Stella March - POV
I don't sleep.
Can't. Every time I close my eyes I see that timestamp. 11:47 PM. Thirteen minutes before midnight. Thirteen minutes before I drown.
At 5:47 AM I give up. Slip out of bed while Ethan's still asleep. Grab clothes. Get dressed in the bathroom with the door closed and the fan running to cover the sound.
My hands won't stay steady buttoning my jeans.
Downstairs I scribble a note for the counter. Couldn't sleep. Going for a drive. Back by 8. The pen shakes in my grip. I have to rewrite the last word twice because it comes out illegible.
The morning air hits like ice water when I step outside. Still dark but the sky's turning gray at the edges. Predawn quiet. My car door sounds obscene in the silence.
I wait. Watching the upstairs windows.
Nothing moves.
Carter's house is twelve minutes away. I make it in nine. Running two stop signs. Not caring.
Lights show through his curtains. He's awake. Of course he's awake.
I knock once. The door opens before I can knock again.
"Jesus." Carter looks at me. "When did you last sleep?"
"When did you?"
"Fair point." He steps back.
His living room looks like a bomb went off. Papers everywhere. Covering the couch, the coffee table, the floor. His laptop open with too many tabs. Coffee mugs on every surface. The air smells stale. Burned coffee and something else. Panic maybe.
"How much of it did you go through?" I ask.
"All of it." His voice is rough. Scraped raw. "Come here."
The dining table is worse than the living room. Documents organized into piles. Some with colored tabs sticking out. Others highlighted in yellow and pink. This is what Carter does when his brain won't shut off. Builds systems. Finds patterns. Makes sense of chaos.
"Start with this." He hands me a folder.
Inside is an email. The header makes my stomach drop.
From: Ethan Cross
To: Richard Cross
Subject: Opportunity Assessment
Dad, Stella's close to isolation on the peptide compound. Preliminary results are extraordinary. Conservative estimate: $40M initial pharmaceutical licensing. We should discuss acquisition strategy.
September 28th. I remember that night. I'd finally isolated the compound successfully. We'd celebrated with wine. Cheap wine because I was still on a postdoc salary. Ethan had kissed me. Said he always knew I'd do something incredible.
He'd emailed his father the same night.
"Keep going," Carter says.
The next email is dated October 3rd. Five days later.
From: Richard Cross
To: Ethan Cross
Subject: RE: Opportunity Assessment
Legal reviewed the situation. If Dr. March publishes independently, patent rights become complicated. Institute ownership vs. individual researcher rights. Too many variables. Cleanest approach: acquisition prior to publication. Through estate transfer if necessary. Vanessa Liu confirms she can facilitate timing and logistics. Proceed with relationship maintenance.
Estate transfer. After I'm dead.
Relationship maintenance. Keep me happy. Trusting. In love.
My throat closes. I set the folder down because my hands are shaking too hard to hold it.
"There's financial records too." Carter's voice is careful. Gentle. Like I'm something breakable. "Twenty-one million already deposited. Offshore accounts. Shell companies. They got paid half up front."
He spreads out bank statements. The numbers blur together. Too many zeros. But I catch dates. November. Early December. Before I'm even dead they're spending the money.
"They're not buying your research." Carter sits across from me. Exhausted. "They're buying your silence. Permanent silence."
I should say something. Can't. My brain won't form words.
"Stella." He waits until I look at him. "There's more. You need to see it."
He pulls out another folder. Thinner. Sets it down like it might bite.
Four pages inside. Each one a summary with a photo at the top.
Dr. Sarah Kemp
Died June 2019. Drowned.
Research acquired by Helix Pharmaceuticals.
Dr. James Yu
Died March 2021. Car accident.
Research acquired by Helix Pharmaceuticals.
Dr. Lisa Torres
Died November 2022. Suicide.
Research acquired by Helix Pharmaceuticals.
Dr. Marcus Webb
Died December 2023. Drowned.
Research acquired by Helix Pharmaceuticals.
The photos are what break me. Real people. Sarah Kemp smiling in a lab coat. James Yu at a conference. Lisa Torres on a boat. Marcus Webb holding a sample container.
They all look like me. Young. Excited. Brilliant.
Dead.
"Four people." My voice doesn't sound like mine. "They've killed four people."
"That we can verify. Could be more." Carter's jaw is tight. "Every case follows the same pattern. Breakthrough discovery. Someone close to them connected to Helix. Unexpected death. Research acquired posthumously."
"Marcus Webb worked here." I touch his photo. "At Cape Marlowe."
"December 2023. Exactly one year before your scheduled murder date."
The lighthouse. It was probably the lighthouse for him too. Same location. Same method. They're recycling their murder plan.
I stand up too fast. The room tilts. "We publish this. Right now. Everything. Every document. Every email. Burn them to the ground before they can touch me."
"We can't."
"What?" I spin to face him. "You just showed me proof they've murdered four people and they're planning to murder me. How is that not enough?"
"Because it's not proof. Not legally." Carter stands. Moves to the table. Touches the documents. "These researchers died. Yes. Helix acquired their work. Yes. But there's no direct evidence Helix caused the deaths. No confession. No witness. A lawyer would call it coincidence in about thirty seconds."
"The emails say estate transfer."
"Which could mean anything. Waiting for retirement. Hoping for a sale. We're reading it as murder because we know. But the words themselves? Vague corporate planning."
I want to argue. Can't. He's right and I hate it.
"So what do we do?" My voice cracks. "Wait for them to kill me and hope the evidence works better at my funeral?"
"No. We make them think you're onto them. Make them panic. When people panic they get sloppy. They say things on phone calls. Send explicit emails. Give us something concrete."
"We have six days."
"I know."
"Six days before I'm in the Atlantic at 11:47 PM."
"I know, Stella."
My phone buzzes. I pull it out with numb fingers.
Text from Ethan: Where are you? Your note said you went for a drive but you're not at the beach or the cliffs.
Everything goes cold.
"He's tracking me." I show Carter the screen. "He knows I'm not where I should be."
"What did your note say?"
"That I went for a drive."
Carter checks his watch. "It's 6:52. You've been gone over an hour. Where would you actually drive?"
"The cliffs maybe. To think."
"Then go there now. Take a photo with the timestamp visible. Send it to him. Say you were walking and lost track of time."
I'm already moving. "What about Dr. Reeves? Ethan's calling her office when it opens to verify my therapy."
"What time?"
"Nine probably. Maybe nine thirty."
Carter runs both hands through his hair. It's sticking up at weird angles. "Two hours. Maybe less. I'll figure something out."
"How? You can't fake six weeks of therapy appointments in two hours."
"I'll figure it out." His voice is sharp. Stressed. "Just go. Get to those cliffs. Make your alibi work."
I run for my car. Engine roaring too loud in the quiet morning. I'm backing out when Carter appears at my window. I stop. Roll it down.
"Be careful." He looks terrified. Actually terrified. "They're watching you. One wrong step and they move up the timeline."
"They kill me sooner."
"They kill you before we can stop them."
I nod. Can't speak. Roll up the window.
Another text comes through as I'm pulling away.
Dr. Reeves' office opens at 9. I'm calling at 9:01. Last chance to tell me the truth.
Two hours until everything falls apart.