Just Adrian.
I opened it carefully.
The letter inside was dated six months earlier.
Adrian,
I don’t know whether this will reach you, or whether you will read past the first line. I am pregnant. I found out three weeks ago. The doctor confirmed there are two babies.
I know what you think of me right now. I know what your lawyers have said. I also know that somewhere beneath the anger, you are still the man who held my hand through every failed appointment and told me we would be all right even when neither of us believed it.
I am not writing to ask for money. I am not writing to reopen the war.
I am writing because these children deserve to be known by both their parents, and because I cannot carry the silence alone.
There is more you need to know about the files. I did not take them for myself. I took copies because I was afraid of what I found in the trial reports. I tried to tell you before everything became legal, but someone was already watching my access. I thought if I had proof, you would believe me.
I was wrong to hide it from you. But I did not betray you.
If you can meet me without lawyers, call the number below. I will come anywhere public. I will bring what I have.
Sylvie.
By the time I finished reading, my hands were no longer steady.
The room had gone silent.
Sylvie looked down at the babies. Maya watched me as if prepared to step between us if necessary.
I read the letter again.
Trial reports.
Watching her access.
I thought if I had proof, you would believe me.
“What trial reports?” I asked.
Sylvie inhaled slowly. “VX-143.”
The old project name moved through me like a buried wire sparking alive.
VX-143 had been one of our most promising early neurological compounds. We had discontinued it after Phase II due to inconsistent efficacy and concerns about side effects. At least, that was what the internal summary said. I had trusted the summary because it came from people I trusted.
People I had built the company with.
“Sylvie,” I said carefully, “that program ended years ago.”
“It was supposed to.”
“What does that mean?”
She leaned back, exhausted. “I found irregularities in archived patient data. Nothing obvious at first. Missing adverse event notes. Lab values recoded. Follow-up reports that didn’t match the original site submissions.”
I stared at her. “Why didn’t you come to me?”
“I tried.” Her eyes sharpened despite her fatigue. “You were in Zurich. I sent a flagged memo through compliance. The next day, my access was restricted. Two days later, your CFO asked me why I was downloading proprietary documents. By the end of the week, your lawyer had drafted the first warning letter.”
I thought of Daniel Mercer.
My CFO for eleven years. Calm, meticulous, indispensable Daniel. The man who had stood beside me during every acquisition, every crisis, every brutal quarter. Daniel, who had told me with grave reluctance that Sylvie’s access logs were “deeply concerning.” Daniel, who had advised swift action before regulators became involved.
A hard pressure built behind my ribs.
“Daniel handled the internal review,” I said.