Chapter 3

The next morning, I landed back in Washington, D.C.

The moment I walked out of the terminal, a group of teenagers holding up smartphones rushed me.

"Are you Chloe Vance?" one of them screamed.

"You murderer! Why don't you go kill yourself!"

A girl threw a half-empty Starbucks cup right at my face.

I ducked, and the sticky iced coffee splattered all over the tiled floor.

These kids were Carter's brain-dead stans. They had somehow got hold of my flight info and waited to ambush me.

Airport security quickly intervened and escorted me out.

I dragged my suitcase straight to the Institute.

When I walked into Dr. Evans’ office, he slammed a stack of printed printouts of angry tweets onto his desk.

"Look at this mess, Chloe!"

"Now there’s a massive online boycott against our upcoming Antarctic expedition."

"Two of our biggest private sponsors are already threatening to pull their funding!"

I calmly placed a folder on his desk.

"Dr. Evans, this is the official medical report from the ski resort's clinic. The tear on my arm and the damage to the jacket occurred *before* the avalanche."

"And here is the evidence of Carter Thorne destroying federal research property."

"I have already filed a formal police report."

Dr. Evans didn't even look at the folder.

"A police report? Do you think the police can control ten million angry people online?"

"Right now, Carter is the national hero. He’s a victim who got severely injured while trying to warn people. And you?"

"You walked away without a scratch. The public always roots for the underdog."

I stared directly into Dr. Evans' eyes.

"So, just because he knows how to cry on camera, I have to take the fall?"

Dr. Evans sighed, rubbing his temples.

"Chloe, you’re young. You don't understand how dangerous public opinion can be."

"Just take some paid time off. Go home and rest."

"Once the storm blows over, the board will re-evaluate your position."

I knew there was no point in arguing further. My suspension letter was delivered to my inbox ten minutes later.

I packed my desk into a cardboard box and walked out of the building.

On my phone, Carter’s live stream was still going strong.

He was propped up in his hospital bed, doing a virtual interview with a major entertainment outlet.

"Honestly, I don't hate her," Carter said, looking incredibly weak. "When it's a matter of life and death, survival instinct takes over. People get selfish."

"I just feel bad for all the people she fooled. Everyone thought she was this prestigious, elite scientist."

"Would a real scientist dress up like a bimbo on the slopes just to show off?"

The chat was flooded with sympathy.

*— 'Carter is literally an angel.'*

*— 'She should be charged with attempted murder!'*

*— 'I heard she got fired today. Justice served!'*

Carter’s assistant, Leo, stepped into the frame, pointing at the screen.

"Hey guys, please check out the link in our bio. Carter’s medical bills are going to be crazy, and his recovery will take months."

"We’re not launching a GoFundMe, but please support Carter by buying from his merch store."

What a well-oiled machine.

By turning me into a villain, Carter had gained over a million followers in a single day.

His merch sales were currently topping the Shopify charts.

I went back to my apartment and hung the ruined pink ski jacket on a rack.

This jacket wasn't pink just for fashion.

In the endless, blinding white of the polar ice caps, neon pink and bright orange are the easiest colors for rescue helicopters to spot.

That is why our research gear is manufactured in these specific colors.

But Carter had weaponized a stupid internet stereotype to paint me as a gold digger just to get clout.

I opened my laptop and logged into the secure intranet of our equipment manufacturer.

This specific research jacket had a vital-sign monitoring chip woven into the fabric.

And because it was designed to record data in extreme polar environments, the chip also featured ambient audio recording and structural impact analysis.

The moment I activated my beacon on the mountain, all the telemetry data from my jacket had already synced to the secure cloud.

I opened the cloud database, downloaded the audio file recorded on the slope, and saved it.

I knew that right now, Carter was the internet's golden boy.

If I just dropped the audio file out of nowhere, his rabid fans would immediately claim it was an AI deepfake.

I needed to trap him first.

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