Zara was now convinced I needed a restraining order and a bulletproof vest.
"Nurain," she said, pacing the kitchen in my apartment like she owned the lease, "that is the third time in four days someone has threatened you over the phone. You need to go to the police."
"And tell them what?" I replied, slouched on the couch, eyes glued to the flash drive-turned-USB-necklace I had fashioned like a paranoid DIY influencer. "That my dead dad found out about a shadowy medical conspiracy, my ex-boyfriend popped back into my life with a God complex, and now I'm being hunted by people in suits with zero LinkedIn presence?"
"You make it sound more dramatic than it is," she deadpanned, taking a bite of my toast.
"It's my toast."
"It's a crisis. Ownership is suspended."
Despite our banter, the weight in my chest hadn't lifted since that call. Omar had doubled down on his concern, urging me to stay somewhere else for a while. I refused. If I started running now, I'd never stop.
Idris had gone dark since the mosque ambush. Typical. Give me a flash drive and cryptic warnings, then disappear into the night like a budget Batman.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that he was trying to protect me in the only way he knew how — recklessly.
---
The next morning, I showed up at work 30 minutes early. I had slept three hours total. No caffeine. No smiles. Just vibes and medical-grade under-eye concealer.
Dr. Kane, the grumpy but brilliant pathologist I rarely spoke to, waved me over as I passed his lab. That in itself was weird. The man once ignored a fire alarm because it interrupted his lunch.
"Dr. Nurain," he said, holding up a sealed report folder. "This was requested two years ago. It never got picked up. Autopsy request. Signed by your father."
I froze. "Whose autopsy?"
"A patient of Kora Foundation. Female, 42, died of supposed cardiac arrest during a clinical trial."
The folder felt radioactive in my hands.
"You might want to read page three," Dr. Kane added casually, like he hadn't just handed me the key to a locked room in my memory.
---
Page three read:
> "Cause of death inconsistent with recorded vitals. Presence of unknown compound in blood. No FDA match. Sample preserved for further testing."
There it was. Buried in bureaucracy and coffee-stained files: evidence.
My dad had known something was wrong. And now I did too.
---
I left the hospital early and met Omar at his office. His usual warm smile was replaced by a grim look that made me nervous.
"I went through the rest of the documents," he said. "There's a pattern. Five patients. All part of a closed trial under Kora. All under-reported deaths. And your dad was involved in reporting every single one."
My pulse quickened. "So what happens now?"
Omar leaned in. "We blow this thing open. I know a journalist who specializes in medical corruption. Her name is Bibi. She's fearless."
Great. Another stranger with a cool name and no fear of death. Just what I needed.
---
We met Bibi at a noisy café near the university. She was dressed in cargo pants, a scarf tied like a headband, and a look that said she had three phones and none of them were for TikTok.
"You're Imani," she said, shaking my hand like she was testing my bones. "Your father was a good man."
I blinked. "You knew him?"
"Interviewed him once. He made enemies in places you don't even know exist."
That was comforting.
We laid out the documents, the flash drive, the autopsy report. She read through them with the intensity of someone mentally building a story, headline first.
"This will be big," she said. "But once we publish, they'll know it was you who leaked it."
"Let them come," I said, way too dramatically. Omar and Zara both gave me a look that screamed "Netflix is ruining you."
---
That night, I got home to find my apartment door ajar.
The lock wasn't broken. There was no sign of forced entry. But something was off.
Everything looked normal. Until I stepped into my bedroom.
There, on my pillow, was a single envelope.
I opened it slowly, heart pounding.
Inside was a photo of my father. One I had never seen.
He was standing in front of a building labeled Kora Pharmaceuticals Research Unit. Not smiling. Just standing. Behind him, in the background, barely visible…
Was Idris.
To be continued...