Chapter 5: My Ex-Fiancé Made One Mistake

Martin Cross accused me of stealing one million credits before breakfast.

By noon, he wanted the entire city to believe I was insane.

His face filled my phone screen, framed by the iron gates of the Cross family residence. Dressed in a dark suit, he wore the expression of a heartbroken fiancé forced to expose a painful family matter.

"I'm deeply concerned about Odette's condition," he told the reporters. "She's taken money belonging to the family, and recent events suggest she may be experiencing a serious emotional breakdown."

I stared at him, my appetite gone.

He hadn't just accused me of theft. He was laying the groundwork to discredit anything I said in my defense. If I denied his claims, I would be a desperate liar. If I grew angry, he could point to my reaction as proof that I was unstable.

And if I stayed silent, he'd get away with it.

Martin smiled sadly for the cameras.

"Our priority is making sure she receives the help she needs. We don't want to turn a painful family matter into a public spectacle."

I almost laughed.

The man who had helped turn my life into a nightmare was now pretending to be my concerned fiancé.

He'd made one mistake, though.

He'd accused me of stealing money that I could prove someone had tried to steal from me.

And I had a recording that could make his carefully rehearsed story fall apart.

I'd found it among the files attached to an old conversation on Odette's phone. The audio quality was poor, with background noise and a door closing, but the voice was unmistakably Martin's.

I'd listened to it twice before contacting Elena.

She'd warned me not to edit the file, distort its meaning, or publish anything that might compromise an investigation.

"Preserve the original," she'd said. "Make a copy. Keep the context. And don't let anger make your decisions for you."

I intended to follow her advice.

I called Elena and explained that Martin had publicly accused me of stealing family money while questioning my mental state. I summarized the trust documents and told her about the recording.

She asked me to send the original file through the secure method her office provided. She would review it before I decided what, if anything, to release.

While I waited, Martin's announcement spread across social media.

Some people praised him for trying to help a troubled woman. Others questioned why he'd brought a private financial dispute before the cameras. A few pointed out that he hadn't provided evidence of the alleged theft.

I didn't respond to any comments.

Instead, I checked my supplies and reviewed the emergency reports. St. Agnes remained under lockdown. Officials were describing the situation as a precaution while advising the public to avoid the hospital unless they needed urgent care.

In the manuscript, the lockdown had happened much later.

I couldn't afford to keep planning around a timeline that was already falling apart.

My phone rang.

Elena's office had reviewed the recording. She confirmed that I could consider releasing a short, unedited excerpt alongside a factual statement, provided I retained the original and understood that its authenticity and full context could still be challenged.

I agreed.

I didn't write a long post about betrayal. I didn't insult Martin or drag every family grievance into public view. I prepared copies of the relevant trust records with sensitive account details obscured, included confirmation that the bank dispute was active, and attached the excerpt Elena had reviewed.

Then I wrote a short statement.

Martin Cross has publicly accused me of stealing family money. My late mother's trust required my verified consent for withdrawals, and I have formally disputed the authorization used to access and close the account. The bank is investigating.

I will not argue about my mental state with people who have already decided what they want to believe. I am providing evidence relevant to the financial accusation and asking that the investigation be allowed to proceed.

I checked every attachment one last time.

Then I posted it.

For several seconds, nothing happened.

I set down my phone and reached for my water bottle.

The first notification arrived before I finished drinking.

Then another.

Within minutes, my screen was filling with reactions and questions. People compared the dates on the trust documents with Martin's statements. Others wondered why someone who had supposedly stolen the money would file a formal dispute over the same account.

Then someone transcribed the excerpt I'd released.

Martin's voice came through the recording, muffled but clear enough to recognize.

"Once the transfer goes through, the paperwork needs to show that Odette authorized it."

Another voice asked, "And if she disputes it?"

"Then we say she was the one who moved the money. She has access to the account, and nobody is going to question the family over her word."

The excerpt ended.

I watched the number of shares climb.

It wasn't a confession to every crime I suspected him of committing. It didn't prove Martin had personally forged my signature, nor did it establish who submitted the disputed authorization.

But it directly contradicted the image he'd presented that morning.

He'd accused me of stealing money while a recording showed him discussing how to make financial wrongdoing appear to be my responsibility.

That was enough to make people ask questions.

And questions were dangerous to a man whose power depended on controlling the story.

By the afternoon, the Cross family's public relations team had issued a statement claiming the recording was incomplete and taken out of context. Martin's lawyer warned people against spreading unverified allegations.

Neither response explained the disputed documents.

The Turner family remained silent.

I couldn't tell whether their silence meant they were distancing themselves from Martin or working out how to protect themselves. Either way, they could no longer assume that I would accept whatever story they handed me.

My phone rang again.

An unfamiliar number.

I let it go to voicemail.

A message arrived almost immediately.

'Odette, it's Martin. Call me. We need to settle this privately before you make things worse.'

I read it twice, saved a screenshot, and blocked the number.

He still thought he could summon me back into the old arrangement. He still believed that if he lowered his voice and acted like the reasonable one, I'd begin doubting myself.

He'd forgotten something important.

I wasn't the woman who had trusted him blindly anymore.

I reopened the original recording. The excerpt I'd released contained only the conversation about making the transfer appear legitimate. The rest of the file remained untouched.

This time, I listened to the entire recording.

Near the end, Martin mentioned a shipment that had to arrive before the outbreak. He spoke quickly, as though the detail were unimportant, then gave a sequence of letters and numbers.

A shipment reference.

I paused the recording and wrote it down.

Something about it felt familiar.

I opened my manuscript and searched for the sequence.

One result appeared in a later chapter, buried in a paragraph describing a sealed medical shipment delivered to a hospital shortly before the first infected patient arrived.

I checked the reference again.

It matched.

The delivery destination was St. Agnes Medical Center.

My mouth went dry.

In the original story, the shipment was a minor detail, included to connect events that initially seemed unrelated. I'd never imagined it would matter before the outbreak began.

But St. Agnes was already under lockdown.

And Martin had mentioned the shipment in a conversation about a financial transfer he wanted to conceal.

I couldn't yet prove he was involved in the outbreak, or even that the shipment contained anything dangerous. But the connection was too specific to dismiss.

I opened the news app.

A fresh alert had appeared beneath the earlier report about St. Agnes.

AUTHORITIES INVESTIGATE UNIDENTIFIED MEDICAL DELIVERY LINKED TO ST. AGNES LOCKDOWN.

I stared at the headline, then at the shipment reference I'd copied from Martin's recording.

My ex-fiancé had tried to ruin my reputation because he thought I was a threat to his financial scheme.

He had no idea what else he'd exposed.

And if that shipment was connected to the first infected patients, my next mistake could cost far more than a million credits.