The rain had returned to Los Angeles that morning, tracing silver tears down the high-rise windows of George’s apartment. Outside, the city looked blurred, as though the storm had peeled back the illusions that cloaked its darker truths. Inside, I paced like a trapped animal, heart thrumming with unease.
Monica Reyes was seated calmly on the couch, legs crossed, the sharp click of her black heels echoing in my ears like a metronome of destiny. Everything about her was composed, from the sleek gray suit she wore to the crimson lipstick that matched her calculated confidence.
“Let me get this straight,” I said, arms folded tightly across my chest. “You worked for Phil, and now you want to help us bring him down?”
Monica's eyes flicked to George, who was silent, arms resting on the chair b
