Chapter 371 Conspiracy
In the secret hideout, George held a photo in his hand—Emma sitting on the grass, smiling gently. She wore a white dress, her smile radiant, as if all the starlight had gathered on her face. But now, her smile had become a distant dream.
Why had she suddenly been so gentle with him, only to revert to cold indifference?
Emma's alternating attitudes, sometimes distant, sometimes close, were like a contradictory mirror reflecting their fractured relationship that he couldn't fathom.
However, he couldn't believe she would forget everything from the past without reason—this unanswered question tormented his mind endlessly.
"Emma didn't forget willingly; someone made her forget."
This thought struck George's mind like lightning. His gaze turned icy as he recalled certain details from the past—those coincidental meetings outside the hospital room, Michael's always calm reassurances, and the fragmented memories Emma occasionally recovered. All the clues pointed to one answer—Michael.
"If this is truly Michael's scheme, I will expose him," George vowed, a determined glint flashing in his deep eyes.
That morning, George decided to test Michael cautiously.
George went to Michael's villa.
Michael was in his study, organizing files, exuding an invisible sense of pressure.
George pretended to chat about Auris Group and the Russell Group. Michael responded perfunctorily, then said seriously, "George, you and I both know we're not the type to sit and chat. What do you want?"
"What's the likelihood of Emma regaining her memory?" George asked with a perfectly timed smile, his eyes sharp as an eagle, capturing every change in Michael's expression.
Michael adjusted his glasses and smirked, "Of course, I hope Emma recovers, but her memory loss might be a psychological defense mechanism. It could destabilize her condition to force her to recall or integrate personalities."
"Psychological defense mechanism?" George's smile was tinged with sarcasm, "So her other personality's memories vanished without a trace, and even the doctors can't explain why?"
Michael's face stiffened momentarily before returning to normal, his tone indifferent, "Medicine has its blind spots; everyone's situation is different. George, you're overthinking this."
George sneered and turned to leave. As he stepped away, his gaze fell on a trash can by the desk, where a bottle with a blue mark lay quietly. A bottle? His mind flashed back to the mysterious liquid the nurse had injected into Emma during her hospitalization when she suddenly fell unconscious.
Could this mean Michael's concern wasn't as simple as it seemed?
To avoid alerting Michael, George suppressed his questions and began investigating from other angles.
He secretly hired a team of private investigators to track Michael's activities, especially his visits to hospitals and private pharmacies for suspicious records. Meanwhile, he had his men infiltrate some of Michael's properties, searching for clues.
Days later, the investigators returned with crucial information—Michael had made significant payments at a private pharmacy, with drug transport records pointing to neuro-control drugs, and the pharmacy owner had covert ties with a few private medical institutions.
"Neuro-control drugs?"
George stared at the documents in his hand, deeply unsettled. These drugs were often used in experimental treatments or illegal surgeries, typically affecting the user's memory and emotional areas profoundly. If someone deliberately mixed these into regular treatment medications, it could indeed erase memories or control specific behaviors.
More intriguingly, the payment note for the order bore a name—Emma.
That night, George obtained the location of the pharmacy's secret lab through the investigators. It was hidden in an abandoned factory deep in the forest, unmarked, yet trucks continuously came and went, suggesting a covert operation.
To avoid revealing his intentions, George took action himself, disguising as a relative of one of the workers and successfully infiltrating the factory. He followed the cargo truck route to a storage room filled with various equipment and drugs. When he opened a cabinet—there they were, several blue-marked bottles identical to the one he had seen before.
"It seems I was right; this is directly related to Emma's memory loss." George muttered to himself.As he prepared to continue his search, footsteps suddenly approached. He stepped back and hid in a corner, watching as several workers with lab goggles loaded the remaining drugs into a recycling truck.
"Mr. Russell found this batch effective and requested a higher dosage," one worker's conversation clearly reached George's ears.
"Mr. Russell." George mumbled quietly, his gaze turning steely as his teeth clenched almost involuntarily.
As one worker casually tossed an empty bottle into the trash, his sleeve slid down, revealing a distinct tattoo. George recognized it immediately—it was the mark used by Michael's trusted men.
'Michael, you never let me down.' He mused and smirked coldly, his mind quickly planning the next move.
After gathering enough evidence with the private investigators, George decided to confront Michael directly. He didn't choose to call the police or raid the factory but kept everything secret, inviting Michael for a drink.
On the hotel's rooftop terrace, the two sat by the transparent railing, with two glasses of red wine before them. The cold wind howled, muffling the bustling sounds from below.
"George, it's late. Why did you call me out here?" Michael raised his glass, a faint smile playing on his lips.
George stared at him, his voice as cold as ice, "Michael, for years, you've been so concerned about Emma. What kind of game are you playing?"
Michael was momentarily stunned, then his face showed a dismissive smile, "George, what do you mean? I fell for Emma, naturally I want to treat her well. Is that a problem? It's entirely your own fault for not recognizing Emma's worth!"
George's gaze was sharp. He silently took out a photo—the blue-marked bottle he had photographed in the lab. He tossed the photo in front of Michael, his voice rising, "How long will you keep pretending? These things, you used them on Emma, didn't you?"
Michael's movements paused slightly, his eyes scanning the photo, a cold glint flashing briefly. But he quickly regained composure, chuckling and shaking his head, "George, I don't know what you're talking about. This is a drug, right? How do I know it's related to Emma?"
George's eyes were cold and indifferent, "Invoices, lab records, drug descriptions, I have them all. How long can you keep up this act?"
Michael's expression finally changed. He slowly put down his glass, a dangerous look in his eyes, "George, some things are better left unknown. If you care so much about Emma, you'd better stay away from her. Otherwise, you might not only fail to save her but also lose yourself."
George firmly replied, "Michael, even if I lose everything, I will expose your true face! Just wait, I'm going to Emma now, and I'll tell her all the disgusting things you've done!"
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