Another message popped up:
“You can imagine how that changed the direction of my life.”
Then another:
“He wiped my digital presence in connection to the family like I never existed. Cut all public connections. Either spoke badly about me or denied I was ever part of the picture. I had to take whatever jobs I could find just to stay afloat. That’s how I ended up where I am now.”
Elizabeth read that twice.
There was something disarmingly calm about the way Wickham told it. No bitterness—not on the surface. Just… practised ease.
“Why are you telling me this?” Elizabeth typed.
The response came shortly:
“I checked out your work before reaching out. So, to answer your question: I think you’re one of the few people who’d actually listen. And maybe because I figured you’re already halfway to the same conclusion.”
She didn’t answer that. Not directly.
“So this isn’t about TrueNorth?” she typed.
“Nope. I could care less about his algorithm. That’s just another one of his toys. This is about him. About who he is when there’s no press, no suits, no curated silence.”
Elizabeth exhaled slowly, trying to sort through the mental pile of what she’d just heard.
Before she could respond, another message chimed in:
“I wish I could confront him, but I have too much respect for his father. I wouldn’t want to see the old man’s name dragged through the mud. That’s the only reason I haven’t gone on a podcast or sold this to TMZ. Iknowsome hosts’d pay top dollar for this kind of story.”
“That’s... really noble.”
It was all Elizabeth could come up with.
“Anyway, didn’t mean to dump all this at once.
You’ve probably got a million questions. But I’ve got early training tomorrow. Rain or shine, state duty waits for no one.”
“New York National Guard, right? I googled the logo on your shirt.”
“You’ve been doing your homework. I’m impressed.”
She smiled faintly, despite herself.
“Shoot me a message anytime. If you want to hear more. Or verify anything. I’ve got receipts—and memory.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“No pressure. But I’ll leave you with this—Darcy doesn’t let things slide. You challenged him publicly. I’d watch your back.”
Another chime.
“Goodnight, Miss Bennet.”
And just like that, he was gone.
Elizabeth lowered the phone, staring blankly at the paused frame of her medical drama.
She couldn’t tell if the beeping sound she was hearing was her own heart, or the heart monitor frozen on the TV.
