Jerico is quiet for a moment, studying the room with those pale green eyes.“Every time,” he says simply.
Kynan glances at me.“Seattle’s going to set the tone for where we take it next.And you’re on the ground floor of something big.”
“Yes, sir.”I joined Jameson because I needed to feel useful.The army gave me discipline.Smoke jumping gave me adrenaline.Jameson gives me purpose.“I’m here for it.”
CHAPTER 2
Tessa
Seattleraininthefall always feels a little misplaced, like the sky forgot what season it’s supposed to be.This time of year is all about long sunny days, minimal precipitation, and a the lingering smell of distant wildfires.Lawns crunch underfoot, so when rain falls as it is right now, it feels like a welcome interruption.I find the steady beat of raindrops against the tall newsroom windows soothing in what is often considered an incredibly stressful job.
The investigative unit—my unit—sits along the far wall of theEmerald City Herald’s main floor, partially enclosed in glass so we’re visible to the rest of the newsroom.It’s almost eight p.m.and it’s still chaotic.Reporters move between desks and editors gather near a central bank of monitors where headlines are rearranged in real time.Cell phones chirp with tips that will become front-page copy by midnight, if we’re lucky.I’m in the middle of a cyclone of investigative journalism, yet I’ve been staring at the same set of wildfire maps for hours.
Satellite overlays bleed red across Oregon, California, and Idaho.Insurance claim spikes line up with burn perimeters.Property records show rapid transfers with shell companies buying up scorched acreage within days of containment.
On paper, it’s all legal—an array of strategically timed acquisitions.But when I layer the data against the burn patterns, the timing tightens and looks less like dry summers and bad luck and more like orchestration.
“Tessa.”
Simon doesn’t raise his voice, but he doesn’t need to.When the investigative editor of theEmerald City Heraldcalls your name, you go.
I grab my tablet and step into his glass cube of an office.TheHeraldisn’t a struggling boutique outlet.We run two full floors of reporters, maintain an in-house legal team, and answer to a corporate parent that monitors risk as carefully as readership metrics.We’ve broken stories that have exposed corrupt city officials and prompted federal investigations.On the flip side, we’ve also fought our share of defamation suits from people who don’t appreciate the exposure.
Simon leans back in his chair, sleeves rolled up, expression caught somewhere between annoyance and fatigue.“You’re still on the fire angle,” he says, not accusing so much as confirming.
“It’s not an angle,” I reply, settling into the chair opposite him.“It’s a pattern.”
“You have alignment,” he counters evenly.“Not proof.”
“They’re buying burned land through layered LLCs within seventy-two hours of fire containment,” I say, tapping the screen to pull up another acquisition timeline.“Every single time.Same financing structure.Same holding company.”
“And until you prove arson,” he says, reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out a bottle of Tums, “it’s aggressive development strategy, not a criminal enterprise.”
I hold his gaze, refusing to back down.“You hired me to chase stories just like this.”
“I hired you because you’re relentless,” he corrects, popping two chalky tablets with a grimace.“There’s a difference.”
He swivels his monitor toward me, bringing up another file.“The port bribery story?That one’s airtight.We have wire transfers, a cooperating source, a timeline we can defend.That’s a major piece, and it’s ready for you to finish.”
“And RainVest?”I press.
“RainVest is a lawsuit waiting to happen,” he says quietly.“And I don’t feel like defending an avoidable situation.”
I don’t bother hiding my frustration.“Since when do we scare that easily, Simon?What about our loyalty to the truth?”
He sighs, rubbing his temples.“Since the insurance premiums doubled after your private military contractor exposé, Tessa.Since you embedded with a militia group in Montana and I had to hire someone to rescue you.Since you ran that cartel piece and got your tires slashed twice in one month.Take your pick.”
My chin lifts in defiance.Those were excellent examples of why I’m so good at my job.
He leans forward then, his tone shifting from exasperation to something closer to concern.“You don’t do small, Tessa.And that’s why you’re one of the best reporters in this building.But it also means you pick fights with people who don’t fight fair.”
“If I didn’t have to pick a fight, it wouldn’t be newsworthy,” I maintain stubbornly.“And this story is the real deal, Simon.I know it.”
“You want to keep digging?”he continues.“Fine.But file the port story first.It’s clean, it’s documented, and there are credible sources.You chase RainVest after that, and we’ll do it with the legal department looped in from day one.”
I know he’s trying to protect the paper.And maybe me.
“I’ll have the port draft by Friday,” I say, because I’m not reckless.Just stubborn.
