Chapter 42
|
The flashing of hundreds of cameras reflected in David Collins's eyes as he looked out at the silent, expectant crowd. He gripped the armrests of his wheelchair, his knuckles white.
"Three years ago, I was crushed in a building collapse," David began, his voice rough but carrying an undeniable, raw honesty. "Aegis Therapeutics came to me in the hospital. Dr. Mercer personally looked me in the eye and promised that his new drug, AT-7, would help me walk my daughter down the aisle."
The crowd of paid protesters lowered their signs, captivated by the raw emotion in the man's voice.
"I took the treatments," David continued, his voice trembling slightly. "For a month, I thought it was working. But then the spasms started."
Right on cue, as if summoned by his anxiety, a violent tremor wracked David’s right arm and shot down his side. He gasped in pain, his body jerking uncontrollably in the chair. The reporters gasped, several of them lowering their cameras in shock at the visceral display of agony.
Maya knelt beside him, holding his arm steady until the spasm slowly subsided.
"That happens to me ten, maybe fifteen times a day," David rasped, out of breath. "It feels like being electrocuted from the inside out. When I begged Dr. Mercer for help, he told me it was 'acceptable collateral damage'. Then his lawyers forced me to sign a non-disclosure agreement under threat of bankruptcy, and they completely erased my medical records from their official FDA reports."
The silence in the crowd was deafening, quickly replaced by a rising murmur of absolute outrage. The reporters instantly pivoted, aiming their microphones and cameras directly at Silas Mercer.
"Dr. Mercer, is it true you falsified FDA data?" a reporter shouted.
"Are you paying patients to hide severe side effects?" another demanded.
Silas Mercer panicked. He dropped the megaphone and scrambled down from the pickup truck, desperately trying to push his way through the angry crowd toward his waiting limousine.
May you like
"It's a lie!" Silas shouted, his polished facade entirely shattered. "He is a disgruntled patient! The Whitmore Foundation paid him to say this!"
Noah stepped forward, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. "We didn't pay him a dime, Silas. But we did just hand over the unredacted clinical notes to the FBI, along with the corporate records linking you to the demolition crew that destroyed our aquatic center last night."
