Three days later, Sinclair Media’s offices pulsed with restrained chaos.
The audit teams, sleek, surgical investigators dressed in quiet black, moved through every floor. The mere sight of them had assistants panicking and executives pretending to look busy. Word had gotten out fast that nothing was off-limits. Personal emails, burner phones, old campaign records were all being pulled into the light.
Celeste stood in Damien’s private conference room, staring at the glass wall that overlooked the bullpen. Her arms were crossed, but her focus was sharp.
A knock came. Julian West stepped in, looking more cautious than usual. “They’re ready for you.”
She turned to look in his direction.
“The remaining board members,” he clarified. “Half have already ‘taken a leave of absence.’ And by lea
