The second call came twenty minutes after the first, and by then my hands were already shaking so badly I could barely hold the phone.
"Mr. Jones, this is Dr. Rebecca Chen from Massachusetts General. We need to discuss your vaccine immediately." Her voice was sharp, professional, but I could hear the underlying anger. "We've had seven deaths since yesterday. All linked to your formula."
"That's impossible," I said, my voice cracking. "The formula is perfect. We tested it extensively—"
"Your 'perfect' formula is killing people, Mr. Jones. We're pulling it from distribution immediately, and I suggest you prepare for a very thorough investigation."
The line went dead. I stared at the phone, my mind reeling. Seven deaths. Combined with the three from Phoenix, that was ten people dead because of something that was supposed to save lives.
My phone buzzed again. Another hospital. Then another. Each call brought more devastating news—more deaths, more failures, more evidence that the vaccine I'd staked everything on was a disaster.
By evening, the calls had stopped coming, but only because every major hospital in the country had already contacted me. The death toll was climbing, and my name was being mentioned on every news channel as the man responsible for what they were calling "one of the worst pharmaceutical disasters in recent history."
Mateo stormed into my office without knocking, his face purple with rage. "What the hell is happening, Jaxon? The news is saying people are dying because of your vaccine!"
"It's not my fault!" I shouted, jumping up from my desk. "The formula was perfect! I tested it myself!"
"Then explain to me why people are dropping dead!" He slammed his fist on my desk, making everything jump. "Explain to me why our stock price has crashed and why I'm getting calls from lawyers!"
I ran my hands through my hair, trying to think. "It has to be Hannah," I said suddenly, turning to face him. "Hannah was the one who helped me steal the formula from Beatrice. She must have made a mistake when she copied it."
As if summoned by her name, Hannah appeared in the doorway, her face pale and drawn. "What's going on? The news is saying—"
"You screwed up the formula!" I accused, pointing at her. "When you copied it from Beatrice's files, you must have gotten something wrong!"
Hannah's eyes widened in shock and hurt. "I copied it exactly! Word for word, number for number! I was so careful—"
"Obviously not careful enough!" I was spiraling now, desperate to blame anyone but myself. "Ten people are dead because you couldn't copy a simple formula correctly!"
"Don't you dare blame me for this!" Hannah shot back, her own panic turning to anger. "I did exactly what you told me to do! If there's something wrong with the vaccine, it's because there was something wrong with Beatrice's original formula!"
"Beatrice's formula was perfect!" I screamed. "She was a genius! She would never—"
I stopped mid-sentence, a terrible thought creeping into my mind. What if Beatrice had known? What if she had suspected something and deliberately given us a flawed formula?
But no, that was impossible. She'd been so broken, so defeated. She'd handed over everything willingly, desperately trying to please me even as I destroyed her life.
The media frenzy intensified over the next few days. Protesters gathered outside our offices. Families of the victims appeared on talk shows, demanding justice.
The FDA launched a full investigation, and criminal charges were being discussed.
I knew I had to do something drastic to save myself. So I called a press conference.
The room was packed with reporters, their cameras and microphones pointed at me like weapons. I took a deep breath and stepped up to the podium, putting on my most devastated expression.
"Ladies and gentlemen," I began, my voice trembling with manufactured emotion. "I want to address the tragic events of the past week. First, let me say that my heart goes out to the families who have lost loved ones. This tragedy has shaken me to my core."
I paused, letting a tear roll down my cheek. "What makes this even more heartbreaking is that I believe I know what happened. My wife, Beatrice, took her own life just weeks ago. She was the brilliant scientist behind this vaccine, and I think... I think she knew something was wrong with it."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. I pressed on, building my lie with each word.
"Beatrice had been struggling with severe depression after multiple miscarriages. She was under enormous pressure to complete this project, and I believe that pressure, combined with her mental state, led her to make critical errors in the formula. When she realized what she had done, the guilt became too much to bear."
I covered my face with my hands, shoulders shaking. "She left us a suicide note saying she felt she had no purpose after finishing her work. Now I understand what she meant. She knew the vaccine was flawed, and she couldn't live with the consequences of her mistakes."
The reporters were eating it up, scribbling notes and whispering to each other. I was painting myself as the grieving husband, the innocent victim of a disturbed wife's final act of sabotage.
"I should have seen the signs," I continued. "I should have double-checked her work, but I trusted her completely. She was my wife, and I loved her. I never imagined she would—"
I was interrupted by a commotion at the back of the room. Someone was shouting, but I couldn't make out the words over the noise of the crowd.
Then the screens around the room flickered, and suddenly I was staring at myself—but not the grieving husband version. This was me with Hannah, our bodies intertwined, lost in passion. The audio was crystal clear, our voices echoing through the press room.
"I love you, Hannah," my recorded voice said. "Once Beatrice is gone, we can finally be together."
The room erupted in chaos, but the video kept playing. Now it showed me in the hospital, whispering to Hannah about poisoning Beatrice, about killing our unborn children, about using her miscarried babies for Hannah's treatments.
"She'll never know I was poisoning her," my voice continued from the speakers. "And she'll never discover what I have planned for her birthday."
I stood frozen at the podium, watching my entire world collapse in real time. The reporters were shouting questions, cameras flashing, but all I could hear was my own voice confessing to murder, to adultery, to the systematic destruction of the woman I'd sworn to love and protect.
