With his back to the rest of us, he wasn’t the genial glad hander who’d exuded charm and goodwill during the earlier meeting. No, this wasn’t a man broaching a deal. This was a shark, stalking his prey.
“You want to wait? Delay coverage? Hope it fizzles? Itwon’t. It’ll grow teeth. It'll get out. And it’ll go to someone with fewer boundaries and a podcast mic. That’s when it gets dangerous. For her. For us."
Pivoting away from the window, he faced me. The other two might as well not even be in the room.
“Mallory becomes a case study in controlled media trauma. Brave, haunted, poised. The girl the killer couldn’t touch. And if—God forbid—hedoesget close? Then we’ve already built the mythos. We’re first in, last out. Full series, follow-up special, book deal by Friday. The American publicwants their heroines hunted—just as long as they live to do a sit-down interview on Sunday night."
He smiled, all teeth as he toasted me. “I get it, you think this is all dirty tabloid journalism. But it’s not. It’shonest.It’s America. And we’re just doing what every great network has done since the news got a theme song: turning fear into appointment television. So either get onboard... or get out of the way."
The verbal gauntlet slammed onto the floor between us. “Ty,” I said, “Gary, would you excuse us please?”
Ty frowned. “If we’re going to discuss production…”
“Step out, gentlemen,” Guy said, his gaze locked on mine. Taking the next stage of this discussion private was about all the respect I had left in me for Reardon and this bullshit.
I was not going to play games with Mallory’s life. I didn’t give a fat fucking damn about ratings.
“If you’re sure,” Gary said, glancing between us as I tossed back my drink of the whiskey. The smooth burn of it helped to soothe some of the agitation in my gut. Helped, but didn’t achieve it fully.
“We’re fine,” Guy said, his tone firm but flat. “Go.”
Ty pulled the strap of a messenger bag crosswise over him. “I’ll review the clips for tomorrow,” he told me. “I’ll get you a list of any recommended changes if I see them.”
I nodded. Gary took his time exiting. Finally, he followed Ty out and closed the door behind him. I set the empty glass down and rolled up the sleeves on my long-sleeved shirt.
“You really think this is the story of the year?” I asked when it became apparent Guy wasn’t going to say another word.
“I know it is.” He went to the bar and refilled his glass, then added another two fingers to mine without asking. “And so do you, or you wouldn’t still be here.”
“She’s not a brand, Guy.” I exhaled slowly, watched the amber settle in the glass before I took it—and then set it aside untouched.
“She is a brand,” he said calmly. “She’s Mallory McBryan. A trusted voice. A recognizable face. When she’s off the air, our ratings drop. That’s not opinion—that’s data.”
“People trust her,” I said. “That doesn’t make her a product. It makes her human.”
“A human who wants to stay on this story,” Guy countered. He gestured at the muted screen. “She’s so determined she threatened to sue us for breach of contract.”
“She’s riding adrenaline,” I shot back. “I know the feeling. So do you.” I leaned forward. “But there’s always a crash. And I don’t want hers to be the moment some psychopath decides she’s the most interesting piece on the board.”
Guy tilted his head. “You’re assuming she’s the target.”
“No, I’m assuming she’s visible.”
He scoffed and pointed at me. “Everything we’ve seen suggestsyou’remore likely to be the target than she is.”
The finger didn’t bother me. The logic did.
“What we’ve seenso far,” I said. “That’s the problem. If she’s right and this guy’s been active as long as she thinks—” I shook my head. “We’re not talking months, Guy. We’re talking decades. Almost thirty years.”
He didn’t interrupt.
“Thirty years,” I repeated. “Andno onecaught him.No oneeven connected the cases until now. You don’t stay invisible that long unless you’re patient, careful, and very good at picking the moment that matters.”
I looked him dead in the eye.
“And Mallory McBryan is the loudest moment he’s ever had.”
That was the part that terrified me. Mallory had seen a pattern. How she saw it? I didn’t know. Call it a reporter’s instinct or her very savvy and sharp analytical brain. Maybe it was just pure chance that she spotted the one extra clue amidst the rest.
