Julian Thorne was true to his word: his money, though momentarily stunned, had simply shifted tactics. He wasn't in jail, and he wasn't quiet. Instead, he deployed an army of high-powered litigators to wage a war of attrition.
The Senate committee's hearings were sensational, featuring Evelyn's confident testimony and the video of Aris Thorne's devastating confession. The SEC's freeze on the Cayman trust held firm, but Thorne's legal team filed motions daily, challenging the jurisdiction, the evidence gathering, and the constitutional validity of the asset seizure. The goal wasn't to win outright; it was to exhaust the government's resources and the public's attention.
Evelyn, now head of investigative reporting at the Chronicle, found her new life was less about chasing tips and more about decoding legal filings. She and Marcus were working almost exclusively to assist the government's prosecution team.
"This is how the money truly speaks, Evelyn," Marcus observed one morning in the crowded, windowless war room they shared with federal auditors. "It whispers doubt. Every filing claims the ledger was fabricated, the scientist was coerced, and the journalist was motivated by revenge. Thorne doesn't need to win the case; he needs to make the case so expensive and confusing that the public stops caring."
The financial burden on the government was immense. The Senate committee, though dedicated, had limited funds. Thorne's strategy was working: the news coverage, once explosive, had softened into dry reports about procedural hearings and jurisdictional disputes.
One afternoon, Evelyn received an urgent call from her lawyer.
"Evelyn, Julian Thorne just offered to settle the corporate espionage and fraud lawsuit against you," the lawyer announced.
Evelyn gripped the phone. "What's the price?"
"Zero dollars. He'll drop the suit entirely, clear your name, and issue a minimal public statement saying the whole thing was an 'unfortunate misunderstanding of market data.' In return, you sign a personal, permanent NDA to never publicly discuss any aspect of the Aethel case or Julian Thorne again."
It was the final, elegant twist of the knife. Thorne was offering her complete personal freedom and vindication—a genuine end to her legal nightmare—in exchange for her silence. He wasn't trying to buy the truth back; he was trying to remove the primary speaker from the battlefield.
Evelyn thought of Aris Thorne, who was now being relentlessly sued by Thorne for the half-billion dollar penalty, his life consumed by legal debt despite his moral victory. She thought of Clara Mendez, still taking Aethel's profitable pain medication because the suppressed cure was still locked in litigation.
"Tell him no," Evelyn said without a moment's hesitation. "Tell him I don't settle the truth. I'd rather face financial ruin than sign his damn paper."
Her refusal, though costly, was a moral imperative. She couldn't allow Julian Thorne to buy her silence now, not when Aris Thorne had paid so dearly for his words. Evelyn knew her role had changed: she wasn't just a journalist anymore; she was a public defender of the truth. She had to keep the story alive, fighting the silence with every word she published. The long game had begun.