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Natalie clears her throat gently. "Shall we start the recording now?"
"Let's do it," I whisper.
Once the recorder clicks to life, I dive into the story. "For years, I've wanted to fight for what's right, to make a difference, even if it’s in my own nerdy, engineering way," I start, my voice quivering but steady. "But the depth of corruption and deceit surrounding theMar y Tierraresort project took me by surprise."
Natalie's pen moves swiftly across the paper, her eyes occasionally darting up to meet mine, waiting for the details.
"It's not just an ordinary construction project," I continue. "TheMar y Tierraresort was supposed to be a symbol of sustainable luxury, a beacon of hope for Costa Oscura's tourism. But beneath its facade lies a dark secret."
Leaning forward, I lock eyes with Natalie.
"It's a front, a smokescreen for a much larger and dangerous operation. The resort construction is merely a cover-up for money laundering on a massive scale. And the puppet masters pulling the strings? The Santoro Crime Syndicate."
A gasp escapes Natalie’s lips, her pen pausing mid-sentence. Then, like the professional she is, she resumes writing.
“They plan to use the vast expenses of construction to funnel and legitimize their criminal revenues,” I explain further, the rawness of betrayal evident in my voice. “But it's not just about the money. The environmental repercussions are catastrophic. The pristine waters, the unique biodiversity of Costa Oscura—it’s all at risk. All the schematics I made to haveMar y Tierrabe an ecologically beneficial resort, a place that would protect and preserve the land it’s built on, they’ve corrupted it. I’ve seen the suppliers they plan to order from, the materials they plan to use. It’s all wrong, all awful, so terrible they might as well just dump toxic waste right into the sea."
I can see the wheels turning in Natalie's mind, the implications of the story unraveling before her. "The public needs to know," she murmurs, echoing my sentiments.
“There’s so much more,” I start. “All this information from these files I found hidden deep within their computer servers. Here, let me show you…” I take out the flash drive and slip it into Natalie’s laptop, loading up mountains of information, all of it dark, disturbing, and deeply criminal. “It’s all here. It’s all so… sick.”
Her eyes scan the screen with the rapid speed of someone who lives for data and information.
“It is. It’s sick, but it’s more than enough.”
An intense, pregnant silence settles between us. But it’s a silence filled with understanding and determination, and the glint in Natalie's eyes tells me she is just as committed to the truth as I am.
“More than enough for what?”
She looks up from her notes, her fingers tapping a restless rhythm against her pen.
“Lia, what you’ve uncovered… it’s monumental,” she begins, her voice shaking ever so slightly. “When this story breaks, the police, even the FBI, will have no choice but to intervene. You’re not just going to save my grandmother’s house, you’re going to end that entire twisted project and hit a criminal organization right where it hurts.”
The weight of her words threatens to pull me under, the magnitude of the situation becoming clearer with each passing second. The thought of the FBI getting involved is both terrifying and comforting.
“But,” Natalie continues, leaning forward with an intense look in her eyes, “you need to understand that things might get even murkier before they get clearer. The Santoro Syndicate is notorious for its ruthlessness. Their first reaction will be to squash the story, to eliminate any potential witnesses or threats."
Memories of the chase, the bullets, and the narrow escapes flash in my mind. We are walking a perilous tightrope. Marcus seems to sense my apprehension. His fingers tighten around my shoulder. His voice is firm and protective.
"We’ve taken everything they’ve had to throw at us. Whatever happens, we'll face it head-on. No one's quashing anything on our watch."
Natalie nods. "Once the story is out, and especially once the FBI steps in, the syndicate will be cornered. Their vast network, their operations, everything will be under scrutiny. We just have to weather the storm until then."
Drawing strength from Marcus's unwavering support and Natalie's tenacity, I say, “I think we’re more than capable of lasting a little longer, don’t you, Marcus?"
“They can bring it on, for all I care. I’d love another crack at all of Antonio’s buddies,” he says, grinning.
Natalie goes quiet for a moment, her fingers dancing across the keys of her laptop. Finally, with a look that’s both proud and apprehensive, she says, “I’ve just sent the rough cut of this interview to my editor. Just to be safe. Oh, I can’t wait to finish this thing. It’s going to be huge. So fucking huge.” Natalie’s smile lights up the room. This story isn’t just big for me, for Marcus, and for saving Eileen’s house—this story is going to send Natalie’s career into orbit. "They’re done for, Lia. You’ve beaten them. You’ve won."
I look out the window, see the sun casting its glowing rays over the landscape, and feel the weight that’s been on my shoulders ever since this nightmare began suddenly disappear, replaced by hope, by gratitude, by love.
I take Marcus’s hand in mine and squeeze it.
“We’ve won.”
Epilogue: Amelia
Weeks later
