Chapter 22
Emma’s room in Hamilton Hospital was cloaked in the low hum of machinery, the rhythmic beeping of monitors of her constant, unwelcome companion. She lay propped against the stiff pillows, her body heavy with fatigue, though the adrenaline coursing through her dulled the worst of her aches. The muted television across the room flickered with images that held her unrelenting focus.
On the screen, a news anchor sat behind a sleek desk, their tone carefully balancing professionalism and intrigue.
“Breaking news: Luka and Elliana Diaz are set to hold a press conference addressing the recent car accident involving Emma Barrett, wife of Barrett Industries CEO Alex Barrett. While the Diaz family has publicly expressed their support, their comments are already sparking significant controversy.”
Emma’s fingers curled around the cold metal rail of her hospital bed, her knuckles whitening with tension. Her body was battered from the crash, but the mention of the Diaz name ignited a fire within her. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the screen as the camera cut to a high-end conference room packed with journalists.
At the front of the room, Luka Diaz stood like a stone sentinel, his tailored suit flawless, his expression perfectly neutral. Elliana Diaz, dressed in a striking scarlet blazer that seemed calculated for maximum impact, stepped confidently to the podium.
“They’re up to something,” Emma muttered under her breath, her voice taut with suspicion.
Thomas, seated in the chair by her bedside, leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. His jaw was tight, his gaze locked on the screen with the unblinking intensity of a predator watching its prey.
“Of course, they are,” he said, his voice laced with contempt. “This isn’t a concern—it’s theater. Every word, every movement, every expression has been planned.”
Elliana adjusted the microphone, her expression a mask of sympathy as she began to speak.
“Good afternoon, and thank you for being here,” she said, her voice soft but confident. “First, let me say how relieved Luka and I are to hear that Emma Barrett and her unborn child survived this tragic accident. Our hearts go out to her during what must be an incredibly difficult time.”
Her pause was deliberate, her gaze sweeping the room to ensure her words landed.
“But as painful as this situation is, it’s also an opportunity to have an important conversation,” Elliana continued, her tone shifting ever so slightly. “Emma is someone I’ve had the privilege of knowing for many years. She’s always been ambitious, driven, and willing to fight for what she believes in. But sometimes, those qualities can become overwhelming.”
Emma’s stomach turned as Elliana’s words sank in. She exchanged a glance with Thomas, whose expression darkened further.
“She’s planting seeds of doubt,” he said, his voice low.
Elliana pressed on, the room hanging on her every word. “It’s no secret that the last year has been challenging for Emma. As her colleagues and friends, Luka and I have watched her struggle with immense pressure, both personally and professionally. This accident is a reminder that we all need support, and sometimes we need to acknowledge when we’re not at our best.”
On the screen, Elliana cleared her throat delicately, the murmurs of the press corps fading as she began to speak. Her voice was warm, rich with an artful blend of sincerity and feigned sorrow.
“We are deeply saddened by the recent events involving Mrs. Barrett,” Elliana said, her eyes sweeping the room with a well-rehearsed look of concern. “As a mother myself, my heart goes out to her during this difficult time. I can only imagine the pain and fear she must be experiencing.”
Elliana’s tone shifted subtly, her voice gaining a hint of reproachful earnestness.
“However,” she continued, “it’s important to address the troubling pattern of reckless behavior that has followed Mrs. Barrett in recent months. We all hope for her swift recovery, but we also urge those closest to her to consider whether enough is being done to ensure her emotional well-being.”
Emma’s breath caught, her chest tightening.
“Reckless behavior?” she repeated, her voice rising with indignation. “She’s calling me unstable—planting that seed in everyone’s mind.”
“Classic deflection,” Thomas said grimly. “Turn the narrative before anyone starts asking questions about the crash itself.”
The scene on the screen shifted briefly to Luka, standing stoically beside Elliana, his silence lending weight to her words. The visual contrast was deliberate—Elliana as the compassionate voice of reason, Luka as the solid, watchful force beside her.
“We’ve reached out to offer our support to the Barrett family in any way they may need during this challenging time.” Elliana tilted her head, her expression softening into a practiced look of concern.
Emma felt a sharp twist of anger in her gut.
“Support?” she said bitterly. “They’re the ones behind this. And now they’re acting like they’re here to save the day.”
Thomas’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s manipulation at its finest. They’ll sow doubt, play the concerned bystanders, and let the world do the rest.”
The words were carefully chosen, delivered with the precision of a surgeon. Elliana had not directly accused Emma of causing the accident, but she had done enough to let the implication linger.
Emma could feel her chest tighten, her frustration and disbelief bubbling to the surface. “How can she say that with a straight face?” she demanded, her voice trembling. “She’s making it sound like I’m… unhinged!”
“That’s the point,” Thomas said. “They don’t need to outright blame you. They just need to make people question you. And they’re damn good at it.”
