Romans & histoires The Sullivan Review

My own scribbled timelines. Sullivan leans back in his chair, jacket slung over the back, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He’s been rubbing his temples for twenty minutes. “You know what I’m gonna say.” “Don’t you dare say it,” I mutter, red pen clenched in my fist. He sighs, the kind of sigh that says he’s been editing other people’s disasters for thirty years and this is just another Tuesday. “Sophia, if we go to print now and even a single detail can’t be corroborated-”

Mabel’s POV “Sullivan looks like trouble in the best way. I swear I could march right over and introduce myself,” Dawn said with a sigh, her gaze fixed on the shadowed booth upstairs. She leaned closer. “You think he’d notice me?” I didn’t bother answering. Dawn knew what she was fishing for. She frowned when I didn’t bite. Vivian picked up the silence for both of us. She already knew Sullivan wasn’t the type to play around. The rumors were clear enough. Midnight Guardians were different. They waited for their mates, and they didn’t waste time with meaningless flings.

Sullivan finally said, "don't get me wrong. I love your work, and we've had a great run together. But if I agree to publish an idea like this, I'll have people picketing outside my office for months. Besides, it will kill your reputation. You're a Harvard historian, for God's sake, not a pop schlockmeister looking for a quick buck. Where could you possibly find enough credible evidence to support a theory like this?" With a quiet smile Jim pulled a piece of paper from the pocket of his tweed coat and handed it to Sullivan. The page listed a bibliography of over sixty titles - books well-known historians, some contemporary, some centuries old - many of them academic bestsellers. All the book

I was in my home office, surrounded by papers and glowing computer screens, when my phone began vibrating nonstop with messages and emails. Sullivan Entertainment: A traditional amusement park network founded sixty years ago, responsible for shaping generations of family memories. Over the past decade, the company had faced sharp decline due to competition from international theme parks and changes in consumer behavior. Mounting debt. Attempts to survive through private events and strategic partnerships. Valuable real estate assets, but a failing operation.

At that moment, Sullivan said, "Young man, if you can get within ten meters of me, I'll admit defeat and kill myself. How about that?" "Sir, aren't you being a bit too confident?" Wilbur was very surprised. That was the most arrogant Sanctuary level cultivator he had ever met. However, Sullivan merely laughed and said, "I've never lost to anyone other than that old fart from the Department of Paranormal Research and Defense and that married couple. If I don't give a junior like you some leeway, I might not feel any excitement." Sullivan's arrogance immediately made the crowd unhappy, and they started to berate him.

It was the closest thing to an apology he’d ever heard from his father. “You heard everything?” he asked quietly. Jacob nodded. “I did.” “We’ve been keeping it quiet,” Noah admitted. “We don’t even have a plan to draw Sullivan out yet.” Jacob stroked his chin, thinking. “Sullivan’s paranoid. He never trusted anyone. Even when we still spoke, he’d insist we meet in open fields at night. Always brought guards with him—hidden in the trees or the tall grass.” “But you could hear them?” “Yes. He wanted me to.’”

A review of Sam’s bank records showed no connection to Sullivan Corporation. What was the Sullivan Corporation? Where was it. The bank manger did not know. Mr. Holmes and Carol made another visit to speak to Anna. Anna opens the door and saw Mr. Holmes standing there. She asks him to leave. Mr. Holmes begged her to talk to him. Please help me find out who killed your husband. Eddie does not deserve to be in prison. You and I both know he did not kill your husband. Anna started crying and ask Mr. Holmes to come inside. He promised that any information she provided would be confidential. Anna began to tell Mr. Holmes the Sullivan Corporation was the men that offered the money to buy the farm.

"Thank goodness she isn't 'S,' or I would be so disappointed." Some believed Sullivan's words, while others remained skeptical. Among them were Carol's dedicated fans, who had gathered to support her. They firmly rejected his accusations. "You say you know 'S,' but do you have any evidence?" "Yeah, I think he just doesn't want to apologize to Carol. That's why he's making up these absurd claims to deceive us." Sullivan, undeterred by the mounting skepticism, issued Carol a fatal request.

The silver fox returned Sullivan's passive-aggressive glance, then squinted slightly like he was trying to remember something. “Sullivan.” “Live and in the flesh” he answered. “I'm surprised you even know my name.” “I never forget a face.” Even down to the way he talked. It felt so similar to… no. T’was probably just a coincidence. “You’ve been a ghost story for the past couple decades” Sullivan continued. “You sure you didn't stumble into the wrong place? I'd hate for a senior citizen to be—” “I got an invite from Liam” he cut in, and through the corner of my eyes, I noticed Sully’s expression change. Dampen, even. “So you don't need to worry about me, alright kid?”

“Shit.” Sly glanced over, his smirk fading when he saw the image. “Ah... there it is. The bait.” I snapped my head toward him, my voice low and seething. “What do you mean, the bait?” Sly leaned back in his chair, his knife tapping lightly against the desk. “It’s a trap, Sullivan. They’re trying to draw you out. They want you to come running straight into their hands, and you’re ready to give them exactly what they want.”