Chapter 313

Chapter 313

"We unanimously believe the International Scientific Research Council needs minds like yours, and even more, we need people who hold the line like you do."

"Dr. Softhart, we would like to formally invite you to serve as Vice President of the International Scientific Research Council."

The vice presidency nomination was like a stone dropped into the center of a lake.

The ripples it created within the institute ran even deeper than the previous reversal storm.

From a suspended subject under investigation to skyrocketing into the power core of this world-class research institution—Calista did it in three days.

This wasn't just vindication. This was a declaration.

A declaration that in the face of absolute capability and truth, any conspiracy was nothing but a clown's ridiculous performance.

The director on the video call was almost pleading for her to accept. He said this wasn't compensation—it was necessity.

The Council needed her as the sharpest scalpel to excise tissue that had already begun to rot.

Calista didn't accept on the spot. Didn't refuse either.

She just hung up and stood alone in the empty lab for a long time.

The main console screen was dark, reflecting her blurred shadow.

The air at the top is always thin.

She knew better than anyone that White Chamber's failure this time didn't mean they'd let it go.

An organization capable of orchestrating such an intricate fraud had roots far deeper than anyone imagined.

When would they strike next?

And how?

Evening came. Gary picked her up.

The car's interior lights were off. His profile looked sharply defined under the fleeting glow of streetlights.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"Thinking about what move the opponent will make next."

Gary took Calista's hand resting on her knee. It was still slightly cold.

He wrapped it in his palm. "Whatever move they make, I'm with you."

The car fell quiet except for the faint hum of the engine.

Calista leaned back in her seat, watching the rapidly receding streetscape outside. Suddenly she said, "I accepted the director's nomination."

Gary wasn't surprised. Just hummed in acknowledgment and tightened his grip on her hand.

He knew this wasn't about power or position. It was about protecting her research, protecting that key that could unlock the future.

In that position, she'd have enough authority and resources to build a more fortified barrier.

Back at the villa, Ethan was already asleep.

Calista showered, changed into comfortable loungewear, and was about to review the original 'Gaia's Grasp' data in the study when the doorbell rang from the foyer.

At this hour? Who could it be?

Gary walked over and checked the video intercom. His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

On screen stood a man in his early fifties wearing a well-tailored charcoal suit, hair meticulously combed, face wearing a warm yet distant smile.

He didn't look like a visitor. More like a guest arriving for an upscale dinner party.

"Who is it?" Gary's voice transmitted through the intercom with a touch of coldness.

The man bowed slightly toward the camera, posture elegant like an old-school gentleman.

"Mr. Frost, good evening. My name is Wesley White. I'd like to speak with Dr. Softhart."

Wesley White.

That surname appearing at this moment was like a thunderclap.

Gary's expression changed instantly.

He didn't open the door. Instead he turned to look at Calista in the living room.

Calista had also heard the voice. She walked over and calmly looked at the unfamiliar man on screen.

"Let him in," she said.

Gary glanced at her, said nothing, and pressed the unlock button.

Wesley entered with unhurried steps. He first surveyed the living room decor, then his gaze finally settled on Calista, that impeccable smile still on his face.

"Dr. Softhart, I've heard so much about you. Please forgive this unexpected visit." His voice was smooth, betraying no hostility.

"You're with White Chamber." Calista's tone was flat. A statement, not a question.

"White Chamber is just a code name, a convenient platform for friends to communicate." Wesley smiled and sat on the sofa, posture completely natural, as if he were the host here. "You may call me Wesley."

Gary stood at Calista's side, radiating an aura of 'stay away.'

Wesley seemed utterly unconcerned. From his suit's inner pocket he withdrew an elegant leather portfolio and placed it on the coffee table, gently pushing it toward Calista.

"Heinrich is a fool. His failure was his own doing. I apologize for the trouble he caused Dr. Softhart." The words sounded nice, but he said nothing about who pulled the strings.

Calista didn't touch the portfolio.

"You came just to say that?"

"Of course not." Wesley's smile deepened. "I'm here to give Dr. Softhart a gift. Or rather, a 'souvenir' from the past."

He opened the portfolio.

Inside wasn't a contract or threatening letter, but a stack of aged paper documents.

