Page 108 of A Game of Deception
When we finally finished, the silence in the room was deafening.
“That,” she said, leaning back in her chair, “is one hell of an allegation.”
“It’s the truth,” I said, maybe a little too forcefully.
“Proof?”
Tara slid a small USB drive across the polished table. It looked tiny and insignificant, but it was a damn bomb. “It’s all on there,” she said, her voice pure steel. “The recording of my father’s full confession. Morrison’s original notes on Jimmy’s death. A sworn affidavit from Diego Mano detailing the harassment campaign. And financial records proving the payments to Brittany Ashworth.”
Tara had snapped a picture of a receipt before her father busted her in his study. Turned out to be the smoking gun payment to Brittany. Cory tracked the money trail perfectly.
Gabriela picked up the drive. “You understand what you’re doing, right? This doesn’t just burn your father. It could burn the whole team. It will definitely burn you.” She looked from me to Tara. “You ready for the hurricane?”
I didn’t have to think. I looked at Tara, at the unshakeable strength in her eyes, and felt my own resolve harden. We were in this together. That was the only thing that mattered.
“Let it rain,” I said.
She tucked the drive into her bag. “I’ll need to verify everything, of course.”
“Of course,” Leo said.
“If this all checks out…” She let out a low whistle. “This is the kind of story that ends careers. Plural.” She held our gaze. “I’ll ask you one last time. This is going to be a media tsunami. Your lives will be picked apart by strangers. Are you absolutely sure?”
“What we want,” Tara said, her voice steady and clear, “is for the truth to come out. For my brother finally getting peace.”
I reached for her hand under the table, our fingers lacing together. A silent promise. Whatever came next, we’d face it.
Gabriela nodded, a flicker of something like respect in her eyes. “I’ll be in touch. Soon.”
The call camethree days later. Three days of living on a knife's edge, of every phone buzz sending a jolt through my system. Three days of Tara and me existing in our own bubble, a pocket of calm before the hurricane we had summoned.
“It’s done,” Gabriela told me, her voice all business. “Story goes live tomorrow morning. 6 AM sharp. It’s going to be a firestorm.”
I ended the call, my heart hammering against my ribs.The point of no return.
I called Tara immediately. “It’s happening,” was all I had to say.
“I’m on my way,” she said.
By nightfall, the penthouse had become our command center. Leo brought takeout, but none of us had much of an appetite. The air was thick with a strange, electric tension—the feeling of standing on a cliff, about to jump.
Around midnight, when the silence had stretched too long, Tara’s voice cut through it. “I keep thinking about Jimmy,” she said softly.
I found her hand in the dark. “He’d be proud of you, Tara. For fighting for the truth.”
“I just wish…” Her voice broke. “I wish I’d known how much he was hurting.”
I pulled her into my arms, her head fitting perfectly under my chin. “Hey. You were a kid. His sickness was never your fault.” I felt her nod against my chest. “And I’ve been blaming myself for a choice he made. We’ve both been carrying ghosts that weren't ours to hold.”
We didn’t sleep much. We just held each other, a silent promise that whatever came with the dawn, we’d face it together.
It felt like I’d just closed my eyes when Leo was banging on the door. “It’s 5:45. Time to go.”
We stumbled into the living room. Leo had ESPN on, the volume low. Tara’s hand found mine, her grip so tight I could feel her pulse, a frantic rhythm that matched my own. The seconds ticked by like hours. 5:58… 5:59…
And then, at 6:00 AM, the world exploded.
The morning anchor’s face filled the screen, her expression grim. “We begin with a breaking story sending shockwaves through the world of professional sports. An exclusive ESPN investigation has uncovered a decade-long conspiracy of bribery and manipulation orchestrated by Miami Pirates FC owner, Hank Swanson…”
