Chapter 57 False memories
Who was Adrian Cole? The man I remembered being? Or someone they'd created in a white room with electrodes and drugs and psychological torture?
"There's something else," Emily said finally. "Something important."
She pulled up a different file. A list of names. Dozens of them.
"Other victims?" I guessed.
"Yes," Emily confirmed. "Project Tabula Rasa wasn't just about you. You were the test case CEO of a major corporation, high-profile target. But once they perfected the technique, they expanded. These are all the people we believe have been conditioned. Politicians, judges, corporate executives, even a few journalists."
I scanned the names. Some I recognized. Others were strangers.
"How many?" I asked.
"Forty-seven confirmed," Marcus said. "Possibly more we haven't identified yet."
"Forty-seven people walking around with false memories, making decisions that benefit Stirling-Hale without knowing it," I said. "That's not corporate espionage. That's—"
"A coup," Emily finished. "Richard Stirling isn't just stealing corporate secrets. He's building a shadow network of compromised individuals in positions of power. If he succeeds, he'll control significant portions of American business, politics, and media without anyone realizing it."
The scope of it was staggering.
"We need to expose this," I said. "All of it. Every victim, every session, every piece of evidence."
"We can't," Marcus said bluntly. "Not yet. If we go public before we have ironclad proof, Stirling-Hale will disappear. They'll destroy evidence, eliminate witnesses, and vanish into the corporate ether. We'll never get another shot at them."
"So what do we do?" I demanded.
"We build the case," Emily said. "Carefully. Methodically. Using everything I gathered as an FBI agent. But Adrian—" She paused. "—this is going to take time. Months, maybe longer. And during that time, you're a target. We're all targets. Especially—" Her hand moved to her stomach. "—especially this baby."
The baby. My child. Growing inside a woman who'd sacrificed everything to try to save me.
A child who would be born into a world where its father couldn't trust his own memories.
"I want them destroyed," I said quietly. "Stirling-Hale, Project Tabula Rasa, everyone involved. I want them burned to the ground and buried so deep they never resurface."
"We will," Emily promised. "But first, we need to keep you safe. Keep all of us safe. Which means—"
An alarm suddenly blared throughout the facility.
Dr. Ashford grabbed his phone. "What's happening?"
A voice crackled over the intercom: "Security breach. North entrance. Multiple hostiles. This is not a drill."
Marcus was already moving, pulling a weapon from somewhere I hadn't seen him carrying. "How many?"
"At least six," the voice responded. "Armed. Professional. They're asking for—" Static. "—they're asking for Adrian Cole."
Emily was on her feet, positioning herself between me and the door. "We need to move. Now."
"I can barely walk," I protested.
"Then I'll carry you if I have to," Emily said. "But we are not staying here."
Marcus spoke into his phone. "Get the medical transport ready. Private exit, south side. Two-minute ETA. And Marcus—" Dr. Ashford added. "Mr. Cole needs a wheelchair and portable oxygen. He's not strong enough for an escape on foot."
"I'm fine—" I started.
"You're not," Emily interrupted. "And I didn't fly across the ocean to watch you collapse from stubbornness. Wheelchair. Now."
Something in her voice the sharp FBI agent command mixed with genuine terror made me comply.
A nurse rushed in with a wheelchair. Emily and Dr. Ashford helped me into it while Marcus coordinated with security at the door.
"They're in the building," Marcus reported. "Moving fast. We have maybe three minutes before they reach this wing."
"Who are they?" I asked. "Stirling-Hale?"
"Probably," Emily said. "Or someone else who knows what we found. Either way, we need to go."
Dr. Morrison grabbed the tablet with all the evidence. "I'm coming with you. This data is too valuable to risk losing."
We moved quickly through the corridors Marcus leading, two security personnel flanking, Emily pushing my wheelchair, Dr. Ashford and Dr. Morrison following with medical equipment.
Behind us, I heard shouts. Gunfire.
"Faster," Marcus ordered.
We burst through a service exit into a loading area where a medical transport van was waiting, engine running.
They loaded me into the back, Emily climbing in beside me, Marcus jumping into the front passenger seat.
"Where are we going?" the driver asked.
"Anywhere but here," Marcus said. "Drive."
The van peeled out just as I heard more gunfire from inside the building.
I looked at Emily, who was strapping herself into the seat beside my gurney, her hand never leaving mine.
"This is insane," I said.
"Welcome to my life for the past three years," Emily replied.
Despite everything the danger, the fear, the impossible situation I laughed.
And Emily laughed too.
And for just a moment, trapped in a medical van fleeing armed attackers through the streets of Zürich, we were just two people who'd found each other against all odds.
Two people with fractured identities and uncertain futures.
Two people who probably shouldn't have survived this long.
But we had.
And somehow, we were going to keep surviving.
Together.