I’ve spent my entire career managing crises, crafting perfect responses to imperfect situations. But tonight, when it mattered most, I let my hurt pride do the talking.
And I may have destroyed the one relationship I actually care about losing.
thirty-seven
. . .
Jess
The blue foldersits open on my desk, its contents spread across the surface like evidence at a crime scene. Three women’s stories. Three careers derailed. One powerful man at the center of it all.
I haven’t returned to Lucas’s apartment since our fight. It’s been a week, but the pain of his accusations still cuts deep. Thankfully, I’ve channeled that hurt into something productive: verifying every detail of the allegations against Senator Logan Carmichael.
Poking her head into my office, my assistant announces, “Ms. Martin is here.”
I nod, gathering the papers into a neat stack. “Send her in.”
Vanessa Martin enters with the careful composure of someone who’s spent months preparing for this moment. She’s younger than I expected, maybe early thirties, with a straight-backed posture that speaks of resolve rather than fear.
“Thank you for meeting with me,” I say, gesturing to the chair across from my desk.
“Thank you for taking my story seriously.” She settles into the seat, her hands folded in her lap. “Not everyone has.”
“I’ve reviewed the documentation you provided.” I tap the folder. “Your employment records, the text messages, the timeline of events. Everything checks out.”
Relief flickers across her face. “So, you believe me?”
“I do.” I lean forward. “But I need to understand what you want from this story. Justice? Vindication? Revenge?”
Her shoulders square. “Truth. That’s all. The senator presents himself as a family-values candidate while treating women who work for him as disposable. People deserve to know who they’re voting for.”
The clarity in her voice makes my chest tighten. It’s the same familiar story, the one I’ve told over and over: the mask of charm, the unchecked entitlement, the way powerful men operate just beneath the surface of plausible deniability. Hell, I’ve even experienced it personally with men like Marcus.
I study her, looking for any signs of ulterior motives, political rivalries, personal vendettas, or financial incentives. I find none, just the quiet dignity of someone who’s been wronged and seeks only acknowledgment.
“I’ll publish the story,” I tell her, “but not until after he announces his candidacy for governor. And I want to give his team plenty of time to respond.”
“They’ll deny everything,” she says with certainty.
“Most likely. But we have evidence.” I hesitate. “Ms. Martin, I should disclose that I have a personal connection to this story. The senator is my father-in-law.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “I’d heard you were married to his son, but I wasn’t sure if it was true. Does that complicate things for you?”
“It does.” Honesty seems the only appropriate response. “But it doesn’t change my commitment to the truth. This story will run, regardless of my personal circumstances.”
She nods, and a look of respect crosses her features. “That’s why I came to you. Your reputation for integrity, even when it’s difficult.”
After Vanessa leaves, I stand at my office window, watching Los Angeles traffic crawl below. The wedding band on my finger catches the light, a constant reminder of what’s at stake. I spin it absently. The now-familiar weight suddenly feels heavier.
My phone vibrates on the desk. Dylan’s name flashes on the screen.
“Hey, Dylan.”
“Jess! Just checking in about the Carmichael announcement shoot. We’ll plan to meet the two of you there and can run through the shot list before everything starts.”
My stomach tightens. The gubernatorial announcement is our last major documentary obligation before the final interview. Despite everything, Lucas will be standing dutifully beside his father.
“Yes,” I say, my voice steady though everything inside me feels off-kilter. “We’ll be there.”
