Chapter 4 Contract Torn Apart, Dark Revenge

# Chapter 4: Contract Torn Apart, Dark Revenge

Three days after the gala, I found myself in Maurice's private office in the city, miles from Herbert's watchful cameras. The room was a fortress of technology—computers with multiple monitors, servers humming in the background, and enough security equipment to outfit a small intelligence agency.

"Herbert won't notice your absence?" I asked, watching Maurice hack into his brother's secure server.

"He thinks I'm in Macau losing the family fortune at baccarat," Maurice replied, fingers flying across the keyboard. "My alibi is currently charging room service to the company account."

The revelation at the gala had transformed our cautious alliance into full-blown conspiracy. Maurice had always opposed his brother's experiments, but lacked concrete evidence to stop them. Now, with my sister's identity confirmed, we had the emotional leverage needed to expose everything.

"There," Maurice said, turning a monitor toward me. "Facility access codes, security rotations, and most importantly—the broadcast channel for Herbert's private demonstrations."

The screen showed a sterile white room where Herbert conducted his "procedures." Currently empty, it looked like any high-end medical suite, betraying nothing of the horrors performed within.

"Herbert has a demonstration scheduled tonight for potential investors," Maurice explained. "Black market medical tech buyers, mostly. They fund his research in exchange for first access to his breakthroughs."

"And tonight's demonstration?"

Maurice's expression darkened. "According to this, he's showcasing the 'stability improvements' in the Katherine protocol. Using Sophia."

My stomach churned. "What does that mean?"

"He's going to inject her with the latest version of his memory-stabilizing compound and demonstrate how completely she's become Katherine." His eyes met mine. "These sessions can be... intense. Are you sure you want to watch?"

I nodded grimly. "I need to see exactly what he's done to her."

"Then we record everything," Maurice said. "And we broadcast it beyond his private channel—to every news outlet, medical ethics board, and law enforcement agency willing to listen."

Hours later, we watched in horror as Herbert, dressed in a lab coat, addressed a camera in the white room. Sophia sat in a chair beside him, her expression vacant.

"Gentlemen," Herbert began, speaking to invisible investors watching the live feed, "tonight's demonstration represents a significant breakthrough in cognitive transference therapy. Subject 37 has maintained stable integration of the Katherine protocol for over six months—three times longer than any previous subject."

He gestured to Sophia as if she were a prized specimen. "The unique compatibility of her neural pathways with our target consciousness has allowed for near-perfect memory adoption and personality assimilation."

I dug my nails into my palms as rage built inside me. "He's talking about her like she's a computer being reprogrammed."

"To him, she is," Maurice muttered, his own disgust evident.

On screen, Herbert prepared a syringe filled with pale blue liquid. "Tonight's treatment represents our newest stabilization compound. Previous versions required administration every 72 hours to prevent identity fragmentation. This formulation should extend that window to two weeks."

He approached Sophia, who didn't resist as he pushed the needle into her arm. Within seconds, her vacant expression transformed—her posture straightened, her eyes focused, and she smiled warmly at Herbert.

"Katherine," Herbert said softly, "how are you feeling?"

"Wonderful, darling," she replied, her voice and mannerisms completely different from the woman at the gala. This version of "Katherine" was more polished, more devoted. "Is it time for my treatment already?"

"Just a small booster," Herbert replied, his clinical demeanor softening slightly. "Tell me about our first date."

Without hesitation, she launched into a detailed story about a picnic by a lake—complete with emotional nuances and sensory descriptions that seemed impossibly authentic.

"Perfect recall," Herbert commented to his audience. "No confabulation or timeline inconsistencies." He turned back to Sophia. "And our child? How are you feeling about the pregnancy?"

My breath caught. The pregnancy announcement had been real?

"I can hardly wait," Sophia replied, placing a hand on her abdomen. "A little boy with your eyes, perhaps."

Maurice cursed under his breath. "He's gone completely insane."

"Is she actually pregnant?" I whispered.

"Impossible to know without medical records," Maurice replied. "But given Herbert's obsession with creating the perfect Katherine, I wouldn't put it past him."

The demonstration continued with Herbert putting Sophia through a series of memory tests, each response reinforcing Katherine's personality while burying my sister deeper.

"That's enough," I said finally, unable to watch more. "We have what we need."

Maurice nodded grimly. "Time for the world to see Herbert Ballard's true face."

With a few keystrokes, he intercepted Herbert's private broadcast and rerouted it to the major news networks, medical ethics boards, and law enforcement agencies—along with the damning evidence we'd compiled from Herbert's own servers. Documentation of previous test subjects, failed experiments, medical kidnappings, all organized in irrefutable clarity.

