Chapter three
844 Words
The newsroom smelled like burnt coffee and ambition, just as it always did at eight thirty in the morning. Ava Morel dropped her coat over the back of her chair, her heels clicking sharply against the worn linoleum floor.
Her laptop screen glowed with last night’s notes. She had replayed every detail in her head a dozen times, the briefcase, the men, the glinting USB drive. That wasn’t charity business. That wasn’t philanthropy. That was something far darker.
“Morning, Morel.” Mark Ridley appeared behind her chair with a steaming mug of coffee. He squinted at her, brow furrowed. “You look like someone who hasn’t slept in a week.”
Ava didn’t bother hiding the exhaustion. “I haven’t.”
Mark sighed. “And this obsession with DeLuca? You’re skating on thin ice. That man he doesn’t just avoid the press. He eliminates it.”
Ava’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, tapping a rhythm that matched her racing thoughts. “Eliminates what can be exposed, maybe. But secrets always have a way of slipping out, Mark. And I intend to find them.”
He shook his head. “You’re impossible.”
She smiled faintly, almost unconsciously. That was part of the charm that always got her into trouble. Ava Morel didn’t quit. She didn’t flinch. And she definitely didn’t listen when people warned her to stay away.
By mid morning, she had pulled together everything she could find on DeLuca Holdings. Public records, business filings, and a few whispers she had collected from London’s underground channels.
The conglomerate was spotless on paper. Tax filings neat, investors satisfied, charities listed as sponsors. Everything screamed legitimacy.
Everything hid a lie.
Her notes circled around one recurring question the night at the gala had given her evidence men exchanging something clandestine yet the trail was faint. Too faint for most journalists. Perfect for her.
She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. That’s when her phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.
“Curiosity can be dangerous. Be careful, Miss Morel.”
Her fingers tightened around the phone. Anonymous threats weren’t new in journalism, but the timing of this one made her pulse spike. It had come minutes after she had left DeLuca Tower.
Ava scrolled through her notes, double checking the details. The briefcase. The men. The glint of metal. Something in the room had been..off.
She couldn’t shake it someone had been watching her.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of interviews, phone calls, and frantic note taking. By the time Ava stepped out into the London evening, her coat clutched tight against the cold, she felt the familiar tug of adrenaline she always craved.
Danger had a scent, she knew it now. And it wasn’t just in the gala, it was following her.
Her cab pulled up near a quiet street behind the newsroom. The city hummed with life, but the shadows seemed heavier here. She paused, glancing over her shoulder. Nothing. Just the familiar hum of traffic.
But instincts told her something was wrong.
Her apartment was small, but it had charm brick walls, books stacked in precarious towers, and a window that overlooked the river. She slipped inside, locking the door behind her and bolting it twice.
The first thing she did was pull out her laptop, opening a new file
DeLuca Holdings The Man Behind the Mask
Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she recounted every detail she had witnessed. She described the men, the briefcase, and the silent message that had lingered in the hallway of the tower. Every note was precise, every observation recorded.
Her instincts screamed there was more and she intended to find it.
By nightfall, Ava had a plan. She would start digging into the people surrounding Luca DeLuca. Board members, assistants, even security anyone who could give her a clue to what his empire really hid.
She paused at one name Marco Santini, listed as a senior liaison in several of DeLuca’s businesses. He had clean records, no criminal ties, but something about his career trajectory felt too polished.
Ava leaned back, her pen tapping the edge of the table. She knew one thing: Marco Santini was her next lead.
Outside, the London fog rolled in, curling around street lamps like smoke. Ava felt its chill, but it didn’t deter her.
Danger was coming. She could feel it, even in the quiet of her apartment.
And for the first time, she realized the truth she had been avoiding: the story she had stumbled into wasn’t going to stay on paper.
It was alive.
And it had teeth.
The next morning, Ava was back at the newsroom, her determination sharpened. She ignored Mark’s protests and the low warnings murmured by colleagues.
She had a lead. She had a plan.
And she had a feeling that DeLuca Holdings and Luca DeLuca himself were about to notice that she wasn’t just another journalist asking questions.
Ava Morel had always chased the truth.
Now, the truth was hunting her back.
- Writer
