Page 124 of The Devil of Downtown

He takes a breath that doesn’t seem to help. “Sir... I’ve just come across a press release that’s about to circulate. It’s... personal, very personal.”

Julian sits up straighter.

I feel a hard, icy thud in my chest. “What kind of personal?”

Kieran steps forward, placing his tablet on my desk with careful, almost reverent hands—as if the thing might explode.

His voice drops to a grave murmur.

“Sir... it’s about Ivy, and someone named Brody.”

Kieran has barely lowered himself into the chair when my phone buzzes once... then again... and then the vibrations multiply so fast the whole device trembles against the desk like it’s trying to escape. Notifications erupt across the screen in a relentless cascade, the light stuttering with every new alert.

“What now?” I mutter, reaching for it, already bracing for another tedious crisis.

But I don’t even get the chance to unlock the first notification because Julian’s phone chimes at the exact same moment. He glances down, and then he stops moving entirely, his expression freezing mid-breath.

“Dane...” he murmurs, voice pitched low, tight. “You need to see this.”

That tone. The one he only uses when something is about to detonate beneath my feet.

I take a slow, wary step toward him, and he turns his phone so I can see the headline blazing across the screen.

BREAKING: LOCAL DJ BRODY WEST LINKED TO HIT-AND-RUN THAT KILLED HELENA REED ANDEMILIA BLACK— INVESTIGATION REOPENED AFTER NEW EVIDENCE SURFACES

For one suspended second, my entire body drops out from under me.

A freefall without end.

I don’t breathe. Don’t blink. Don’t hear anything except the roar rising behind my ribs.

“No,” I manage, the word scraping raw. “No. That’s—”

But Julian is already scrolling through the static, frozen text and images, his mouth tightening as each new piece of content loads.

There are photos. So many photos.

Helena’s smiling headshot, radiant and bright.

My mother’s portrait from her last charity luncheon.

Brody, sweaty and glassy-eyed, onstage.

And then Ivy, younger, still breathtaking, laughing outside some grimy venue years ago, Brody’s arm slung around her like a claim.

My chest constricts so violently that I have to brace a hand on the desk.

Julian watches me carefully. “Dane... this isn’t the full article.”

I snap my attention to him. “What does that mean?”

Kieran swallows, stepping forward. “It means, sir, that the story was originally... larger. A majorone. But we intercepted part of it before publication—the part that connected Ivy to Brody, and by extension, to you. We buried that section before their editors even saw it.”

For a moment, I can’t speak.

“You’re saying the original story named her?” My voice is low, dangerous.

“Yes,” Kieran admits, his throat tightening.