Page 35 of Dead Air
"Persistence." Blackwell smiled. "Truth exists whether institutions acknowledge it or not. Victims' families deserve answers regardless of who feels uncomfortable."
There. The micro-expression Lawson had been watching for. Satisfaction flickered across Blackwell's features. The slight curl of her lip. Momentary breaking of the professional mask to reveal something harder beneath. Not compassion but triumph.
"She believes her own mythology," Fiona whispered. "Crusader for justice rather than ratings chaser."
Another question. From an older man near the front. "Where's the line between investigation and interference?"
"No line exists when justice hangs in the balance." Blackwell leaned forward. "Cold cases require disruption. Comfortable narratives must be challenged. Institutional inertia broken."
The crowd absorbed her words with appreciative murmurs. True believers receiving gospel from their prophet.
"Notice anything?" Fiona nodded toward the third row.
Lawson scanned the audience. "What?"
"Man with the leather messenger bag. Recording everything. Not press. No badge."
Middle-aged man. Gray suit. Close-cropped hair. Focused intensity as he documented the panel with a professional camera.
"Private investigator hired by Dunwood Media," Fiona explained. "They're negotiating Netflix rights for Dead Air."
Lawson's jaw ticked in irritation. Beyond podcasts. Beyond Savannah. Monica's death—and by extension, Lawson's life—packaged for global streaming.
On stage, Blackwell fielded another question. "How do you respond to criticism that true crime exploits tragedy?"
"I pursue truth, not sensation." Her gaze swept the room with practiced sincerity. "Victims deserve voices. Families deserve closure. Communities deserve accountability. If my platform amplifies silenced stories, I accept that responsibility."
"God, she practices these lines in mirrors," Lawson muttered. "Polished but hollow."
The moderator announced the final question from a young man standing at the microphone. "Does success create pressure to find dramatic conclusions even when evidence might be inconclusive?"
Perfect question. Lawson leaned forward.
"Evidence speaks for itself." Blackwell's answer came without hesitation. "My responsibility lies in presenting facts without filtering them through predetermined narratives. If conclusions remain ambiguous, audiences deserve that honesty."
"Bullshit," Fiona whispered. "Her entire brand relies on satisfying conclusions. Open endings don't sell Netflix deals."
Lawson glanced sideways at Fiona. The journalist's cynicism struck a chord. Fiona recognized the performance behind Blackwell's polished answers. Maybe Lawson had misjudged her, categorizing her as just another reporter hunting for headline material. The woman beside her understood the business machinery beneath true crime's veneer of justice. Perhaps they shared more common ground than Lawson had admitted.
"You've studied her," Lawson murmured.
"Know your competition." Fiona tapped her pen against her notepad. "Blackwell frames herself as justice's champion while building a media empire on other people's tragedies. The righteousness is just marketing."
The panel concluded with polite applause. Audience members surged forward, seeking selfies and autographs. Networking opportunities with podcast royalty.
Blackwell stood to leave but paused. Her gaze traveled across the room, finding Lawson in the back row. Recognition flashed across her features, followed by something unreadable. She held eye contact for three seconds before mouthing words clearly enough for Lawson to read her lips.
Episode Four tomorrow.
The message delivered, Blackwell turned away, disappearing into the crowd of admirers.
"Well, that was pointed," Fiona said. "Wonder what bombshell drops next."
Lawson remained seated while the room emptied. Fiona gathered her recorder and notepad but lingered.
"You know she's creating a narrative, not reporting one." Fiona's voice lost its casual edge. "Blackwell built her reputation finding monsters lurking inside official stories. Every season needs its villain."
"You think I'm cast as the villain." The possibility had occurred to Lawson already.
