The day startedwith a flurry of activity, Duke mused.
They had a show at The Wiltern, the historic Art Deco theater anchored in the heart of Koreatown. Eighteen hundred tickets had sold out fast. Mariella had practically been buzzing about this stop.
The Wiltern wasn’t just another venue, she’d told them. Prince, Tom Petty, and Radiohead had all taken this stage.
That morning, the team had briefly reconvened in Mariella’s room, but there were no real updates. Rupert was still trying to set up their surprise stop. No new podcasts had been released.
Now they just had to wait.
At the moment, they were in the prep room behind stage—fluorescent lights, concrete walls, the low hum of voices bleeding through from the auditorium above. Staff moved in practiced efficiency. Clipboards. Headsets. Lanyards. Controlled chaos.
Rupert strode in with his usual frantic precision, a stack of folders tucked under his arm like they were life preservers. He also handed them each their energy drink so they could flash it around.
“All right,” Rupert announced, breathless. “Schedules, talking points, emergency contacts. Please review quickly—we’re already seven minutes behind where I’d like to be.”
He began handing them out.
Duke took his and flipped it open.
Then stilled.
The first page was wrong.
The panel title had been altered. The moderator’s name was misspelled. A venue time had been shifted by fifteen minutes.
Enough to confuse. Enough to create chaos.
Enough to put people in the wrong places at the wrong time.
Whoever had done this was someone able to get close without being seen.
But who could that be?
Duke flipped another page.
Same thing. Minor deviations. Clean edits. No fingerprints of panic or error.
“This isn’t right,” Duke muttered.
Rupert froze mid-gesture. “What? What are you talking about?”
Duke slid the folder back across the table. “This isn’t the schedule you sent last night.”
Rupert frowned and snatched it up, scanning it quickly.
The color drained from his face. “That’s not—no. That’s not what I typed. I triple-check everything.”
Andi leaned in, her own folder open now. “Mine’s off too.”
Rupert’s hands began to tremble. “I—I uploaded the final versions from my laptop. They went straight to the printer.”
Duke’s jaw tightened.
That meant someone had accessed the files after Rupert finished them.
“Could this be a printer error?” Simmy asked, though her eyes showed she didn’t believe that theory.
“No.” Duke crossed his arms. “This was done by someone who knew what they were changing.”