The broadcast cut to clips of reporters summarizing the press conference, their voices layering over one another as they analyzed Elliana’s remarks. Each segment seemed to hammer home the same narrative: Emma Barrett, a woman under immense pressure, may have made a reckless mistake that led to her own near-death experience.
The door swung open, and Marcus strode in, his expression as severe as Emma had ever seen it. He carried a tablet under his arm and a folder stuffed with papers in his hand.
“Did you see it?” Marcus asked, his gaze bouncing between Emma and Thomas.
“Oh, we saw it,” Thomas replied, his voice laced with venom. “And I’m guessing you didn’t come here to tell us they’ve had a sudden change of heart.”
Marcus placed the folder on the bedside table with deliberate precision, its edges frayed from handling. He flipped it open to reveal a grim collection of photographs, detailed forensic reports, and crime scene diagrams, each one marked with red annotations. Emma’s gaze fell on the spread, her heart pounding as unease prickled the back of her neck.
“They’re doubling down on their lies,” Marcus said, his tone clipped. “But they’ve made a mistake. I’ve been digging into your crash, and something doesn’t add up.”
Emma leaned forward, her hands gripping the edge of the hospital bed. “What is it?”
Marcus unlocked his tablet, swiping through files before holding it up for her to see. The image on the screen was clinical but damning: a forensic analysis of her car’s brake lines.
“They were cut,” Marcus said, his voice cold and precise. “And not just tampered with—cut with surgical precision. This wasn’t a hasty job. It was deliberate and professional.”
Emma stared at the image, her stomach twisting as the words sank in. She could almost hear the screech of her car’s brakes and feel the helpless spiral that followed.
“This isn’t just about me,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “Is it?”
Marcus shook his head, his expression grim. “No, it’s not. The method used matches three other incidents over the past five years—every one of them connected to Luka Diaz.”
Thomas, seated nearby, straightened in his chair, his brows furrowing deeply. “Incidents?”
Marcus set his tablet aside and opened the folder, spreading out a series of photographs. He pointed to the first image, a twisted wreck of a luxury sedan.
“This was two years ago,” he began. “The CEO of a tech company based in San Francisco. He was the target of a hostile acquisition attempt by Luka. When he refused to sell, he died in a crash remarkably similar to yours. Investigators ruled it an accident, but the brake lines tell a different story.”
Emma’s stomach churned as she shifted her gaze to the next photo, this one of a battered car crumpled against a guardrail.
“The journalist,” Marcus continued, his tone darkening. “She was investigating Luka’s South American operations—specifically, labor exploitation and illegal land acquisitions. She survived the crash but disappeared a week later. No trace of her has ever been found.”
“And this one,” Marcus said, pointing to the third image. It was grainier, taken at night, the wreckage lit by harsh police floodlights. “A whistleblower. He worked for one of Luka’s shell companies and was preparing to release damning financial evidence to the authorities. He survived his crash, but only for three days. He died in the hospital under suspicious circumstances—officially, a cardiac arrest.”
Emma stared at the photos, bile rising in her throat. Each image told a story of lives snuffed out, people silenced for standing in Luka’s way. And she had nearly joined them.
Thomas’s hands curled into fists, his knuckles white. “He’s not just ruthless,” he said, his voice low and steely. “He’s lethal. And he doesn’t care who gets hurt as long as he comes out on top.”
Emma’s voice trembled as she asked, “Why me? What does he want from me?”
Marcus met her gaze, his tone unflinching. “Control. Luka doesn’t tolerate loose ends, Emma. You’re a threat to his grip on Alex, Barrett Industries, and everything else he’s scheming to take. This wasn’t just an accident—it was a hit. They wanted you gone.”
The weight of his words settled over the room like a heavy fog. Emma’s breath hitched, her mind racing as she tried to process the enormity of what she was up against. Luka and Elliana weren’t just ruthless; they were predators. And she had survived by sheer luck.
“What do we do?” she asked finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
Thomas leaned forward, his tone measured but resolute. “We fight back. We expose them for who they are and make sure they can’t do this to anyone else.”
Marcus nodded, his jaw tight. “I’m already working on tracing the financial trail and connecting it to Luka. But we’ll need more than just evidence—we need to bring this into the light.”
Emma inhaled shakily, her fists clenching as anger began to rise, burning away the fear that had gripped her moments earlier. “Then let’s start shining that light. I’m not going to let him win.”
The room buzzed with a new energy as Marcus laid out his findings in detail. Each piece of evidence painted a damning picture of the Diaz family’s methods: the calculated manipulation of public perception, the elimination of threats, and the meticulous construction of alibis.
But as Emma listened, a question lingered in the back of her mind. “How do we prove this to the world?”
Marcus looked at her, his expression serious. “We gather even more evidence. Luka and Elliana are good at covering their tracks, but no one is perfect. We just need to find the right thread to pull.”