The pages had yellowed. The writing was handwritten, accompanied by some blurry experimental photos.

When Calista's gaze fell on the title of the first page, her pupils contracted almost imperceptibly.

It was from her first project when she'd just joined the institute.

Research on neural regeneration inducers.

That project ultimately failed. And a serious sample contamination incident occurred in the lab.

At the time, all fingers pointed at her as the new hire—saying she'd been reckless, made operational errors.

Though she ultimately received no formal reprimand due to insufficient evidence, the incident became an indelible stain on her early career, keeping her in obscurity for two full years.

She'd always thought it was just an accident.

"This project—Dr. Softhart should remember it." Wesley spoke methodically. "The mentor supervising you at the time made a small deal with us to protect his reputation. We helped him forge all experimental logs and operational records, perfectly shifting responsibility onto the most promising newcomer with the least backing."

He pulled out one document separately and pushed it toward Calista.

"This is all the original evidence. Including your mentor's signed agreement, his original manuscript of the altered logs, and... surveillance footage screenshots of him placing the contamination source in your experimental box."

Gary's expression had frozen cold enough to form ice.

Calista looked at those items. Her hands and feet went ice cold.

Not from fear, but from the bone-deep chill that surges when a sealed past is suddenly ripped open.

So from that early on, she'd been living inside someone else's scheme.

"What do you want?" Calista finally spoke, voice slightly hoarse.

"Dr. Softhart is a smart person. I like dealing with smart people." Wesley leaned back into the sofa, posture relaxing. "Heinrich's farce cost us dearly. But we remain very interested in Dr. Softhart's technology. 'Gaia's Grasp' is a magnificent concept."

He paused, then stated his true purpose.

"Our demands aren't excessive. Relinquish all patent rights to  'Next Generation Life Sciences Initiative'and transfer the technology completely to us. Also, resign from the Vice President position at the International Scientific Research Council. For the next ten years, cease all research in related fields."

"In return," Wesley gestured to the portfolio on the table, "these items will disappear forever. Dr. Softhart will remain that flawless genius scientist who saved the world. Your reputation will have no blemishes."

The living room fell terrifyingly quiet.

This was a devil's bargain.

Trading Calista's life's work and future for a whitewashed reputation.

Wesley watched her, eyes holding a trace of amused appreciation, like watching a caged beast decide its fate.

"Of course, you can refuse." He added casually. "In that case, by tomorrow morning, media outlets worldwide will receive this interesting 'archaeological material.' They'll discover that the esteemed Dr. Softhart was actually a disreputable researcher who stopped at nothing to climb the ladder and caused a major accident at the very start of her career. Tell me—at that point, will anyone still believe you were innocent this time? One lie can be exposed, but when lies become a series, people will choose to believe the protagonist herself is the fraud."

He stood, smoothing his suit jacket.

"I'm giving you twenty-four hours to consider. Mr. Frost should easily find my number. I look forward to your wise choice."

With that, Wesley bowed slightly to them both, turned, and left the villa with composure.

The moment the door closed, Calista's body swayed.

Gary immediately steadied her.

She didn't collapse. Just sank back onto the sofa, staring hollowly at the open portfolio on the coffee table.

She'd beaten Heinrich. Beaten global public opinion.

Yet at the peak of victory, a knife from the past pressed against her throat.

This time, the opponent left her no room to fight back with evidence.

Because what they gave her was the 'evidence' itself.

Either preserve her reputation by personally handing over  'Next Generation Life Sciences Initiative', letting technology that could benefit countless people fall into the hands of scheming businessmen to become their money-making tool—

Or hold onto her research, at the cost of complete disgrace, nailed to academia's pillar of shame, never to rise again.

They didn't want to defeat her.

They wanted to destroy her heart.

...

The air in the living room felt drained, leaving only suffocating silence.

The open portfolio on the coffee table was like an old, unhealed scar, nakedly torn open and exposed under the lights.

Gary's hand rested on Calista's shoulder. He could feel the subtle rigidity in her body, but she didn't tremble. Even her breathing rhythm didn't change.

She just quietly looked at those yellowed pages. For a long time.

So long Gary thought she might break down. Or at least shed a single tear.

But he was wrong.

Calista slowly raised her head. Those clear eyes held no fear, no anger, not even sadness.