Nadia stepped into the office the next day with purpose. Her heels echoed against the marble tiles as she walked straight to Mr. Tyrone's office, the sound punctuating her determination. No hesitation. No second-guessing. The folder she clutched contained the write up which gave her sleepless night, one explosive truth.
She knocked once and pushed the door open without waiting for an answer.
"Morning, sir. I have something I'd like you to see."
Tyrone looked up from his laptop, brows lifted in surprise. His reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose. "Nadia? This is unexpected."
"It's an investigative piece," she said, placing the manila folder in front of him. Her fingers lingered on its edge for a brief moment before releasing it. "About the Westlake case. Happened six months ago but burried. You'll want to read it."
He gave a slow nod, taking the folder and flipping it open. His eyes skimmed the first paragraph, then the second. The muscle in his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. A tight silence stretched between them. Nadia remained standing, watching his expression morph from curiosity to concern.
He cleared his throat. "How long have you been working on this?"
"Though not long enough but got Intel from a reliable source," she replied, keeping her voice steady despite the nervous energy coursing through her veins.
"And your source?" Tyrone asked, glancing up at her over his glasses.
Nadia straightened her shoulders. "He wishes to remain anonymous. But I have verified the story."
Tyrone closed the folder and tapped his fingers against it. "I'll take a proper look," he said, finally. "Looks... heavy."
"It is."
"This could make a lot of people very uncomfortable, Nadia."
"The truth often does."
He nodded again, more thoughtful this time, and she turned to leave.
"Nadia," he called as she reached the door. She turned back. "Be careful with this. Not everyone wants this story told."
A chill ran down her spine, but she kept her expression neutral. "That's exactly why it needs to be."
Nadia returned to her desk, but the calm she'd walked in with began to chip away with each passing minute. She pulled up her rejected paper—The Dark Side of Data Brokerage: How Companies Are Selling Your Personal Data—trying to see how to readjust it, but couldn't focus. Her fingers hovered over her keyboard, typing a few words before deleting them again.
Minutes passed. Then hours. She kept glancing towards his office. The blinds were drawn now, casting horizontal shadows across the glass. Nothing. No call. No wave. No reaction.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Nurse Lena: Your mom had just woken up. Looking for you.
She smiled despite her anxiety, typing back: Thanks nurse Lena. I'll be there once I'm free.
By three o'clock, she'd managed to readjust the data piece, but it was mediocre at best. Her mind kept drifting back to the folder. To what it contained. To what it meant.
The clock hit five. People began packing up around her. The usual end-of-day chatter filled the newsroom.
Zora came by with a half-wave and a soft smile, perching on the edge of Nadia's desk. "You look like you need a drink," she said. "Let's grab one later?"
Nadia forced a nod, but her gaze stayed fixed on Tyrone's office. "Maybe. I'll text you."
"You okay? You've been weird all day. Is it about the piece?"
"Not at all. Just tired." Nadia lied.
Zora didn't seem convinced but didn't push it. "Text me either way, and don't worry much, he'll approve it." She said, squeezing Nadia's shoulder before walking away.
Then Tyrone walked out. Just like that. Grabbing his coat, said a few goodnights to the staff lingering near his office, and disappeared into the elevator.
He didn't look her way.
Not once.
The silence stung more than a rejection.
She sat at her desk for another fifteen minutes, staring at the space where he'd been. Had he even read it? Did he think it was garbage? Or worse—was he making calls, checking if publishing it would bring the wrath of the Peterson family down on the paper?
She grabbed her bag and coat, then left. There was one more place she needed to visit: Naomi's house.
The small suburban home looked peaceful from the outside, betraying nothing of the grief that dwelled within. Nadia hesitated before knocking, steeling herself for the conversation ahead.
Mr. Peterson opened the door, his weathered face brightening slightly at the sight of her.
"You must be...," 
"Nadia Brown. Herald news"
"Please, come in." He held the door backwards.
Inside, Mrs. Peterson sat in an armchair surrounded by framed photographs of their daughter. The room felt heavy with loss.
"Thank you for coming," Mrs. Peterson said, her voice thin but determined. "We've been hoping someone would listen to us."
"I appreciate you seeing me," Nadia replied, settling onto the couch. "I want to understand who Naomi really was."
Mr. Peterson lowered himself slowly into his chair. "Not who they're making her out to be, that's for certain."
"They say she overdosed," Mrs. Peterson said, shaking her head firmly. "But our Naomi wouldn't touch drugs. Never."
"She was always so careful about what went into her body," Mr. Peterson added. "Wouldn't even take aspirin unless she absolutely had to."
Mrs. Peterson reached for a tissue. "The morning of—of that day, she called us. Said she'd come for Sunday lunch the next day. It was her day off work."
"She sounded happy," Mr. Peterson continued, his voice breaking. "Making plans. That's not someone who—" He couldn't finish the sentence.
