My Cult-Leader Husband Stole My Credentials And Claimed I Was Hysterical Until An Old Letter Exposed What He Did To His First Assistant
The next morning, despite the lingering fog in my head and the persistent tremor in my hands, I moved with a desperate urgency. I needed proof. Proof that Clara Monroe had been real, had entered the compound through official channels, and wasn’t just a figment of my “dementia-addled” mind.
I walked to the security kiosk, a small, unassuming booth near the main gates. Marcus Bell, a man known for his quiet demeanor and meticulous attention to detail, was on duty. He always kept the digital logs updated to the second.
“Brother Marcus,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. The tremor made my hands clench involuntarily.
He looked up from his monitor, his expression unreadable as he met my gaze. “Sister Miriam. Good morning.”
“I need to review the entry logs from yesterday morning,” I explained, trying to sound casual. “Specifically, an unscheduled visitor. Around 8:30 AM.”
Marcus’s eyes shifted, a subtle, almost imperceptible hesitation. He tapped a few keys on his keyboard. The screen displayed a blank field.
“I apologize, Sister Miriam,” he said, his voice flat. “The digital logs for the entire week were… wiped clean about thirty minutes ago.”
My breath hitched. “Wiped? Why?”
“On the authority of Senior Medical Elder Carver,” Marcus stated, his gaze fixed on the screen. “He cited ‘protocol refresh’ as the reason.”
A sickening lurch twisted in my stomach. David had moved with frightening speed. He wasn’t just gaslighting me; he was erasing any trace of Clara’s presence.
As I stood there, reeling, Marcus shifted slightly. His left hand, out of sight below the counter, moved. A small, folded piece of paper appeared in his palm, then vanished as he pressed it into my hand.
His fingers brushed mine, the paper warm from his grip. His eyes, for a fleeting moment, met mine with a depth of meaning I couldn’t decipher.
“A memo I happened to print before the ‘refresh’,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. “From 2018. Regarding groundwater testing.”
He pulled his hand back, resuming his impassive posture, his eyes now scanning the empty screen. “You should return to your quarters, Sister Miriam. Elder Finch has expressed concern for your health.”
I clutched the paper, the edges rough against my skin. It wasn’t an act of sabotage against David; it was an act *against* David, but *for* Clara. Marcus hadn’t wiped the logs to help David cover up an extortion attempt. He’d wiped them to remove Clara’s official entry record, protecting her from whatever consequences David had planned for her ‘intrusion.’
My mind spun. Marcus was not David’s loyal pawn. He was playing his own game, a game that might just be on my side.
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