Page 135 of The Hollywood Switch-up

Porque la destruiste.

Sarah’s voice came quietly behind him. “She’s going to therapy. But she won’t talk to anyone else. She hasn’t answered a single call.”

Stefan didn’t turn around.

“What about Stasia?” he asked. “Is she ready?”

Kodi shook her head. “Four-million-dollar NDA. Her lawyer’s good—Solokov, the one who gutted Meridian Studios last year—but even he can’t outspend Zenith indefinitely.”

Stefan laughed—because of course.

“We run the story anyway.” Teagan leaned forward. “These documents will spark outrage—careers will end, heads will roll. But if you want Martin in handcuffs, criminal charges rather than just headlines, you need a survivor on the record and testifying to law enforcement.”

He could call Erika—beg her to speak, tell her the world needed her voice.

¿Y qué derecho tienes tú de pedírselo?

She’d trusted him once, and he’d repaid her by disappearing when she needed him most—not because he had to, but because it was easier than staying and harder than leaving.

“I can’t ask her.” His voice came out rough. No tengo ese derecho.

“Then we adapt—dig into the institutional angle, Zenith’s cover-up, their pattern of protection. Three weeks to verify, cross-reference, give Zenith a chance to respond. Then we go to print.”

“And after that?”

“The world burns. Stock crashes, shareholders sue, executives get hauled into court. Martin Blackwell becomes radioactive—and in this town, losing power is the only death that counts.”

“He might not go to jail.”

“International prosecution is brutal—expensive, slow, and without a survivor testifying, prosecutors will settle for probation and fines. It won’t be justice.” Teagan’s voice didn’t soften around the word. “But sometimes a destroyed career is all we get.”

Stefan laughed. “That’s the pitch? ‘Sorry we couldn’t put the predator in prison, but hey, he lost his IMDb page’?” He shook his head. “Meanwhile Erika's out there somewhere, and I don't even know if she's okay, and there's nothing I can do about that.”

Teagan didn't write that down. She just looked at him for a second too long—recognition, not sympathy.

Kodi slid the hard drive into her satchel. “We’ll make his name impossible to ignore—every newsroom, every blog, no one gets to pretend they didn’t know.”

“Good.”

Teagan rose. “Mr. Cruz, when this story breaks, you’ll be in it. Not as the savior. As the witness who stayed silent. We’ll note your cooperation, but we won’t erase your complicity. That’s part of the truth.”

He’d known this was coming, had known it since the moment he picked up the drive and walked in here.

Me lo merezco.

Teagan studied him, waiting for him to say something else. He didn't.

“You’re about to make enemies who can end your career with a phone call. Are you ready for that?”

He thought of Erika—her voice the last time she’d spoken to him, the words she’d chosen, the way she’d meant them.

Don’t touch me.

He thought of Stasia. Of the sixteen names in those files.

“I've been ready since the night I found her on that floor.”

ERIKA