Vitamin Secrets

The burden of bearing two lives had begun to hollow her out in ways Maya couldn't quite name. By day, she was a diligent market researcher at Apex Pharmaceuticals. By night, she was the spy their competitors had planted three years ago, feeding trade secrets through encrypted channels that paid better than her legitimate salary ever would.

Her apartment held the only truth she knew: Barnaby, her ancient calico cat who greeted her with demanding yowls and the comforting routine of crushing vitamin D supplements into his food. The vet said his joints were stiffening. Maya said her soul was stiffening, but nobody paid four hundred dollars an hour to hear that.

Then came the Tuesday that undid everything.

Maya was cloning the drive of Lucas Chen, Apex's head of R&D, when she found the folder labeled "Vitamin Trials - CLASSIFIED." She'd expected proprietary formulas. Instead, she found patient records. Deaths covered up. A dangerous compound still in early testing, already scheduled for mass distribution.

Worse: her own handlers had invested heavily in the stock.

That night, Barnaby purred against her chest as she stared at her vitamin supplements on the counter—little capsules of manufactured health that suddenly felt like ammunition. She'd been the weapon, aimed at consumers who'd trust the label, trust the science, trust that corporations wouldn't sacrifice lives for quarterly profits.

The cat shifted, his tail flicking with that aggravating wisdom cats seem to possess. He'd lived through her divorce, her mother's death, three promotions she couldn't celebrate honestly. He'd borne witness to every compromise.

Maya reached for her phone. Not the encrypted channel. The whistleblower hotline she'd programmed into her contacts but never dared to use.

"My name is Maya Rodriguez," she began, the cat's steady heartbeat against her palm. "I have evidence."