"Broadcast initiated," Maurice confirmed. "In about thirty seconds, Herbert's carefully constructed world starts crumbling."

On screen, Herbert continued his demonstration, unaware that his audience had just expanded from a dozen shady investors to millions of horrified viewers worldwide.

We watched as realization dawned on Herbert's face when his phone began buzzing incessantly. He checked it, his expression shifting from confusion to shock to cold fury.

"It appears we have a security breach," he told the camera with forced calm. "We'll continue this demonstration at a later date."

The broadcast cut off, but the damage was done.

"We need to move," Maurice said, already gathering equipment. "Herbert will know exactly who's behind this."

"We need to get to Sophia first," I insisted. "Once he realizes he's exposed, she becomes a liability."

Maurice nodded grimly. "The facility has an emergency evacuation protocol. If we hurry, we can intercept them at the secondary exit."

We raced to Maurice's car, a sleek black sedan with more horsepower than sense. As we sped toward the Ballard estate, breaking every speed limit, my phone exploded with notifications—news alerts, messages from old friends, even a call from my parents who had just seen their long-missing daughter on national television.

"It's working," I said, scrolling through headlines: "BALLARD HEIR EXPOSED IN HUMAN EXPERIMENTATION SCANDAL," "MISSING WOMAN FOUND IN BALLARD 'MEMORY TRANSPLANT' PROGRAM," "MEDICAL ETHICS NIGHTMARE AT BALLARD ENTERPRISES."

Maurice's expression remained grim. "Herbert won't surrender easily. He'll have contingency plans."

We arrived at the estate to find chaos—security personnel rushing about, cars leaving in a hurry, lights flashing from multiple police vehicles at the main gate.

"Back entrance," Maurice decided, swerving down a service road that circled the property. "The medical facility has a separate exit."

We reached a nondescript gate just as an ambulance was pulling through. Maurice cut across its path, forcing it to stop.

"That's them," he said, leaping from the car.

The ambulance driver looked panicked as Maurice approached, flashing what appeared to be some kind of Ballard Enterprises executive ID. When the driver hesitated, Maurice simply yanked open the door and dragged the man out.

I rushed to the back of the ambulance and threw open the doors. Inside, a medical technician was hovering over Sophia, who lay strapped to a gurney, unconscious.

"Get away from her," I demanded.

The technician raised his hands. "I'm just monitoring her vitals. She's sedated for transport."

Maurice appeared behind me, the driver's uniform in his hands. "Put this on," he told me. "I'll drive. We need to look legitimate if we hit roadblocks."

Within minutes, we had secured the ambulance and were driving away from the estate, Sophia safely with us though still unconscious.

"Where to?" Maurice asked.

"The news station," I decided. "They'll have cameras, witnesses, protection. Herbert can't reach us there."

Maurice nodded and sped toward the city center, where the largest local news affiliate was headquartered. As we drove, I stayed in the back with Sophia, holding her hand and willing her to wake up.

"Come back to me, Soph," I whispered. "I found you. I finally found you."

We were ten minutes from the news station when Sophia's eyes fluttered open. For a moment, she looked confused, then terrified.

"Where am I?" she demanded, struggling against the restraints. "Where's Herbert?"

"You're safe," I assured her. "We're taking you somewhere Herbert can't reach you."

She stared at me, and I searched her eyes for any recognition. "You," she said finally. "The woman from the gala. Herbert's wife."

"I'm Linette," I said gently. "Your sister."

She shook her head violently. "No. I don't have a sister. I'm Katherine Lane. Herbert's fiancée."

"That's what he made you believe," I explained, keeping my voice calm despite my breaking heart. "Your real name is Sophia Skinner. We're twins. He's been experimenting on you, altering your memories."

"You're lying!" she cried, struggling harder against the restraints. "Herbert would never hurt me. He loves me!"

"Sophia-banana-fana," I tried again, desperate to reach her.

She froze mid-struggle, her eyes widening slightly.

"Remember our secret code?" I continued. "Remember the treehouse behind Gran's cottage? The matching bracelets we made from fishing line and beach glass?"

Something flickered in her eyes—confusion, recognition, fear.

"Stop," she whispered. "My head hurts when you say these things."

"That's Herbert's conditioning fighting against your real memories," I explained. "But you're stronger than his drugs, Sophia. You always were."

The ambulance lurched as Maurice swerved to avoid something. "Problem," he called back. "Herbert's security detail found us."

I glanced out the rear window to see black SUVs gaining on us. "How far to the station?"

"Five minutes if we make it through traffic!"

Sophia watched this exchange with growing confusion. "Who is he? Why are you kidnapping me?"

