The audio recording was chilling in its clinical, calculated cruelty. Through the earbud, the ambient sounds of the biochemistry prep lab hummed softly—the clinking of glassware, the distant hiss of a fume hood—followed by the sound of Carter Hayes's footsteps approaching Maya's workstation. *‘Close the door, Maya,’* Carter's voice said on the tape, smooth, patronizing, and laced with veiled threat. *‘We need to discuss your emergency grant application.’* Then came…
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