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 antimony revelation sharpened my focus, clearing the last vestiges of mental fog. I had to retrieve the USB drive Clara gave me. It was now a critical piece of evidence, not just a desperate sister’s accusation.
The Covenant had a strict policy against personal electronics. Any devices were stored in a central, locked vault. But years ago, I had repurposed an old, disconnected laptop from the laundry facility’s defunct office, hiding it beneath a pile of old linens.
Under the cloak of pre-dawn darkness, I slipped out of my quarters and into the laundry room. The air was heavy with the scent of damp fabric and stale detergent. I knelt, pushing aside the musty pile of sheets, revealing the ancient laptop. Its battery was old, but I’d kept it charged with a hidden adapter over the years, a small act of rebellion in my quiet life.
I inserted the USB drive. My heart hammered against my ribs, a drumbeat of anticipation and dread. Clara had mentioned medical logs. I expected spreadsheets, patient data.
The screen flickered, displaying a single folder: “Lucas_Monroe_Journal_2018.” Not spreadsheets. Not data. My fingers clicked the folder open.
A list of audio files appeared, each timestamped. My gaze fixed on the first one: “May 10, 2018 – Observation on Spring.”
I clicked play. The sound of rustling papers, then Lucas Monroe’s voice, faint but clear.
“…The levels are far too high. This isn’t natural. It’s affecting the community’s health. I’ve documented everything.”
My breath caught in my throat. This was it. Lucas’s own voice, before his murder.
I scrolled through, finding one dated May 14, 2018, just hours before his death according to his letter. The file title: “Final Confrontation with D.C.”
I hit play. The audio crackled, then two voices emerged. Lucas’s, pleading, and David’s, cold and utterly devoid of compassion.
“David, you can’t ignore this! Three children are showing early symptoms. Five adults have developed renal issues!” Lucas’s voice was desperate.
Then David’s smooth, unyielding tone cut him off. “Lucas, the Lord provides these Healing Waters. Our faith is paramount. These minor ailments… they are tests of faith.”
A pause. Then David’s voice, chillingly clear, closer to the microphone. “The community’s faith, Lucas, is worth more than five sick villagers. Our ascension to High Patriarch, my legacy… it depends on these Waters remaining pure in the eyes of the Covenant.”
The sound of liquid being poured. A faint cough from Lucas.
“You’re making a terrible mistake, David,” Lucas gasped.
“No, Lucas,” David replied, his voice laced with venom. “You are. And now, you’ve made your final one.”
The audio ended abruptly. My stomach churned. It wasn’t just a letter. It was David’s voice, captured, admitting he knew the spring was poisoned and chose to let Lucas, and others, die to protect his ambition. He’d killed Lucas and covered up the poison, not just for money, but for absolute power within New Eden.
The hard drive pulsed with its terrible secret.
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