I was in the studio when it broke.
Not my studio. One floor down. A producer had pulled me in to look at early metrics—Mallory’s segment had legs, real ones, and the execs—Reardon in the lead—were already circling it like vultures deciding whether to monetize or muzzle.
The TV on the wall flickered.
Then split.
Then every screen changed at once. My phone buzzed at the same time, a series of rapid-fire messages coming in.
Breaking news didn’t wait for permission, they went live and they looped me in. I was watching the story even as they updated me.
A body had been discovered.
Male. Mid-to-late forties. Found in an office parking structure. Preliminary reports suggested documentation had been left at the scene.
I was already standing.
“Where?” I asked, but no one answered me. They were all staring at the screens.
The anchor said the name before I was ready.
“Sources are now confirming the victim as Colin Thorne?—”
The room went very quiet.
“—a prominent legal counsel specializing in media law and whistleblower protection.”
My chest went hollow.
No.
No, no, no.
Colin Thorne didn’t justspecializein media law. He was Mallory’s attorney. Had been for years. Clean. Meticulous. The kind of man who believed systems could be bent back into shape if you applied enough pressure in the right places.
Agoodman.
Acarefulone.
The kind who didn’t deserve this.
I didn’t remember moving, but suddenly I was closer to the screen. The image shifted—crime scene tape, a blur of uniforms, a familiar ledger placed just so.
Same handwriting.
Same ritual.
The Auditor hadn’t just responded.
He’d answered.
My phone was already in my hand. I didn’t look at it. I didn’t need to.
No way this was a coincidence. I didn’t even have to speculate on that one. Two days after Mallory went on air and told him accountability mattered? Two days after she challenged the premise of his justice? Two days—and he didn’t pick a random compliance officer or a mid-level bureaucrat—he picked her. He targeted someone inherinfrastructure.
Son.
Of.
