Page 33 of Tell Me the Truth

Tracey adjusts in her chair, then starts to answer my question. “Alexandra is focused and ambitious. She’s determined and brilliant. Our relationship was purely professional. She was never a friend, and we didn’t do things together socially. We saw one another every day for almost four years and not once did she ask me about my life.” Tracey’s face remains the same throughout her account.

She pauses a moment, but I remain quiet. Then she continues, “When I first started, I tried to ask her questions about her family or find out if she was in a relationship, but she quickly redirected our conversation. From my first month of working with Alexandra, she made it clear that the research was our only focus. Not even small talk.”

“When Alexandra showed up after the fire, the first thing she did was find me and hug me.” Tracey wipes away tears that she could not hold back.

“That hug. It really surprised me. Hold on, I’m sorry.” She is unable to continue speaking and pulls the bottom hem of her shirt up in order to dig her face in and allow herself to freely sob.

My own feelings of sympathy and pity well up for her. I gather that what she is showing me is sincere, and not an act. But, I also think that this is the time, while her vulnerability is splayed wide open, and she’s possibly feeling like whoever hired her is just going to let her sit and rot in jail, that she might be desperate enough for anyone’s help. Even mine. A stranger to her. But someone, at least, who is physically sitting in front of her,wanting some information that couldn’t make anything worse. But could potentially make things better.

When she’s able to collect herself, she says, “Alexandra asked me how I was and told me she was just relieved that I wasn’t hurt and that no one else was either. That was her number one concern. It was only after everyone assured her that there were no injuries or worse did she ask me about the lab and our… I mean, her research.”

Tracey is still attempting to get through what she’s trying to tell me, through sobs and chokes as she recalls her encounter with Alexandra the night of the fire.

She struggles through a gulp and says, “With the previous four years of the research being the only focus, it wasn’t hard to be an insider, to get information about the research and the company. She wasn’t my friend. She didn’t care about me, so I didn’t care about her.”

Tracey raises her eyes to mine, then she continues. Her cheeks are wet with tears, her face red, and her eyes puffy. “However, she did care about me. She cared about everyone. When it mattered. But all this time that should have been evident to me, because at the root of it all, that’s the reason for the research. It’s for everyone. Her research will benefit everyone. How was I? How? How could I be so stupid!? I cared about the research too. That’s what I went to school to do. What Alexandra and I were doing was important. It meant something. To millions of people! But, I only realize that now that it’s too late. Now, I can only sit in this place every single day and wonder, was it all worth it? Could I have helped my mom without having to do all these awful things to Alexandra and her research!?” Again, she buries her face in the hem of her shirt and sobs.

I let her sit and cry for a bit, but then look at my watch and see that we only have two more minutes left in our visit.

“Tracey,” I say, wishing that I didn’t have to interrupt her outpouring of emotion. She looks up and I point to the clock on the wall behind me. She understands my meaning. We don’t have much time together.

With eyes that I hope show concern and understanding for the choices that she felt she had to make, I tell her, “I think you obviously feel bad for what you did and you were stuck making an impossible decision. But, to makethings right. Whether that means you can get out of here or just make sure that justice is served, please tell me. Who paid you to do all this? Who is behind all of it?”

Her lips open then close, the inner dialogue apparent on her face. With another look up at the clock and her voice trembling with emotion, she speaks the name, “Richard Cross.”

The name that Tracey spoke hangs in the rafters of my mind well after I leave the detention center. She said there was no one else, even when I asked her if she was absolutely sure.

But, I already knew that Richard Cross played a part.I’m the one who planted the seed in his mind to get Tracey to set fire to Alexandra’s lab.

What I wanted her to tell me was how Ellis Brent was involved.

Brent-Sigma has bought into and broken up dozens of other companies, but when I found out that itsnext target was Seth BioTech, there was no way I would stand back and allow that to happen.

I know that Ellis had only been CEO at Brent-Sigma for a month, but he must have been integral to his company’s attempt to buy into Seth BioTech. There’s no way he wasn’t involved.

I have made too many sacrifices and have suffered too much loss, and now that Ellis and Alexandra are in a relationship…

When I get back to my car, I reach for the letter that I had started to write to Alexandra. Finding a pen in the middle console, I write the final two paragraphs.

Tracey Devina did not work alone. Brent-Sigma and the drugs they create are the real criminals here, robbing people of their health, their dignity, and their lives. I hope we can meet and catch up. After all this time.

The evening sun is beating down into my car, directly in my eyes. So I reach up to pull down the visor to block some of the bright light. Clipped into the flap is my favorite photograph. Her beautiful face on an equally beautiful sunny day.

Dark, wavy hair flows to her shoulders, framing a smile reserved just for me. Her expressive grey eyes reach back at me adoringly and with a playful mischief, saying,Not another photo, you stinker. I’ll get you!

My heart fills with the all-encompassing warmth of devotion and love, then with the hollow pangs of loss and remembrance. It’s these feelings that have led me to do everything I had to do. Right now, Alexandra might think that whoever is behind the fire is her enemy. But, I can help her understand that it was all to help her.

I look back down to the letter I’m writing, wanting to finish it so that I can send it off.

I hope we can get together to catch up and I can tell you more about where I’ve been and why I had to stay away. Please call me, I’ve written my number below. I love you, Bug.

Love, Dad

I slide the letter into the envelope and seal it, sticking a stamp in the corner. Then I start the car and drive off toward the post office.

Note from Sofie

Thank you for reading my first published, full-length novel. When I started writing about Ellis and Alexandra, I fell in love with them and have been able to write their story in three stand-alone books.

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