8
The subsequent handling of the case proceeded without any suspense.
Faced with the ironclad evidence recorded by the Hummingbird, Dylan and Chloe’s psychological defenses completely crumbled, and they confessed to all their crimes.
They were charged with multiple offenses and faced public prosecution, awaiting lengthy prison sentences.
TheraMed Innovations was also placed under investigation for various illegal operations,
its stock price plummeted, and it teetered on the brink of bankruptcy.
And my parents, Eleanor and Richard, seemed to age twenty years overnight.
They stood by my apartment door, apologizing repeatedly, crying and begging for my forgiveness, pleading for me to come home.
“Audrey, Mom and Dad were wrong, we’re so sorry!”
“You’re our only daughter now. Please, come home with us, alright?”
I looked at their aged faces, feeling neither hatred nor love, only a desolate wasteland. I calmly told them, “You lost a daughter, while I’ve never truly had a home.”
“Also, regarding your offer to transfer 50% of the Stevens Group’s shares to me, I refuse to accept it. Furthermore, I will be severing all legal family ties with both of you.”
I closed the door, shutting out all their voices, leaving the rest to my lawyer.
The first thing I did was hold a press conference in my private capacity.
At the conference, I publicly announced that I would be donating all patent rights for the microscopic dissection technique to the nation, free of charge.
And the naming rights for this technology would forever belong to its true founder – Professor Hayes.
The second thing I did was visit my mentor’s grave. I burned a copy of the verdict before his tombstone. As the smoke wafted upwards, I seemed to see Professor Hayes’ gentle smile once more.
“Professor, I brought your work back. Cleanly, I brought it back.”
I knelt before his grave, bowing my head in a silent, profound gesture of gratitude.
These ten years, I had desperately tried to fit into a home that wasn’t truly mine, struggling to prove I was worthy of love. Now, the dream was over.
The third thing I did was visit the hospital. I found the director and handed in my resignation letter.
“You’re leaving?” the director asked, surprised. “Where will you go? Any hospital in the country would welcome you with open arms.”
I shook my head. “This hand of mine,” I said, looking at my right hand, which no longer trembled, “it’s touched too many dirty things. I want to take it somewhere cleaner, to perform cleaner surgeries.”
I didn’t tell him that my hand’s recovery was due to the final antidote left by my mentor, brought by my senior brother, Caleb. My mentor, having researched neurology, had long prepared for such contingencies.