Nadia leaned forward. "Did Naomi mention anything unusual in the days before she died? Anyone who might have wanted to harm her?"
The couple exchanged a glance.
"She did mention some tension at work," Mrs. Peterson said hesitantly. "But she never wanted us to worry about specifics."
Mrs. Peterson suddenly clasped Nadia's hands in hers. "Please," she pleaded, eyes brimming with tears. "Find justice for our daughter. Someone took her from us, and they're trying to destroy her memory too."
"I promise I'll do everything I can," Nadia said, squeezing the older woman's hands gently.
After an hour of conversation and a tearful goodbye, Nadia left with pages of notes and a renewed sense of purpose. She'd written the article on instinct about her, but now she knew she'd been right to question the official story.
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Instead of texting Jayson as she normally would, Nadia took a cab straight to his motel room. The motel hallway still smelled of cigarette smoke and cheap air freshener. Standing outside his door, she took a deep breath before knocking. When Jayson opened the door, surprise flashed across his face.
"Nadia? I wasn't expecting you." Jayson said, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. His face looked more haggard than before. The shadows under his eyes had deepened.
"I know," she said, moving past him into the apartment. "I've just come from Naomi's parents, and before that, Westlake. And I need to tell you everything."
Jayson studied her for a while. "That was risky you know." He walked to the dresser, pulled out a small metal box, and handed her a stack of documents. "All the stories I gave you are verified, hundred percent. So I'm saying don't put yourself in harms way next time," he said, his voice low and intense. 
"I'm not doubting you. Just doing my own job."Nadia could hear the awkwardness in her own voice.
"Next time, if you can't believe me. Don't go on investigating on your own." Jayson dropped a complimentary card on the table "That's Orion Gray. A colleague who's helping me from the inside. You can give him a call."
Nadia gazed at the card, then picked it up.
"You have to believe me Nadi, I've been sitting on this for months," Jayson said, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Couldn't get anyone to touch it".
"Were you aware of the sweep clean at Westlake?" 
"It wasn't something hidden. Everyone knows but no one speaks about it. That's why Cedric had to die" he walked over to the window. "Let me guess your chief hasn't approved of the story yet right?"
"How did you know?"
He scoff,"Of course I know. That's not an ordinary story. And it's probably because he's currently deciding if he wants to blow the roof off or keep his paper breathing. If this goes live... we're in dangerous waters."
She stared down at the papers, the card in her hand, the weight of truth pressing into her hands. "Lewis owns half the city."
"And most of its politicians," Jayson added grimly.
Nadia breathed out, slow and deep. "Okay. We wait. I trust Herald's Integrity."
Jayson nodded, gathering the documents and placing them back in the metal box. 
They walked toward the door, the motel hallway lit dimly by that same flickering bulb. The air felt heavy, charged with the weight of what they now shared.
Jayson reached to open it—then froze.
Nadia looked past him and saw Bryan standing beside his car in the parking lot.
His arms were folded. His jaw clenched. Even from this distance, she could see the hurt and anger in his posture.
"Damn," Jayson muttered.
Nadia stepped forward, her heartbeat suddenly loud in her ears. This wasn't part of her plan.
Bryan's eyes were fire. "You didn't even try to lie, Nady," he called out, his voice carrying across the parking lot.
She walked toward him, keeping her voice low but steady. "What are you talking about?"
"I got a text, you were here. Doubted it. But just wanted to confirm." His laugh was bitter. "And here you are with a man at a motel. Room 217."
"Who texted you?" she asked, her reporter's instincts flaring even as her personal life crumbled before her.
"It doesn't matter," he snapped. "What matters is you, here, with him." He gestured toward Jayson, who had remained on the threshold of the room.
"Bryan, it's not what you think—"
"I caught you red-handed," he snapped, his voice breaking. "Don't even try."
"Bryan, I was working—"
"At a motel? With a man I've never heard you mention?" He shook his head. "You've been distant for weeks. Late nights. Secretive." His eyes glistened. "I thought you were stressed about work. I gave you space. And this is what you do with it?"
"If you would just listen—"
But he was already walking around to the driver's side. He yanked the door open, slid in, and slammed it shut.
The engine growled to life.
"Bryan!" she called out, but he didn't look up.
He peeled out without another word. Without even looking back.
Nadia stood there in the cold air, watching the red taillights disappear into the night. Her mind raced—who had texted him? How did they know she was here? The coincidence felt too perfect, too timed.
Beside her, Jayson said nothing. Just waited.
"Someone knew I was coming here," she said quietly, more to herself than to him. "Someone wanted him to find me here."
Jayson's expression darkened. "This wasn't supposed to happen. Sure you'll be okay?"
She turned to look at him, a new realization dawning. If someone knew about her visit here, what else did they know? About the story? 
Nadia let out a breath, long and quiet. "Sure I'll be. I've got to run along."
She boarded a taxi and drove off.