The stories didn’t come in a wave. They bled out, like pinpricks in the dark, precise, intentional, and slow enough to feel like paranoia until it was too late.
One article accused Damien Sinclair of orchestrating the collapse of a boutique agency ten years ago, claiming he leveraged industry contacts to swallow its client roster, while another hinted at blackballed actors who’d mysteriously vanished after crossing him. The headlines didn’t scream scandal. It was subtle. Each one phrased just carefully enough to sound like truth, just speculative enough to avoid lawsuits.
Damien skimmed them with the stillness of a predator observing its hunters.
"They’re smart," he muttered, tossing the tablet onto the breakfast counter in their penthouse. "There's nothing that can be directly traced b
