Chapter 8

The late nights in his study, his furrowed brows—now it all made sense. He hadn’t suffered from failure, but from holding onto justice alone, enduring betrayal. Michael Smith and Robert’s names coiled on the page like venomous snakes. The anticancer drug formula—once my father’s life’s work—had become their tool for greed. “This is more money than we’d earn in a lifetime. Hand it over, and we’ll still be brothers.” I laughed bitterly, the sound laced with grief and rage. So-called brotherhood crumbled so easily before profit. My father’s righteous refusal earned only betrayal. With the formula leaked and his innocence unproven, he’d faced despair alone. “I’m sorry to my family, especially my daughter.” Tears finally spilled, scalding tears blurring the ink. All these years, I’d been blind to the truth. Flipping frantically to the last page, the date stopped at March 2, 2015—the day before his suicide. “The formula is hidden in the lab’s ventilation duct. If I die,