Page 6 of Married to My Master

In the end, though, he decided to just tell the whole story. Everything.

“Around that time, he had severe suicidal ideation. Are you familiar with that term?”

Emily nodded. “It's when someone is not just thinking about suicide, but is also planning it out. They consider the best way to do it, how to leave the least mess, and how to avoid putting anyone through torment due to finding the body. I'm familiar.”

Dane nodded, licking his dry lips. “Right. Exactly. You understand, then, why we were happy for him to be seeing the private care physician. Finally, we weren't as worried about Benton just becoming a statistic. But the doctor prescribed your medication, Hymalete, and things got worse.”

The elevator for the parking garage dinged open, and Emily gave him a glancing look, as if to say,Not much time left, Dane. Hurry things the fuck up. They left the elevator, and Emily unlocked her SUV.

Dane rushed along, his words spilling from his mouth even faster as they walked along through the parking garage to her car. “They told him BioSphere had said he needed to take it for fourteen days, to see if it would work, before they'd switch him to a different medicine.” He paused and pulled out the pictures of his niece and nephew, brother, and sister-in-law as they got to Emily Winter's big SUV. “On the tenth day, he killed his wife and two children,” he said, as he shoved the photos at her.

She glanced down at the photos, but didn't take them.

“He called 911 after it happened, Ms. West, and waited for the cops to get there. He had the gun to his head, but they talked him down, convincing him that the courts would work out everything in the end.”

Emily took a moment to respond. Her face was neutral, as frigid as her last name. “Mr. Bishop …Dane,” Emily said very carefully, her voice cold and unfeeling, “I understand you and your family have undergone a traumatic event, and that it's very common in these situations to attribute the ultimate responsibility to an outside actor. But, the fact of the matter is, these claims are completely unfounded. I can't just take your word on all this, can I?”

Dane's shoulders slumped. She'd seemed so caring and understanding on the TV and when she was dealing with her assistant, before. But this reaction right in front of him—this was just too cold. Could this even be the same woman?

“He's on death row now, Emily. Do you know what it's like to know your identical twin is about to be executed? That a man who walked almost the same path as you through life took a medication that fucked his brain up so badly that he shot his family? That he shot his kids?”

“I can't imagine your turmoil,” she said. “But I just don't feel that BioSphere was responsible.”

He knew it. Her media persona was a lie.

Dane hadn't wanted to use Plan B, but if she was going to refuse to help him, Plan B was what it was going to have to be.

# # #

Emily

The look on Dane's face, as she had to tell him the truth, was just heart-breaking. She'd never had a bond with anyone in her life, like he’d clearly had with his brother, Benton. It was sad to think that he had been on the outside this whole time, struggling to make sense of what his brother did and to somehow exonerate him. It took all she had to hold that emotion in check, and to keep her cold bitch of a mask in place.

But, as much as it tore at her, she had a responsibility to her shareholders and employees. There was a reason why she'd been selected as CEO, and that was to return value on their investment. It was her job to make sure her employees stayed employed.

The two ideas warred in her mind and in her gut. She knew that, if she didn't get out of there soon, her facade might crack.

“But, even if BioSphere was partially responsible for your brother's actions,” Emily explained, as politely as she could, without letting her emotions come through, “We'd have to go through proper channels before we could attest to that. While I can appreciate why you would bring this to me, Dane, it won't solve anything. We have policies and procedures in place for this kind of complaint.”

Dane's face went from saddened to neutral. “I just need you to admit there's a problem with the medication when used by PTSD victims—that there's something going on there.”

Emily sighed internally. Externally, she just shook her head. “I'm sorry, Dane, but I can't do that without more proof, and without some sort of instruction from my internal legal team and our researchers. And, if you continue to press the point, I'll have to call security-”

Her words were cut off mid-sentence, though, as the vet's hand shot out and grabbed her by the throat. Apparently, she'd given him the wrong answer.

Her mind screamed alarm bells as her breath was cut off. She desperately tried to suck in a breath, but nothing would come. She reached out, grabbed his wrist and tried to pull his hand from her, but he was too strong.

“I'm sorry,” Dane said. “But I need you to get in the car now.”

She swung the keys in her hand, trying to strike at his face, but he just snatched her wrist in mid-air and twisted it off to the side as he pushed her back and around to the passenger side, her feet nearly lifting off the ground.

He reached around behind her and opened the driver side door before releasing her. Before Emily realized what was happening, he had reached inside his suit coat and pulled a pistol—a big, matte-black handgun. “Get in the car,” he said, as he put the gun to her forehead.

Her heart thudded in her chest like a bass drum, and her palms were clammy and covered in cold sweat. “I-I-I-”

“Get in the fucking car!” Dane yelled.

Meekly, Emily got into the driver’s seat and, on reflex, buckled up.

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