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Because apparently she's determined to make sure she leaves maximum carnage behind.

“Look into Garrison Knight.”

I don't answer.

“Really look.”

My chest tightens.

“Then ask yourself why Mitchell needed you close enough to watch what you found.”

She leaves. The door clicks shut. And I'm alone.

For several seconds, I don't move. Then I sit.

My hands are shaking.

Fuck her.

Fuck her.

Fuck her.

I don't believe her.

Except—Mitchell knew things about me remarkably quickly.

He'd watched my interviews.

Read my articles.

Knew my reputation.

Knew exactly what kind of journalist I was.

He offered me thirty days of access almost immediately after meeting me.

And he is obsessive about information. About control.

You were investigating Garrison Knight.

I close my eyes.

No.

Facts first.

Always.

Not Myrna's jealousy.

Not my feelings.

Not Mitchell's kisses.

Fact—I wasn’t investigating the old man. But maybe I should’ve been.

I open my laptop.