HARPER.
The barbell clanked into place with a hard, satisfying echo as I exhaled sharply, lying back against the bench. I felt my chest heave under the weight of the steel I had just lifted, causing my arms to tremble slightly. Twenty reps and counting, and I was full of adrenaline, and I just let the sweat drip from my face down to my temple without bothering to wipe it off.
"Ease on the steel," Joe, my gym buddy, called out to me from the treadmill. He had a gray towel hung around his neck while he took a long sip from his water flask, some of it spilling over his white T-shirt and into his dark shorts.
"You bet," I replied, letting my eyes go to the huge smart TV that sits on a quarter section of the wall. The most-talked-about engagement party of the month was being aired, for what seemed like the millionth time already. It was starting to feel very annoying since every news channel was outdoing itself in securing the best angles of the newly engaged celebrity couple.
"Not these folks again," I whispered, reaching for my water flask, eyeing the TV. Zane Calloway's engagement wasn't the typical influencer's sponsored routine. The proposal scene was different from the usual celebrity paparazzi we had seen in recent times; the hall had been lavishly decorated with every type of rose petal in the world scattered across the polished floor. If I hadn't seen the engagement party already, I would have argued we had so many rose species. The endless flow of Italian Champagne down to the string quartets playing all genres of classical sound made it the fairytale dream of every lady in Los Angeles and beyond its borders.
And at the center of it all was Zane Calloway, the most wanted billionaire bachelor, handsomely tall, holding out a massive diamond ring to his charming woman, Sienna Carter, who beamed with absolute radiance in her blush-pink silk dress. Everything about it was perfect. And the investigative journalist in me, despite how much I tried not to get my nose wet, knew that was too perfect without a reason.
I sat up slowly, rolling my neck, watching through the sheen of sweat in my eyes. It wasn't the no-fault proposal whatsoever that had me curious, but it was the precision with which it was delivered. The entire thing felt like it was a show for PR. The kind of PR that made headlines. The kind I had come to learn to sniff out before most people even saw smoke. It was why I was the most decorated investigative journalist in the country, and something about the Calloway was starting to draw me in. The last time that happened, I was able to solve an all-time hit case, three years ago.
Zane Calloway and his four brothers, who manage Atlas, one of the most powerful tech-investment firms in the world. It was a billion-dollar empire, and from the news, they had zero issues, and the five men behind it were tagged as obscenely successful and Visionaries. But as I watched Zane kiss Sienna's hand and pull her close on the TV, I knew in my gut that something was off about these people. These kinds of folks don't show off unless they're trying to hide something. Things people like me help the world dig out.
I finished the rest of my set without looking away from the TV, and as the applause died down and the last violin note floated off into silence, I grabbed my water bottle and headed for the mats to cool down. I dropped into a long stretch and let my gaze flick to the mirrored wall behind Joe.
It's been three years since I had been on the chase of big scandals, but they never cracked. Every time I got close to a breakthrough, the trail would turn cold and leave the lawsuits I had built buried, and my leads would suddenly disappear. I needed a bigger story to show the world again that I still had my magic, that I wasn't just a one-hit journalist, I was more than desperate for another big case, and I seemed to believe that I had just found it. Zane and Sienna's engagement felt like the door of my dead career cracking alive again.
"See you tomorrow, Joe," I called out to him, and he waved back at me, resuming his routine.
By the time I made it to my car, my hands were already itching to begin what they loved to do most. Digging for information. The moment I hopped into my seat, I pulled out my phone and started to swipe through files I had bookmarked months ago about Atlas corporate structures, Board meeting summaries, and some of their maiden corps in Malta and Singapore. I did this when a rival firm had once hacked into their database and left the company's records open for everyone to see, yet all of their operations were legal on paper, all designed to cover every trail.
Hoping that I got just one lead... just one, that would help me believe I wasn't just grabbing at empty straws. I released the chair so that I could get more space for my laptop. I grabbed it from the seat next to me and set the side box between the seats and started to read all the information I could get about the five brothers. Aside from the trending engagement parties, all seem to have zero presence online except for one of them. Damian Pierce, who had just opened a huge lounge in the heart of the city. Tagging all four brothers to his post to thank them. I used the name tags to check out their profiles, and out of the four, one stood out to me.
