“Can you sweep it? Make sure it’s clean?”
“Already done. Full security system, encrypted internet, the works.”
Sebastian felt the first breath of relief he’d had all day. “I owe you.”
“You generally do. I’ll text you the address.”
Sebastian’s next call was harder. Harper answered on the first ring.
“Sebastian? You’re supposed to be lying low.”
“Change of plans. We need to talk, but not at your flat. Charles knows everything—he just called me.” Sebastian kept his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. “He suspects that you wrote the article, and he’s already vowing revenge.”
He could hear Harper’s sharp intake of breath. “How?”
“He dug back through his memory. Anonymous article, me convincing him three years ago to let me ‘handle’ the Harper Sinclair problem instead of destroying you outright. He’s put it together that you’re probably the journalist behind the article and that I’ve been your source.” Sebastian was already hailing a taxi. “His plan is to destroy your credibility by suggesting we have some kind of inappropriate relationship—that your story came from intimate access.”
“Bastard.” Harper’s voice was tight with controlled fury. “Where do you want to meet?”
“Nowhere public. Ethan’s got a place that’s secure—I’ll text you the address. Can you get there without being followed?”
“I’ve dodged photographers before. I know how to lose a tail.”
“Bring everything for the next two articles. Your laptops, your notes, your files. We’re going to need to work fast and stay hidden while you finish this.”
“Sebastian,” Harper’s voice carried a sharp edge. “I know what I’m doing. I don’t need you to save me. I’ve been handling threats like this long before you decided to grow a conscience.”
Sebastian was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I respect you as a professional, Harper—you’re one of the best investigative journalists I know. But I dragged you into this mess, and now Charles is coming after you because of me. I can’t undo what I did, but I can at least help you finish what we started.”
“Okay,” Harper’s voice softened slightly. Sebastian settled into the taxi,watching the city blur past the windows. “Our only option now is to make sure your story gets out before he can destroy your credibility completely.”
“Then I guess we’d better make the next two articles the best damn journalism of my career.”
After they hung up, Sebastian stared out at the landscape rushing past him. Somewhere in the city, Charles was already setting his countermoves in motion. But for the first time in his life, Sebastian was ready to fight his father with the old man’s own weapons.
The game had changed. Now it was about survival.
* * *
Three hours later, Harper stood in the doorway of a nondescript townhouse in Hampstead, her equipment bags slung over her shoulders and a baseball cap pulled low over her face. She’d taken three different tube lines, doubled back twice, and was reasonably certain she’d lost the photographer who’d been stationed outside her building.
Ethan answered the door before she could knock, his usually cheerful demeanor replaced by grim efficiency.
“Harper. Good, you made it clean. Sebastian should be here soon.” He gestured her inside, already moving to secure the door behind her. “The study upstairs has everything you’ll need—encrypted internet, secure phone line, and enough coffee to fuel a small army.”
“Ethan,” Harper caught his arm as he headed for the door. “Thank you. I know this puts you at risk too.”
Ethan’s smile was sharp and entirely without humor. “Charles Hawthorne isn’t the only one with resources. He’s about to learn just how much Sebastian really learned from him.”
As Harper climbed the stairs to the study, she felt the weight of the next forty-eight hours settling on her shoulders. Two more articles to write, a lifetime of Charles’s corruption to expose, and now a personal war that could destroy everything she’d worked for.
For a moment, she just stood there, listening to the hush of the townhouse,wondering if this was the point of no return.
Then she opened her laptop and saw the encrypted files containing months of meticulous investigation, Harper felt something she hadn’t expected: clarity. This was what good journalism was supposed to be—risky, necessary, and worth fighting for.
Charles Hawthorne wanted a war? He was about to get one.
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