HARVEY.
The cabin smelled of mildew, its wooden walls groaning under the weight of years. I dropped my backpack by the door, the thud echoing in the empty space, and fumbled with the spare key Ben had described as being tucked under a loose porch board, crusted with dirt. My fingers shook as I turned it in the lock, the door creaked open to reveal a plush-decorated living room. Ben's family home, a hideout outside LA.
I sank onto the couch, and the springs protested against my weight. I pressed my palms against my eyes. The exposé I had written on Atlas played on a loop in my head. I had thought it was my ticket to the big leagues, a Pulitzer-worthy scoop. But now, there I was, hiding out here. I saw Noah's face instead; his eyes had been hollowed on that PR broadcast that I watched in the car. He had stood there, deflecting questions about drugs, money laundering, hits, while the reporters swarmed like vultures. I had done that to him. Noah had sounded angry the last time we spoke. I had hurt him.
I shuffled to the kitchen, while the floorboards creaked under my boots, until I stopped at the fridge. I pulled it open and found it empty, save for a jar of pickles and a can of beer.
"Ugh" I sighed as I grabbed the chilled beer, and cracked it open.
I walked back to the couch in the living room, staring at my bag, contemplating getting my phone. I had powered it off for the last 48 hours. I had been too paranoid to turn it on, imagining trackers or bugs by the cartel trying to pinpoint my every move. But I needed to know what was happening. I sank back onto the couch, forgetting about the beer in my hand for that moment and flipped on the TV.
The screen flickered, static giving way to a news channel. "Breaking: Ruz Cartel Exposed as True Culprits Behind Atlas Allegations."
The anchor's voice was crisp, authoritative, as footage rolled of the feds storming a building, bringing out men in cuffs. There was also footage of Marcus Hale and others, all bloodied but alive. My beer slipped from my hand, hitting the floor with a dull clang. The foam seeped into the rug.
"That was a ruse." I sighed as my anger surged, drowning my initial guilt. My story was true. I had triple-checked every lead and every document. Atlas men were chess masters, flipping the board when cornered. They must have framed Hale to spin the narrative and left my exposé in tatters. Their genius team could rewrite reality itself. I had been played. Again.
My hands trembled as I fished my phone from the bag. It powered on with a chime. Notifications flooded in texts, emails and voicemails. My publisher's number was at the top with three messages waiting. Before I could listen, the phone buzzed, and the screen flashed his name.
I sighed, bracing myself as I answered it. "Hi."
"Harvey, what the fuck?" His voice was a snarl, the kind he reserved for interns who missed deadlines. "You've tanked us."
I sat up, spine rigid. "Tanked? The story was airtight. You approved it!"
"Airtight?" he screamed, and I could hear him pacing, "It's a shitshow! Feds raided Hale's operation, found your 'evidence' planted there. Everyone's screaming that our site publishes fake news. And the board's livid. Your contract's done, Harvey. Done."
The words hit like a slap, my breath catching. "Done? But the advance and the cheque..."
"Clawed back. You think we can pay for lies? You've cost us credibility, which is everything to a news channel, not to mention how we are hemorrhaging revenue. That exposé is the death of us."
"Lies?" My voice rose in my defense, "Atlas spurned this. They must have hacked, planted, framed Hale. My sources were solid..."
"Your sources were played!" he roared. "Or you were. Doesn't matter. Don't call back."
The line went dead. I stared at the phone, feeling my heart racing so fast. The cheque wouldn't clear. That means that my mortgage payment would be in default again, I was already three months behind. Not to mention my other bills, which had all been piling up; eviction notices would come, followed by repossession. I would lose everything. My apartment and my name. All because I had dared to challenge Atlas,. who had been obliterated. I had poked the wrong empire, and now I was their prey.
I paced the room, my boots thudding on the floor. My phone buzzed again, jolting me. Audrey.
My stomach twisted reading her name on the screen. I answered, "Hey."
"Harvey, thank God. We need to meet. Coffee shop on Elm, one hour. As friends. If we ever were."
I laughed softly. "So you can set me up? Finish what your empire started?"
"Neutral ground, just us."
My curiosity gnawed, wondering if Audrey knew something or anything that could help me fight back. "Fine," I snapped.
"See you there."
The call ended.
I grabbed my jacket, weighing my decision. If Atlas wanted me, they would get me. I couldn't hide from such a powerful empire even if I tried.
֍֍
I got to Elm Street's coffee shop, a few blocks away from the banquet hall, where I had met Audrey for the first time, and I stepped inside. Audrey sat in a corner booth, sitting stylishly in her fancy navy blazer.
I slid in across from her, arms crossed tight. "Talk."
She pushed a latte my way, steam curling up. "I'm glad you're safe. Noah's been a wreck, Harvey."
"A wreck?" My voice came off a bit loud, it drew glances from other patrons. "After burying my story? And framing Hale? Don't play me, Audrey. You're Atlas's fixer."
"You are the one to talk, no. You dropped a nuke on us. All mere accusations of murders and illegal drugs that could've ruined good people. Noah's not what you think."
"Good people?" I leaned forward, "Cartel deals and blood money, that's your 'good people'? I had proof, Audrey. Emails, photos, names."
"Proof?" She matched my lean, her whisper fierce. "It is all half-truths, cherry-picked leaks from rivals like Hale. Admit it, that you used me and Noah for a headline, and we fought back. In the end, we all were just doing our jobs."
"Your jobs?" My clenched fist hit the table, rattling the mugs, "You destroyed me! My writing contract is gone, no pay. Doing your job will cost me my home and career. Audrey, my life. Because Atlas can't handle the truth."
Her face softened, "Your story was a weapon and it aimed wrong. Hale was the real threat who tried to frame us. We just redirected the heat."
"Redirected?" I scoffed despite myself. "Tell me, knowing Noah handles your hacks, did he laugh while screwing me over?"
She flinched, looking away, "He cares. More than you'll admit. But you have to know why I'm here. I want to help you quietly. Give you some money, get a new start. But you have to stop digging."
Rage boiled over, "No, Audrey. I'm not stopping. Atlas is dirty, and I'll prove it again."
"You'll die, Harvey," she hissed, leaning closer, "Hale's down, but others are circling. Drop it, Harvey. For old times' sake."
I stood, chair scraping, "We were never friends. Just pawns in your game. Tell Noah I'm sorry for nothing."
I stormed out, guilt and anger tangled inside me, but one thing was clear: Atlas had won this round. But I wasn't done. Not yet.
