Page 41 of Dead Air
"Now?"
"Five minutes ago, ideally." Keys jingled in the background. "Fiona brought information about your podcaster friend. Time-sensitive."
"On my way." Lawson stood, brushing bench dust from her jeans.
Lawson cut across the square, passing coffee shops open for morning business. Tourists consulted maps while locals moved with practiced efficiency toward workplaces.
The Victorian building that housed Claire's practice appeared unchanged from Lawson's previous visit. Inside, voices drifted from the second-floor conference room rather than Claire's private office. Lawson took the stairs two at a time.
Claire and Fiona hunched over a laptop, documents spread across the table between them. Both looked up as Lawson entered. Fiona wore yesterday's clothes with added wrinkles. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. Claire had managed business attire but left her hair loose instead of her usual courtroom-ready style.
"You look like you haven't slept," Lawson said.
"Kettle, pot." Fiona gestured to Lawson's rain-wrinkled shirt and muddied jeans.
Claire pushed a chair toward Lawson. "Sit. Coffee's fresh."
Lawson claimed the chair but ignored the offered mug. "What's this about?"
"Leah Blackwell's podcast metrics." Fiona turned her laptop screen. "Something felt off about her sudden success. Three million downloads for an inaugural episode? Unheard of without major platform backing."
The screen displayed analytics charts and social media metrics. Numbers and graphs that meant nothing to Lawson.
"In English."
"Her numbers are fake." Fiona tapped the screen. "Bot farms generating artificial downloads. Paid social media engagement. Coordinated amplification campaign across multiple platforms."
"Someone's inflating her popularity?"
"Someone with serious resources." Fiona clicked to another screen. "This level of manipulation costs six figures minimum. Professional services operating from overseas servers. Untraceable accounts. Corporate-level strategy."
Claire slid a document across the table. "Fiona traced financial transactions through three shell companies. The money trail ends here."
The paper showed incorporation documents for Equinox Media Solutions LLC. Lawson scanned the dense legal text until reaching the registration information. Principal address listed as 1440 Broadway, New York. Same building as Hutchinson & Associates.
"The law firm where Blackwell clerked." Lawson looked up from the paper. "This proves connection but not causation."
"There's more." Claire produced another document. "Fiona dug into the firm's senior partnership."
A professional biography filled the page. Thomas Hutchinson, founding partner. Harvard Law graduate. Twenty years specializing in corporate law and crisis management. The photograph showed an older version of a face Lawson recognized instantly.
"Ray Hutchinson's brother." The connection crystallized. "Thomas Hutchinson is funding Blackwell's podcast."
"Not directly." Fiona leaned forward. "The money flows through elaborate channels. Plausible deniability preserved. But the trail exists if you know where to look."
Lawson processed the implications. Ray Hutchinson had been involved with Monica. His brother ran the law firm whereBlackwell clerked. Now, it seemed that firm funded Blackwell's investigation into Monica's murder through hidden channels.
"This isn't coincidence." The pieces aligned too perfectly. "Blackwell's entire investigation is orchestrated by Hutchinson."
"Which changes the fundamental nature of her podcast." Fiona closed her laptop. "This isn't ethical journalism."
Claire gathered the documents into a neat stack. "The question becomes why. What does Hutchinson gain from publicizing his brother's connection to a murdered detective?"
"Control of the narrative." Lawson stood, unable to remain seated. "Episode Three presented Ray as the heartbroken lover. Portrayed him sympathetically despite having a clear motive."
"Classic misdirection." Fiona nodded. "Focus audience attention on one story while obscuring another."
"But what story are they hiding?" Claire tapped her fingers against the table. "What's valuable enough to justify this elaborate scheme?"
