The Sinclair archives weren't in some dusty basement, as Ava had half-expected.
They were in a sleek, climate-controlled wing of Easton's internal records vault—rows of labeled boxes, locked drawers, and secured digital terminals. Ava stood alone, the hum of the system the only sound in the quiet room.
She pulled up a profile labeled: Sinclair Expansion – Phase III (Confidential).
Within minutes, she saw her father's familiar notes—careful, detailed. He had annotated every proposal, every risk.
And on the third page was a signature that stopped her breath.
Eleanor Blackwood.
Investor. Silent partner. Personal backer.
This wasn't just admiration or philanthropy.
Eleanor had put money into Sinclair Media years before Damien entered the picture.
Ava frowned.
So why had Damien destroyed it?
Back in her office, Ava scanned the documents again. A second name kept appearing beside Eleanor's—Lucien Maddox.
She searched the Easton database. Found little.
Then tried a public search.
That led her to a headline from nearly a decade ago:
"Lucien Maddox Steps Down from Blackwood Holdings C-Suite Amidst Dispute with Damien Blackwood."
There were no public details. Just whispers. Rumors of betrayal. Hostile restructuring.
Maddox had vanished from the industry after that.
But if Eleanor had backed her father, and Lucien had clashed with Damien…
Then maybe Sinclair's downfall wasn't just business.
Maybe it had been a purge.
Later that afternoon, Ava left Easton early and walked a few blocks to a nearby park. It was quite—a rare patch of green in the city noise.
She didn't expect to see Julian there.
But he was.
Sitting on a bench, earbuds in, typing something into his laptop.
She hesitated.
Then I walked over.
"Should I be worried you're stalking me now?"
Julian looked up, grinning. "You wish."
She sat beside him, the breeze cool against her skin.
"What are you working on?" she asked.
He tilted the screen. "Media rollout strategy for a fashion brand. They think a TikTok dance will save their reputation."
Ava laughed. "Tell me you're charging them double."
"Triple. I'm not proud."
They sat in easy silence for a moment.
Julian closed the laptop.
"You okay?" he asked.
She didn't answer right away.
"Have you ever heard of Lucien Maddox?"
Julian blinked. "That's a name I haven't heard in years. Why?"
"He worked for Blackwood. Left after some kind of fallout with Damien."
Julian nodded slowly. "He was supposed to be Damien's mentor. Groomed him for takeover. Then something went wrong."
"What?"
"No one ever said. Just that it got ugly."
Ava stared ahead.
Another crack in Damien's armor.
Another secret.
And suddenly, the triangle she was caught in felt like it had more corners than she'd realized.
That night, back at her apartment, Ava found an envelope slid under her door.
No stamp. No address.
Just a single black card.
"Vine & Ivory – Private Event, 8 PM. Ask for L.M."
The handwriting was familiar.
From her father's notebooks.
L.M. Lucien Maddox.
She didn't know how he found her.
But she knew she'd be there.
Vine & Ivory was an invitation-only lounge tucked behind a flower shop in Lower Manhattan. Ava arrived in black slacks and a sleek blouse, no jewelry, no company.
She gave the hostess the card.
The woman nodded, led her past wine cellars and candlelit corners to a private booth in the back.
Lucien Maddox was already there.
He looked nothing like the power executive from the news archives. His hair was silver at the temples now, his beard trimmed neatly. He wore a charcoal suit, but no tie.
He stood when she approached.
"Miss Sinclair," he said. "You have your father's eyes."
Ava shook his hand. "And apparently his enemies."
Lucien smiled faintly. "That depends on whether you came here to learn… or to blame."
They sat across from each other, the table set with crystal glasses and a single lamp that cast long shadows on the wood.
"I read your father's journals," Lucien said. "Even the ones he kept out of the press. He was brilliant. Naive. But brilliant."
"You knew him well?"
"I mentored him, just like I mentored Damien. For a while, they were on the same path."
Ava frowned. "So what happened?"
Lucien sipped his wine. "Eleanor wanted Damien to follow your father's vision. Community-based media. Stories for the people. But Damien had bigger ideas. He didn't want stories—he wanted control."
"He killed my father's company."
"No," Lucien said. "Your father's company died the moment he trusted Damien without conditions."
Ava's hands curled into fists beneath the table.
Lucien leaned in. "And I let it happen. That's my shame. But Damien's… Damien was watching the fire and deciding it wasn't enough."
Outside the lounge, the air was thick with humidity.
Lucien walked her to the corner.
"I shouldn't be speaking to you," he said. "But I've watched you grow from a distance. You're your father's daughter, Ava. But you're also your own weapon."
She nodded once.
Before he left, Lucien paused.
"There's one more thing."
He handed her a sealed envelope. No name. No markings.
"When the time comes, read it alone."
She stared at it. "Why not now?"
"Because some truths don't belong to the present. They belong to the moment you're ready to change everything."
He turned and disappeared into the crowd.
And Ava stood alone with a letter that felt heavier than it looked.