"We're rescuing you," I corrected. "And that's Maurice, Herbert's brother."

Her eyes narrowed. "Maurice is dangerous. Herbert warned me about him."

"Herbert lied," I said simply. "About everything."

The ambulance swerved again as one of the SUVs rammed us from behind. Maurice cursed colorfully as he fought to maintain control.

"Hold on!" he shouted as we careened through an intersection, narrowly missing cross traffic.

I gripped the gurney with one hand and Sophia's hand with the other. "Stay with me," I told her. "Whatever happens, remember who you really are."

The news station's building came into view—a modern glass structure with the network's logo emblazoned across the top. Camera crews were already assembled outside, alerted by our earlier broadcast and the police chatter about the Ballard scandal.

Maurice screeched to a halt directly in front of the main entrance, where reporters immediately swarmed the ambulance. The pursuing SUVs stopped short, their occupants unwilling to confront us in front of dozens of cameras.

"We're live in three, two, one," I heard a reporter say as I threw open the ambulance doors.

"This woman," I announced to the cameras, "is Sophia Skinner, who was reported missing five years ago. She has been held captive and experimented on by Herbert Ballard, who attempted to replace her identity with that of his deceased fiancée, Katherine Lane."

The reporters surged forward, microphones extended. Maurice helped me unstrap Sophia from the gurney and gently assist her out of the ambulance. She blinked in confusion at the lights and cameras.

"Ms. Skinner, are you being held against your will?" a reporter called out.

Before I could intervene, Sophia stepped forward, her expression suddenly clear and focused.

"My name is Sophia Skinner," she said, her voice trembling but determined. "Herbert Ballard kidnapped me five years ago. He's been injecting me with drugs, altering my memories, making me believe I was someone named Katherine." She turned to me, tears streaming down her face. "Linette—my sister—found me."

The crowd of reporters erupted with questions as I embraced Sophia, hardly believing that she had broken through Herbert's conditioning.

"How did you remember?" I whispered.

"Sophia-banana-fana," she replied softly. "Some things are too deep to erase."

As we stood surrounded by cameras and microphones, I caught sight of a familiar figure pushing through the crowd—Herbert, his face a mask of cold fury.

"Katherine!" he called out. "Don't listen to their lies!"

Security personnel moved to intercept him, but he was too quick. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a syringe.

"Just one dose," he said, his voice eerily calm despite the chaos around him. "You'll remember who you really are."

"I know who I am," Sophia replied, stepping forward despite my attempt to hold her back. "I'm Sophia Skinner, not your dead fiancée."

Herbert's expression contorted with rage. "You are who I made you! Katherine is perfect—you're nothing without her!"

Before anyone could react, he lunged toward Sophia with the syringe. Maurice intercepted him, tackling him to the ground as security finally reached them. The syringe skittered across the pavement as Herbert was restrained.

"It was all for her!" Herbert shouted as he was dragged away. "Everything I did—the research, the subjects, all of it to bring her back!"

Sophia watched him with pity rather than fear. "Katherine is gone, Herbert. She's been gone for eight years."

As police officers handcuffed Herbert, I noticed something strange—Sophia had placed a protective hand over her abdomen. The pregnancy wasn't a lie.

"The baby?" I asked quietly.

She nodded, tears welling in her eyes. "It's real. I don't know how to feel about it."

"We'll figure it out," I promised, putting my arm around her shoulders. "Together."

Maurice joined us, looking both exhausted and exhilarated. "It's over. Herbert's research has been exposed, his investors are already distancing themselves, and the company board is calling an emergency meeting to remove him."

"What about you?" I asked. "You've destroyed your family's company."

He shrugged. "Some things needed destroying. Besides, someone with ethics should rebuild it." He glanced at me meaningfully. "Someone who understands both the technology and its human cost."

As reporters continued shouting questions and cameras flashed around us, I felt a strange sense of power I'd never experienced before. Herbert had sought to use me, to reduce me to spare parts. Instead, I had torn apart his empire and exposed his crimes to the world.

"Ms. Skinner!" a reporter called out. "Will you be taking over Ballard Enterprises now?"

I looked at Maurice, who gave me a slight nod of encouragement.

"From today," I announced, pulling a familiar object from my pocket—Herbert's family signet ring, which I'd taken from his desk during my escape, "I am the head of the Ballard family's operations."

The ring gleamed under the camera lights as I slipped it onto my finger—not as Herbert's wife, but as the architect of his downfall and the inheritor of everything he had built.

Herbert, being led to a police car, stared at me with pure hatred. I met his gaze steadily, allowing myself a small smile of triumph.

His first love, his empire—they were now mine. And I would use them to ensure he never harmed another soul again.