Chapter 9: Slander

Because I asked questions no one else dared, the interview went viral. The Morgan family’s secrets were front-page news. By the end of the show, over ten million viewers had tuned in.

Backstage, Tanya clapped me on the shoulder. "Reporter of the year, Tyler! You got them to spill everything."

She trailed off when Lillian and Nathan approached. Lillian’s gaze was icy: "Did you write today’s questions?"

I nodded.

Nathan’s smile was all teeth. "Reporter Evans, you really know how to push buttons. But here’s some advice—stick to what’s yours. Walk away now, or I’ll make sure you never work in this town again."

I just looked at Lillian. She was unreadable. "Reporter Evans is talented. From now on, you’ll handle our company’s media."

Nathan glared, eyes burning with hate.

He cornered me later, voice low and venomous: "Tyler Evans, you’re unbelievable. You took my money, and now you want more?"

I met his eyes. "I graduated. I’m just here to work."

He snapped. "Work? Don’t play dumb. Get out! Quit working with us, or I’ll make sure you never get another byline!"

I ignored him and walked away.

Nathan kept his word. Suddenly, every opportunity slipped through my fingers. Jobs that were mine went to others. Doors slammed shut.

But one night, the boss called me in. "There’s a major development conference next month. You’re hosting. President Morgan specifically requested you."

After work, I spotted a familiar Cadillac outside. The window rolled down, revealing Lillian’s cool, unreadable face.

"Since you’re so curious about my past, why not ask me directly?"

I ducked my head. "I wasn’t prying. It’s just my job."

She smiled, a little sad. "Even if it’s work, I gave you my card. You could’ve called."

"No need."

Because it hit me then: it was three years later. She was President Morgan now, not the wildcat who used to cling to me for comfort.

The Carter family was nothing now. Nathan wouldn’t dare touch me without her approval.

Maybe, to her, that past was just shameful.

I turned to leave, but she stopped me. "Mr. Evans, shall we talk?"

I swallowed. "What does President Morgan want to discuss?"

Her lips twitched, gaze softening. "Work. Is that okay?"

Her presence filled the night air. Jazz thumped from a bar nearby, steam rising from a food cart. The city felt like it was holding its breath.