Noah Bennett, who was the Vice President of Technical Operations, was a linchpin in the Atlas structure, Top-level, meaning he was just visible enough to be accountable but invisible enough to be thrown under the bus. I tapped his file, biting down on my lips as the profile loaded.
If there were a leak in their perfect fortress, it would be through him. I continued to check out most of what he had done until I clicked on an external link on one of his posts, and my laptop went off instantly.
"What the heck," I exclaimed, tapping on the power button impatiently until the screen popped up, it restarted to the boot menu instead of the booting prompts. That was odd.
"Okay?" I said, tapping on the prompts. It took about ten minutes before the screen eventually came up; everything on my desktop was blank, and my files had crashed. I was still confused about what had gone wrong with the laptop when an email dropped.
I clicked on it and saw it came from an anonymous sender. The content was just one line in block letters.
STOP DIGGING, YOU HAVE TO STOP.
I reread it twice and still made no sense of it. The email had no IP trail or metadata, which should have made me afraid. It didn't. Instead, the threats made me feel very alive.
That was the difference between now and three years ago, when I broke the pharmaceutical scandal and that won me awards which I had been riding high ever since, waiting for another spark. Yet, the sparks never came. Not until that morning, while reading that threat email.
That rush gave me the strength to get my car started and drive the ten-minute distance from the gym to my apartment. I pulled into my apartment garage, grabbed my gym bag, and climbed the stairs two at a time. Once inside, I dumped everything on the couch and powered up my desktop. While it booted, I switched on the smart music, letting the soft countryside song hum quietly while I went to grab my coffee mug that was now cold. As I took sips from it, the three names popping in my head were Atlas. The Calloway's proposal. Noah Bennett.
I sat back in the seat and started to work on the files saved on my desktop, knowing they had erased my laptop because of the link I clicked. It had been left there on purpose to discourage people who got too nosy, like me.
After working for a few hours, I arrived at the conclusion that Atlas wasn't just a tech firm. The whole set-up may be legal, but it had so much more going on between its walls, and I was ready to learn the real truth.
I closed my eyes and began to ponder the best way to get close. If I wanted in, it wasn't going to happen with a formal request or a hidden microphone, since these men were locked tighter than Fort Knox. But there was one thing that always got through walls like theirs. Their dirty desire was definitely their weakness, and if I couldn't knock on the front door as a journalist, I would slip in through the side as someone else entirely. My alter ego... Miss Lila.
Lila was the elegantly untraceable woman I used when I needed to go undercover. She was the kind of woman who didn't ask questions because she answered them. Lila did not have to work for money; she was attracted to it. She would be everything they wanted. And she would be mine to control.
I opened a new tab on the desktop and started building her profile online. When I was done, Lila Washington was born Lila Belle. She was an elite companion who was always traveling to meet her clients. She was educated in Paris and liked to party in the yacht circles of influential men. The kind of woman Zane Calloway's younger brother, Noah, might meet at an offshore party and assume was just another indulgence. But she would be watching and recording everything unraveling before her.
I paused only once, staring at the screen. "Oh Harper", I shook my head, knowing this was the most reckless thing I had ever done. And maybe the most brilliant if the end justifies the means.
The vibration of my phone pulled me out of my vein plans. When I checked the screen, it was a call from Joe.
"Hey, are you okay? You looked deep into your head earlier. New case?" he said. The clanking background sound of gym equipment made me realize he was still at the gym.
I smiled faintly as my fingers swiped over the keyboard as I typed my response. "Not exactly. Just chasing a lead.
He replied almost instantly.
"You'll catch it. You've got that fire-in-the-eyes look. Just don't forget to breathe. And eat."
I stared at the phone longer than I needed to. In a world where every person was a potential source or a threat, he was just a kind face. "Thanks, Joe. Really. I needed that."
We talked for a few more seconds before we ended the call and I set the phone down, letting my gaze drift back to the screen. Lila was ready and waiting.
I sent a short test message to one of my contacts, who provided the updates I needed about my case. Within minutes, the reply came confirming Noah Bennett's availability for an event Atlas men were hosting that weekend.
And just like that, I was no longer Harper West, the burnt-out reporter trying to claw her way back to relevance. I was Lila.
And I was going to take Atlas apart.
One brother at a time.
