Chapter 11
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This time, however, Julian Winters was the one under investigation.
Iris Sullivan, the first witness, again testified about Julian's pattern of manipulation and coercion.
Next, Lucas presented a meticulously constructed chain of evidence regarding the medical accident from a decade ago.
Beginning with a technical detail overlooked at the time, he built his case layer by layer, using rigorous medical logic to prove someone had deliberately switched plasma bags during surgery, causing the patient's death.
And only one person had the ability, opportunity, and motive: Julian Winters, the first surgical assistant.
Julian frantically dismissed it all as speculation and conjecture.
That's when I stepped forward.
I made no accusations. I simply placed a photocopy of my father's notebook alongside the blood requisition records on the projector.
"I am Claire Shaw, born Sophia Shaw—Professor William Shaw's only daughter."
With those words, the room erupted in gasps and murmurs.
Julian looked as if he'd been struck by lightning—frozen in place, face drained of color.
I calmly opened the notebook.
"These are my father's original research notes for 'New Interventional Therapy for Congenital Heart Disease'—from initial concept to experimental data, all meticulously documented. The timeline predates Dr. Winters' claimed research by exactly five years."
"Anyone can compare the core data and theoretical models in Dr. Winters' paper with my father's work. They're 95% identical."
"I also have evidence of Dr. Winters accepting kickbacks from pharmaceutical companies and bribes from patients." I produced a thick folder documenting Julian's years of corruption.
I hadn't married him and played the dutiful wife for nothing.
"Stealing your mentor's life work, framing him for your crimes, building your career on his grave..." I raised my head, my gaze cutting like a scalpel. "Julian Winters, what do you have to say for yourself?"
He stared at me—at this face both familiar and foreign—his lips trembling, unable to form words.
In that moment, every pretense he'd built crumbled to dust.
Forget deputy dean—he'd be lucky to keep his medical license.
Under the crushing weight of exposure, he suddenly clutched his chest, his face turning purple as he collapsed backward.
Just as my father had, years ago.
