“Yes, sir.”
I moved the chair behind my desk—not to sit, but to clear the line of sight. I didn’t want anything between us when she walked in. No desk. No screen. No illusion of hierarchy.
She was already on this floor because the door opened far too swiftly. Mallory stepped inside and closed it behind her. Shutting out security, the office staff, and Brewster.
She looked composed. Pale, but steady. Hair pulled back. Eyes sharp in a way that promised me she had locked her grief down for something to be managed in private. For now, she was here, ready for work, and braced for impact.
That scared me more than tears would have.
I didn’t say I was sorry. I didn’t tell her it wasn’t her fault. She already knew both things, and neither of them would help. Instead, I said, “They’re going to turn this into motive—make you the throughline whether you consent to it or not.”
She nodded once. “I know.”
“They’ll say Colin knew too much,” I continued. “That he was advising you. That you weren’t just reporting on the Auditor—you were amplifying him. Tangled up with him.” I didn’t bother softening it. They wouldn’t.
“I know.”
No snark. No protest. Not even the flicker of irritation she usually gave me when I explained the obvious. The absence of it echoed louder than any argument could have.
“Everyone—corporate, the network, and the public—will want you on camera reacting.”
“I won’t.”
That finally made me look at her harder.
She met my gaze without flinching. Her implacable will reflected in her eyes. “Not like that. Not yet.”
I exhaled slowly. “Good.” I had zero doubt that she would, but hearing her commit like that helped. Mallory wasn’t in the news for the sensation of it all. She enjoyed the chase every bit as much as I did. The hunt, and the victory lap when you broke the story. But it was about thefacts, not the spectacle.
She moved around the room, not pacing but not settling either. Folding her arms, circled my office with a thoughtful, but still troubled expression.
“He broke his own timeline,” she said.
“Yes.”
“He escalated…” That gave her pause for a moment, before she continued, “and he picked someone I trusted.”
“Yes.” I didn’t correct her.
“He wants control,” she said quietly. “I thought all he wanted was the conversation.” Her brow furrowed. “That was why I found a way to respond to him. A way he would understand.”
I nodded. “Which is why the next move matters.”
She looked at me then—really looked at me.
“What’s the play, Flint?”
I didn’t sugarcoat it.
“We slow everything down. We lock the narrative. We don’t let them isolate you or turn you into a spectacle. And we make damn sure the next thing you say is something he can’t twist.”
Her mouth curved—not a smile, exactly. More like resolve sharpening into a blade.
“Good,” she said. “Because I already know what I want to say next.”
Somewhere in the building, phones rang and producers shouted as cameramen worked on their angles. Somewhere else, a researcher was backtracking the facts and verifying them. And somewhere out there, a man she called the auditor was waiting to see if she would flinch.
She wouldn’t.
