Ava stared at the email Marla had forwarded again.
Subject: "Research Access Request – Sinclair Corp archives"
Name: Amira Maddox
Affiliation: Independent Journalist
Project Title: Inherited Power: The Ghosts Behind Media Empires
The email was professional. Detailed. Too detailed.
Ava wasn't just a name in Amira's research. She was a thread.
And Ava had no intention of being tugged like one.
She grabbed her blazer and keys.
If Amira Maddox wanted to dig into her father's past, she could do it face-to-face.
The Midtown café was sleek and modern, a known hub for press freelancers. Ava didn't bother calling—just showed up.
She spotted Amira instantly. Late twenties. Locs swept into a high bun. Statement glasses. A laptop and notepad in front of her. Three different colored highlighters arranged with surgical precision.
She looked up as Ava approached—and didn't seem surprised.
"You're Ava Sinclair," she said.
Ava sat down. "I hear you're researching my father."
Amira smiled faintly. "Among others."
"What do you want?"
"I want the truth. And maybe… so do you."
There was no mockery in her tone. Just calm confidence.
Ava folded her arms. "Why now? It's been nearly a decade."
"Because your name is rising. Because Eleanor Blackwood's name is re-emerging. And because when I pulled one thread, everything pointed back to one collapse: Sinclair Corp."
Amira tapped her screen and rotated it slightly.
There was a photo. A young Damien Blackwood. Her father. Lucien. And—shockingly—Ava's own father, standing side by side at a gala.
Amira looked at her.
"Do you know what brought all four of them together?"
Ava didn't.
And that scared her.
Back at Easton, Ava sat in the conference room with Carmen Voss.
"Amira Maddox is smart," Ava said. "Sharp. And completely uninterested in flattery."
Carmen leaned back in her chair. "She's more dangerous than you realize."
"You know her?"
"I know of her. Her investigative series on energy lobbyists blew up two elections last year. If she's on your trail, she won't stop until she finds what she's looking for."
Ava frowned. "Even if it hurts her father?"
"Especially if it does," Carmen replied. "She's not sentimental. She's after truth, not comfort."
Ava exhaled.
"I need to get ahead of this."
Carmen raised a brow. "You want to control the narrative?"
"No," Ava said. "I want to understand the story before someone else writes it."
That evening, Ava received a formal invitation in her inbox.
Event: Philanthropy Roundtable – Hosted by the Eleanor Blackwood Foundation
Location: The Metropolitan Atrium
Dress Code: Formal
Confirmed Guests: Business partners, family, media executives, and foundation members
She stared at the guest list.
Damien Blackwood.
Julian Rhodes.
And, at the bottom… Amira Maddox.
Ava ran her finger across the screen, half-expecting the names to rearrange themselves.
Julian hadn't told her he was invited.
And Damien… of course he'd be there.
She closed the email and sat back.
The room was spinning, just a little.
This wasn't a social event.
It was a trap.
A very expensive, well-catered, perfectly lit trap.
That night, Ava stepped onto her balcony.
No letter in her hand.
No laptop open.
Just her and the city.
She thought about her father—not the man she lost, but the man she never really understood. His choices. His alliances. His silences.
Then she thought about Damien.
How he fit so seamlessly into every story she tried to write him out of.
And finally—Julian.
His loyalty.
His secrets.
His name on a guest list she didn't expect.
The triangle was no longer just love.
It was legacy.
And Ava Sinclair wasn't just caught in the middle anymore.
She was standing at the heart of something bigger than revenge.
Something that could rewrite everything.