Page 9 of Crown Of Blood
I call. He answers on the first ring.
“Jesus, Isabella, you trying to start a war?”
“Good morning to you, too.”
“I just got a call from the mayor’s communications director. He says your name’s been floating around—something about investigating shell companies tied to city contracts?”
“Which means someone talked,” I say.
“Which means someone leaked.” His voice lowers. “You realize what this looks like? They’re trying to make sure we don’t publish before they do damage control. What did you find?”
I hesitate. My instinct screams to protect the story, but there’s a shake in my hands that wasn’t there yesterday. “Enough to make him nervous,” I say finally.
He swears under his breath. “Alright. Sit tight. Don’t send anything else through the office server. If this story’s as explosive as I think, we’ll go old school—meet in person, off the grid.”
“When?”
“Tonight. Eight. My place. And, Isa?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful. I don’t like the noise around this one.”
He hangs up.
I stare at the phone, unease curling low in my stomach. Noise around this one. That’s editor-speak for “people are asking questions they shouldn’t know to ask.”
By late afternoon, I’ve convinced myself to go in anyway. The newsroom’s the one place that’s ever felt like home, even when it’s chaos.
When I step off the elevator, the first thing I notice is the silence. The kind that comes when gossip travels faster than emails. Heads turn. Conversations stop mid-sentence.
“Afternoon,” I say, forcing a smile.
No one answers.
Halfway to my desk, my friend Casey intercepts me. “Isabella,” she whispers, eyes wide, “what did you do?”
I blink. “What?”
She pulls out her phone and hands it to me.
The headline glares back in bold letters:
INVESTIGATIVE JOURNALIST TARGETS MAYOR, LINKS CITY CONTRACTS TO ORGANIZED CRIME.
And below it—a grainy photo of me. Leaving the building. From last night.
My stomach drops. “Where the hell did this come from?”
“It’s everywhere. Political blogs, forums, even Reddit threads. They’re saying you’ve been feeding false information to smear the mayor.”
“I haven’t published anything yet!”
“I know,” she says softly. “But they made it sound like you did.”
The room tilts for a second. I grab the edge of my desk to stay upright. Someone leaked my investigation and spun it against me.
My phone buzzes again—another unknown number.
