The storm outside mirrored the chaos within me. I sat across from Monica in George's safe house, rain streaking down the bulletproof windows, echoing in rhythm with my pulse. She had just confessed to working with Phil years ago. Not just working, helping him trap young artists under contracts they couldn’t escape.
"Why are you telling me this now?" I asked, unable to hide the sharp edge in my voice.
Monica folded her arms. "Because he discarded me too, Kim. And I realized you were never the enemy."
George stood behind me, arms crossed. He'd barely said a word since Monica's arrival. Trust was a fragile thread in our world now.
"How do we know you're not still playing both sides?" George finally asked.
She turned to him. "Because I have something you need. Proof."
Monica reached into
