Page 94 of The CEO

I follow him into the glass-walled space overlooking the newsroom, taking the seat across from his cluttered desk. Coffee-ringed papers, notepads filled with his nearly-illegible scrawl, and several half-empty mugs create a chaotic landscape that would drive me crazy. He settles into his chair, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“I want to move from obituaries to investigative journalism,” I state without preamble, my voice steady and confident. “I’ve been here five years, Brian. I’ve paid my dues writing about the dead. I’m ready for something more.”

His surprise is evident, though not for the reason I expected.

“About damn time.”

“What?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask for years,” he says, leaning back in his chair with a creak of springs. “You’ve got the instincts, the drive. You’ve been conducting your own investigations on the side anyway. Might as well put those skills to official use.”

I’m momentarily speechless, having prepared arguments for resistance that isn’t coming.

“What? Seriously? After shutting me down all these years?” I don’t hide the frustration in my voice.This bastard has the audacity to say I just had to ask for it?

“Hey, I never said you couldn’t be a journalist. I simply said I wasn’t okaying you going rogue on some unsanctioned, harebrained idea you were following. You can’t risk our reputation by ruining someone else’s life, Eve.”

I take a deep breath, more aware than ever of how serious accusations can be. “You’re right,” I say softly, “and I’m sorry. I will only follow sanctioned stories.”

“Why now?” he asks, his journalistic curiosity resurfacing. “What changed during your mysterious absence?”

I choose my words carefully, crafting a truth that conceals more than it reveals. “I had time to think, and to reassess my priorities. I realized I’ve been playing it safe, staying in a comfortable role rather than pursuing what I really want.”

“And what exactly do you want, Eve?”

“To expose corruption,” I answer honestly, feeling that familiar fire igniting in my chest. “To bring hidden truths to light. To make a difference beyond documenting deaths after the fact.”

Brian studies me for a long moment, then nods as if coming to a decision. “I’ve got something that might interest you. A city contract showing some suspicious patterns. Nothing concrete yet, but with the right digging . . .”

“I’m interested.” My pulse quickens at the opportunity—not just for my career, but for The Shadows. Municipal corruption is exactly the kind of target Damien’s organization pursues. Something I’ve learned rather quickly since being in his life is that corruption at the bottom only leads to more at the top.

“It’s not glamorous work,” Brian warns, pulling open a drawer and extracting a worn manila folder. “Lots of document review, source cultivation, dead ends. A different kind of frustration than obituaries.”

“I’m not looking for glamour.” I lean forward, letting him see the determination I no longer need to hide. “I’m looking for truth.”

He seems satisfied with my answer, sliding the folder across the desk. “Then welcome to investigative journalism, Thorne. Don’t make me regret this.”

As I take the file, a secret smile plays at the corners of my mouth. If Brian only knew what resources I now have at my disposal, what connections I can leverage, what justice might follow my discoveries . . .

“I won’t let you down,” I promise, already imagining how this assignment might serve my new purpose.

“One more thing,” Brian says as I stand to leave. “Whatever happened with that Knox investigation you were so fired up about a few weeks ago?”

My expression remains neutral despite the sudden spike in my heart rate. “I’m still gathering evidence. Some things require patience.”

He studies me again, perhaps sensing the shift in my tone. “Just be careful, Eve. Men like him don’t appreciate being investigated.”

“I always am,” I assure him, clutching the folder to my chest as I exit his office.

The rest of the day passes in a productive blur. I dive into the contract records Brian provided, identifying connections and patterns with an efficiency that would have surprised me weeks ago. My phone buzzes twice with messages from Damien—short, encrypted communication about tonight’s gathering. The anticipation builds steadily throughout the afternoon, my mind already in overdrive.

By late afternoon, I’ve created a preliminary map of suspicious contracts, identifying three officials whose patterns suggest potential corruption. It’s solid work, though just a fraction of what I’ll be able to accomplish once I apply The Shadows’ resources to the investigation.

As I pack up my laptop and notepad, Ingrid pauses by my desk with a concerned look. “Everything okay, Eve? We were all so worried when you just disappeared.”

“I’m good,” I assure her with a genuine smile. “Better than good, actually. Sometimes a break is exactly what you need to gain perspective.”

She doesn’t look entirely convinced, but nods anyway. “Well, welcome back. A few of us are grabbing drinks later if you want to join.”

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