Page 6 of One Big Lie

A cold shock ran through me as I tried to piece together the implications of this revelation. The image of Carter at the track flickered in my mind, knowing at the edges of my thoughts. Were we too focused on Steele to notice the possible threat lurking right under our noses? Was there more to this than meets the eye? Doubt and suspicion clouded my thoughts, making it difficult to concentrate on anything else.

Giuseppe leaned forward, his voice low and intense. "Now, I'm not saying that this necessarily means anything, but we can't afford to overlook the possibility that there might be a serious conflict of interest here. We need to be extra cautious and be prepared for surprises. That's why I want you all to reconnect those flip phones and keep the lines of communication open. We don't know who we can trust, and we need to make sure we're all on the same page.

"So, what can we do? I mean, do you suggest we do something to stir the pot, maybe? Like talk to the media, ask for their help or something like that?” Daniel asked.

Giuseppe palmed his hair. “Good idea!”

We looked at each other, the creative juices flowing. Giuseppe nodded slowly. "Yes, I think you all are catching on. We're gonna make this guy very uncomfortable—very uncomfortable indeed. All you have to do is tell Rosedale’s story to the media. It’s very compelling. It’ll get the public involved.” He clapped his hands together and stood up with a triumphant smile on his face. “Now, let's get to work!"

And with that, the six of us were off, devising a plan to make Agent Carter squirm until time to go home for the day.

Later that evening, as I settled into my home, I felt both excited and concerned. The day had been filled with shocking revelations, but our team had also found new motivation to pursue justice.

I called Courtney, filling her in on Giuseppe's report and our plan to make Agent Carter uncomfortable, hoping by doing so new details regarding the case would be revealed. She was eager to be a part of it, and I could feel the energy in our conversation as we discussed the details.

"I'm sending you one of those flip phones, too," I told her. "We need to stay in touch on a secure line, and I want you to be a part of this every step of the way."

Courtney's response came through, tinged with excitement and a hint of playfulness. "I can't wait to get my hands on that phone and be a part of the action. We'll make him regret ever messing with us, won't we?"

I smiled, feeling a renewed sense of connection with her despite the miles that separated us. "That's the plan. We'll bring this guy down and get our lives back on track together."

As our conversation continued, the familiar spark between us grew stronger, fueled by our shared determination and the conspiratorial nature of our plans. Courtney teased, "Once this is all over, I'm planning on making up for all this time apart. Be ready, Brad!”

Warmth settled in my groin as I responded with a low growl, "I'll be more than ready, Courtney. Just wait and see."

ChapterThree

Courtney

A flickerof nostalgia passed through me as I sat at my dorm room vanity, my fingers delicately applying concealer under my tired eyes. Morning sunlight filtered through the gap in the curtains, casting a soft, hazy glow on the worn-out carpet and the stack of textbooks on my desk. The smell of baking cinnamon buns wafted through the hallway, a comforting reminder that Jenna was already up and about.

As I dabbed on a bit of blush, I reflected on last night's call with Brad. His voice still echoed in my mind, soft and familiar, carrying the memories of our shared laughter and whispered dreams. It was a soothing balm, pushing the edges of my homesickness just a bit further into the recesses of my mind.

My musings were interrupted by a sudden buzzing of my phone, lying a few inches away. Its screen lit up, casting an odd glow on the cluttered tabletop. I reached for it, expecting perhaps a reminder about a class or feedback on an assignment.

However, the text was from the university mailroom:Parcel for Courtney Thompson.

The makeup brush paused mid-stroke as surprise washed over me. Brad had mentioned sending my old flip phone, but surely it couldn't have arrived already. It had been just a day. The postal service was good, but not that good.

Curiosity sparked inside me as I stared at the phone screen. If not the phone, then what could it be? A surprise care package from my father? Or perhaps, a surprise from Meagan or Ariel?

Shrugging off the stray thoughts, I finished with my makeup and tossed the brush onto the vanity. The mirror reflected my anticipation as I pulled my hair into a loose ponytail. A mysterious parcel was waiting, and I chuckled, trying to imagine who it might be from.

Jenna's encouraging words for today's quiz echoed in my ears, fading into silence as the door swung shut behind me. I found myself alone in the quiet corridor, its silence punctuated only by the faint buzz of the overhead fluorescent lights.

As I ventured outside, the sharp autumn chill welcomed me instantly. The campus was drenched in the soft, golden light of morning, accentuating the fiery hues of the surrounding trees. Their leaves danced in a vibrant symphony of reds, oranges, and yellows. Fellow students moved purposefully across the landscape; their paths marked by the foggy wisps of breath trailing in the cold morning air.

Treading through the campus, I couldn't help but be struck by the beauty of the place. The school was nestled in the heart of Laramie and was a world away from the bustling city life of San Diego. The sky seemed to stretch out endlessly, the towering mountains a constant, comforting presence in the distance.

My journey took me to University Commons, a central hub already bustling with activity. The aroma of bacon wafted out from the nearby café, mingling with the earthy scent of fallen leaves. The mailroom was tucked away in the corner of the commons, a small yet essential part of university life.

Inside, I was greeted by Stan, the ever-cheerful mailroom attendant. His lollipop bobbing up and down as he spoke made me giggle. He handed over a nondescript box, plain brown with my name scribbled across the top—no logos, no company names—nothing that could give me a hint about its sender.

The only clue was that it was postmarked from San Diego. But it was a dead-end, offering no more insight into the sender or the contents of the package. I traced the edges of the box—my curiosity was piqued. This was a mystery, and I was determined to unravel it, eventually.

"Thanks, Stan," I said, tucking the package under my arm and heading back to my dorm.

I rushed into my room and tossed the box on my bed. What could it be? But then, my gaze landed on the open notebook lying haphazardly on my desk. 'Exploring the Role of Negative Space in Graphic Design,' I had scribbled in a hurry, barely legible—the topic of today's quiz.

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