We Meet Again, After All These Years

Alya pushed open the heavy glass doors of the BCF main conference room.

She had changed out of her muddy trousers into a spare pencil skirt she kept in her locker. Her face was still pale, but her eyes were lethal.

Inside the room, the weekly editorial meeting was in full swing.

Elana McKee stood at the head of the long mahogany table, clicking through a PowerPoint presentation.

"And that is why," Elana boasted, flipping her blonde hair, "I am currently in talks to secure an exclusive sit-down with Professor Charles Sterling. If we get his take on the antitrust legislation, our ratings will crush CNN."

Liam nodded thoughtfully. "Sterling is notoriously reclusive. Are you sure you can land him, Elana?"

Elana smiled smugly. "My father plays golf with him. It's practically a done deal."

Alya walked to the end of the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down. She opened her laptop.

Elana stopped talking. She glared at Alya. "Did you enjoy the mud, Rivas? I hope you brought back some fascinating quotes from the bricklayers."

Alya didn't look at her. She typed a command into her laptop and hit the enter key.

The projector screen behind Elana instantly flickered. Elana's presentation vanished, replaced by a massive, complex data matrix.

Alya stood up.

"Professor Sterling doesn't care about golf," Alya said, her voice cutting through the room like a scalpel. "He cares about monopolies."

Alya clicked her mouse. The photo she took of Kameron Rasmussen handing the contract to Archer appeared on the screen, alongside a breakdown of the shell companies.

"The Ward 8 project is a front," Alya explained to the stunned room. "The Rasmussen family is using legal loopholes to create a regional concrete monopoly. I ran the data against Sterling's latest academic thesis."

Elana's face went pale. "Where did you get that? You can't just hijack my pitch!"

"I didn't hijack it," Alya said coldly. "I elevated it."

Alya clicked the mouse one last time.

An email appeared on the screen. It was from the official domain of Charles Sterling's office.

Ms. Rivas. Your data model is compelling. The Professor will see you tomorrow evening at his Virginia estate for an exclusive interview.

The conference room erupted into frantic whispers. Liam looked at Alya with profound respect.

Elana slammed her hands on the table, her acrylic nails clicking loudly.

"This is theft!" Elana shrieked, losing all her socialite composure. "You are a thief, just like your traitor father! It's in your dirty blood!"

The room went dead silent.

Alya's eyes turned pitch black. She walked slowly around the table, closing the distance until she was standing inches from Elana.

The sheer physical intimidation radiating from Alya forced Elana to take a step back.

Alya leaned in, lowering her voice so only Elana could hear.

"If you ever mention my father again," Alya whispered, her tone deadly, "I will take the offshore tax evasion records your family hides in the Cayman Islands, and I will personally hand-deliver them to the IRS."

Elana gasped, her eyes widening in absolute terror. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

Liam cleared his throat loudly, breaking the tension.

"Alright," Liam announced. "The Sterling interview goes to Alya. Excellent work."

Alya closed her laptop, pulled the USB drive, and walked out of the room without looking back.

Back at her desk, the adrenaline crashed. Alya's chest seized up in a painful knot. She quickly popped a pill into her mouth, swallowing it dry.

She looked at the address for Sterling's estate in Virginia. It was going to be a tough interview.

What Alya didn't know was that thirty miles away, Archer Garcia was sitting in his office, looking at the exact same email confirmation on his monitor.

Archer leaned back in his leather chair, a dark, predatory smile playing on his lips.

The trap was set. And the prey was walking right into it.