Damon hadn't slept.
His phone buzzed on and off like a dying animal. PR calls. Board members. His lawyer.
The moment he walked into the Sinclair headquarters lobby, the cameras were waiting.
> "Mr. Sinclair, is it true you were a suspect in a hit-and-run accident as a teenager?"
"What's your connection to the missing case files tied to the Nightfall Avenue crash?"
"Was your family involved in a cover-up?"
Damon shoved past them, his security pushing back. But the damage was done.
The press had their bone—and they wouldn't let go.
---
Earlier that morning, Manson had made his first move.
A blurry copy of the original police report, dated over ten years ago, had surfaced on a dark gossip forum. It was quickly picked up by a B-tier news outlet hungry for dirt.
The report didn't name Damon directly. But it listed the make and model of the car. A witness described the driver as a young man with dark hair and a Sinclair Academy blazer.
Anyone who knew Damon's past would connect the dots.
The wolves were sniffing blood.
---
In the Office
Elina arrived with coffee, soft curls tucked behind her ear, wearing her favorite deep green silk blouse—like armor dressed in elegance.
"You okay?" she asked gently.
Damon looked up from his desk, dark circles under his eyes.
"No," he said flatly. "Someone's trying to bury me."
She walked closer. "What happened?"
He hesitated. Looked at her like she was the only thing tethering him to sanity.
"There was an accident… years ago," he said. "And someone—someone I paid off—has come back. I thought I could trust him to stay buried."
She sat across from him, feigning concern.
"And the victim?"
He looked away. "A couple. Both died. I never saw them. I—I didn't know they were there."
Liar, she thought.
"I was seventeen, Elina," he added. "I was just a stupid kid."
She nodded slowly. "Do you remember their names?"
He shook his head too quickly. "No. I never read the full report. I… I couldn't."
She filed that away. Another lie.
---
That night, Elina went home and opened her phone.
A saved screenshot. The original report. Two names circled in red ink:
> Nathaniel and Serah Rivers.
Her parents.
He had known.
He'd lied to her again.
And now, it was her turn.
She dialed a secure line. Manson's voice crackled on the other end.
"I want the next drop," she said, voice cold as ice. "Send them the witness statement."
A beat of silence.
"You got it, sweetheart."