years on the streets taught me to recognize when someone was about to pull a weapon.
