Chapter Eight

VERA'S POV

Dinner is lamb and roasted vegetables and Richard Harrington asking Cole about the upcoming season with the particular interest of a man who owns a piece of every answer.

I sit across from Cole and mildly tolerate him exactly as instructed.

My mother talks about the garden. Richard listens to her with genuine warmth and I watch him do it and think about the youth foundation and the four years of architecture underneath this family and the way a man can love his wife and still burn everything around her without hesitation.

"Vera," Richard says, turning to me. "How's the piece coming along? The one your editor has you working on."

I cut my lamb. "Slowly. These things take time."

"David mentioned he hadn't heard from you today."

I look up with a measured smile. "I took a personal day. We just moved in — I thought that was allowed."

"Of course." His smile doesn't shift. "He speaks very highly of you. Says you're one of the most tenacious reporters he has."

"That's kind of him."

Cole reaches across the table for the bread without looking at me and his arm passes close enough that I feel the warmth of it and I do not react in any direction.

"Tenacious is good in journalism," Cole says casually to no one in particular. "Less useful when it becomes tunnel vision."

Richard makes a sound of agreement.

I look at Cole directly. "I find focus usually gets the job done faster than caution."

"Depends on what you're walking into," Cole says.

"I tend to look before I walk."

My mother laughs lightly and says we sound like we've known each other for years and moves the conversation to whether they should repaint the sitting room and the moment passes cleanly.

Under the table my phone has a message from Jasmine that says: *call me tonight, I found something*.

---

I call her at ten from my room with the door locked.

"Lena Park filed an inquiry with the league's financial oversight office," Jasmine says without preamble. "Formal request for internal records. She did it this afternoon."

I sit on the edge of the bed. "How did you find that out?"

"I have a contact in the oversight office. She's not a friend, just someone who owes me." Jasmine pauses. "Vera, if the league starts its own inquiry the publication will pull your piece immediately. Conflict of interest, legal exposure — Lorne won't even need a reason."

"I know."

"How close are you?"

"Closer than I was this morning." I look at the photographs on my phone — sixty-two images of documents laid out on a folding table. "I have the financial chain. I have names. I need two more things — a source willing to go on record and a corroborating document that ties the foundation to the organization's operating account directly."

"Can you get them?"

"Working on it."

"Vera." Her voice drops. "Please tell me you're being careful. You're living in that man's house."

"I'm aware."

"That's not an answer."

"I'm being careful."

She is quiet for a moment. "How's the stepbrother situation."

"Not a situation."

"You hesitated."

"I didn't hesitate."

"There was a full second of silence."

"Jasmine."

"I'm just noting the second."

I lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling. "He's helping me. It's professional. It's complicated and it's completely professional."

"Uh huh."

"Goodnight."

"One second of silence, Vera—"

I hang up.

---

In the morning I find Coach Paulson's contact information in my original research notes from two months ago. I'd flagged him early as a potential source and then Lorne told me to focus elsewhere. I know why now.

I send a message through a secondary account I use for sensitive contacts. Short, direct — I tell him I'm working on a protected submission, that I have documentary evidence, and that I'm looking for a source with operational knowledge of the organization's financial approvals over the last four years.

I send it and close the app and go downstairs.

Cole is in the kitchen alone, already dressed, keys on the counter. He looks at me when I walk in.

"Lena Park filed with the league oversight office," I say.

"I know. Milo texted me this morning — one of the players heard it from someone in the league office." He slides a coffee toward me. "How long does that give you?"

"A week at the absolute outside. Once the league inquiry is active my publication won't touch the piece." I wrap both hands around the mug. "I need Paulson. He's the only one inside the organization with enough operational knowledge to go on record."

"Paulson won't go on record."

"You don't know that."

"I've known him for six years. He protects the players first, always. Going on record puts the players in the middle of it."

"So does a league inquiry."

Cole pauses. He hadn't connected that piece yet. I watch him connect it now.

"If I approach him carefully—" I start.

"Let me talk to him first."

"Cole—"

"He trusts me. He doesn't know you." He's not being territorial about it — his voice is practical, direct. "Let me tell him what we have and what's coming regardless. He'll be more likely to move if he understands the inquiry changes the timeline for everyone."

I want to push back purely on principle. I don't, because he's right.

"Today," I say.

"I have practice at nine. I'll find him after."

Richard walks into the kitchen and the conversation ends without either of us closing it, which we are getting very good at — leaving things open and intact and picking them back up later like setting something fragile on a shelf.

"Morning," Richard says warmly. He looks between us. "You two are up early."

"Couldn't sleep," I say.

He looks at me a beat longer than necessary. "You should rest. You're a guest here Vera. There's no need to push yourself."

"I don't really know how to stop pushing," I say pleasantly.

He smiles. "No. I don't suppose you do."

He pours his coffee and picks up his phone and the morning continues and I drink mine and Cole stands three feet away and the distance between us feels thinner every day.

That is the part that scares me more than Richard.

More than Lorne. More than any of it.