Page 50 of The Sexy Ex's Brother
“You know who I am. You know what my brother’s capable of. I have a story that’ll change everything. But I need it told right. I need it told now.”
She narrows her eyes. “You trying to protect someone or bury him?”
“Both.”
I hand her the file. Bank statements. Internal memos. Leaked emails. Screenshots from Ari’s tracker. The ones that show Derek’s fingerprints all over accounts that should’ve been frozen a decade ago.
She sifts through it slowly, her brow tightening with each page. The silence between us is heavy, but not empty, charged with the gravity of what this could mean.
“This… is enough to make him bleed.”
“I don’t want a bruise. I want a goddamn collapse.”
She looks at me for a long time. Then nods.
“Give me three days,” she says.
“You’ve got one,” I reply.
“Then I hope you’re ready to torch every bridge you’ve ever crossed.”
I lean forward. “If it means Ivy comes out of this alive and untouched, I’ll burn the whole damn city.”
***
By the time I reach the Lower East Side, Marcus has already left a message with a single location: a townhouse in Brooklyn tied to one of Rosenthal’s nonprofit shells. I don’t know if Ivy’s there. I don’t even care. It’s the closest thing I’ve had to a lead, and I need to believe she’s still somewhere I can reach.
I don’t knock. I watch. From the street, through my windshield, hidden under the awning of a laundromat that smells like steam and bleach. It’s cold. Too early for movement, too late for excuses. If she steps outside, I’ll follow. If someone else does, I’ll make them talk.
Thirty minutes pass. I scan every detail, the curtains, the lighting, the subtle hum of a generator out back. Then a man exits. Tall, coat collar up, moving like he’s not used to being watched. He checks his phone, looks both ways, and walks with purpose, like he’s timed.
I take a picture. Send it to Marcus.
He replies instantly:Name: Daniel Dawson. Ex-D.O.J. He’s Rosenthal’s fixer.
I stare at the photo, then fire off a second message:Find out what he’s doing in Brooklyn. Find out who he’s protecting.
If she’s with Rosenthal, she’s building something. A counterattack. That means there’s still a chance to meet her in the middle before this explodes. Before one of us ends up broken in ways we won’t recover from.
***
That night, I meet with Marla, the journalist Ivy once trusted to bury a story about Graham’s private life. This time, I need her to do the opposite.
“You want me to expose Derek?” she says, crossing her legs and lifting one brow. “That’s not small-time revenge. That’s reputational warfare.”
“He threatened Ivy. He’s laundering money through old family channels. And I have documents. Enough to make your next cover story. Enough to bury him under every floor of the empire our father built.”
She taps her pen, expression unreadable. “And you? You’re not worried about how deep this might cut?”
“Let it. If the foundation has to crack, better now than when it buries someone I care about.”
I pause, hearing my own words echo. The cost of this war might be everything, my name, my future, my relationship with Graham. But if it means Ivy walks free, untouched by this legacy of control and corruption, it will be worth it.
Marla leans back, lips twitching into a thin smile. “I hope you’re ready for the storm you’re about to unleash.”
We shake on it. Not with trust. With necessity. With war in our eyes.
***
