Chapter Seventeen
“This section here.” Lamont tapped the laptop screen where Ewen’s article described the substituted armor specifications. “You’re citing facts, which is good, but you need to hook the reader first. Make them care about the soldiers before you bury them in technical details.”
Ewen leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. A week had passed since their claiming, and he’d spent most of it hunched over the keyboard in Lamont’s office. The article had consumed him - all the rage and grief he’d bottled up during his captivity pouring onto the page.
“More emotive language,” Ewen repeated, pulling his glasses off to clean them. “Right. Because nothing says, ‘serious journalism’ like emotional manipulation.”
“It’s not manipulation if it’s true.” Lamont settled onto the edge of the desk, close enough that his knee brushed Ewen’s shoulder.
The casual contact sent warmth through their bond.
“Sergeant Cortesi died because Hardline wanted to save a few thousand dollars per vehicle. That’s not just a statistic - that’s a tragedy. Make the reader feel it.”
Ewen glanced up at his mate. Lamont had pulled his long hair back that morning, the leather cord emphasizing the strong line of his jaw. The claiming bite on his neck was visible above his collar, and Ewen’s fox preened every time he saw it.
“You’ve published in what, a dozen major outlets?” Ewen asked. “Guardian, Times of London, Le Monde...”
“Seventeen, actually.” Lamont’s smile was warm.
“And I’ve read your work too. You’re good, Ewen.
This piece about the armor failures is some of the best investigative journalism I’ve seen in years.
It just needs...” He gestured at the screen.
“Heart. Give them Cortesi’s story first. Then hit them with the evidence. ”
Ewen saved the document and opened a new paragraph at the beginning. Lamont was right. He’d been so intent on getting all his facts on the page, he’d momentarily forgotten to add the people behind it. They deserved their part on the page. His fingers found the keyboard.
Sergeant James Cortesi survived three tours in Afghanistan before an IED took his leg, and his faith in the equipment meant to protect him. “I trusted the armor,” he told this reporter six months before his death. “We all did. That’s what gets me - we trusted it, and it failed.”
“Better,” Lamont murmured, reading over his shoulder. “Now tell them why it failed.”
The words came easier after that. Ewen wove Cortesi’s quotes through the technical specifications, letting the soldier’s voice carry the weight of betrayal.
He detailed the cheaper materials Hardline substituted, the falsified safety tests, and the bribes flowing to Winters and Paulson.
Forty-three dead soldiers became names, became families destroyed, became a pattern of corporate greed that stretched across four years.
By the time Ewen finished the revision, his hands were shaking.
“Good?” Lamont asked quietly.
“Yeah.” Ewen’s voice came out rough. “Yeah, I think so.”
Lamont’s hand settled on his shoulder, steady and warm. “You did right by Cortesi. By all of them.”
Ewen saved the document and closed his laptop before he could second-guess the changes. His fox was restless, pacing inside his skin. Writing about the deaths, about Cortesi’s murder, brought everything back. The basement. The zip ties. The woman’s cold voice asking about his sources.
“Hey.” Lamont crouched beside the chair, bringing them eye-to-eye. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
“I know.” Ewen managed a smile. “Just...ready to get this published. Get it out there before anyone else dies.”
“Speaking of which.” Lamont stood, pulling Ewen up with him. “I made some calls yesterday and talked to a few contacts at European outlets.”
“And?”
“Der Spiegel wants to meet with us. I didn’t give any details, just said we had something major involving American defense contracts and political corruption.” Lamont’s grin turned sharp. “The chief editor cleared his schedule for tomorrow afternoon.”
Ewen’s stomach flipped. “Der Spiegel. You got us a meeting with - Lamont, that’s one of the most respected investigative outlets in Europe.”
“I know.” Lamont looked pleased with himself. “You nervous?”
“Terrified,” Ewen admitted. His reputation at The New York Times meant something in New York, but Der Spiegel operated on a different level entirely. “What if they think the story isn’t strong enough? Or that I’m not credible after The Times scrubbed my employment records?”
“Your work at The Times speaks for itself. The Riverdale corruption exposé, that piece on pension fund embezzlement, the pharmaceutical kickback investigation...” Lamont counted them off on his fingers.
“You broke major stories, Ewen. Won awards. One phone call to any of your editors - the real ones, not Louise parroting whatever line she’s been fed - and Der Spiegel will know exactly who you are. ”
The confidence in Lamont’s voice steadied something in Ewen’s chest. His fox settled, reassured by their mate’s certainty.
“Besides,” Lamont continued, “you’ve got documentation that would make most investigative teams weep with envy. Field reports, maintenance logs, financial records, signed affidavits. This isn’t a conspiracy theory blog post. This is airtight.”
“Until Arcturus makes the witnesses disappear,” Ewen muttered.
“Which is why we move fast.” Lamont pulled him close, wrapping strong arms around him. “After Der Spiegel agrees, we coordinate with other outlets. Simultaneous publication across multiple countries. By the time Arcturus realizes what’s happening, it’ll be too late to bury it.”
Ewen pressed his face against Lamont’s shoulder, breathing in the warm scent of his mate. “You really think this will work?”
“I think you’re brilliant, brave, and stubborn as hell.” Lamont’s lips brushed his temple. “And I think those bastards picked the wrong journalist to stick in a basement.”
/~/~/~/~/
Ewen tugged at his collar as they walked through the lobby of the Der Spiegel headquarters the next day.
Lamont had insisted they both wear suits for the meeting, and Ewen felt uncomfortably formal.
His fox wanted to shift, to run, to be anywhere but in the one place where his entire investigation could live or die.
He’d lived with the case for months, had almost died for it, and now, the whole outcome of his investigation and writing hinged on one meeting with a man he’d never met.
“Relax,” Lamont murmured, his hand warm against the small of Ewen’s back. “You’ve got this.”
The chief editor, Klaus Brenner, met them in a conference room on the executive floor. He was older than Ewen expected, maybe late fifties, with silver threading through his dark hair and sharp eyes that missed nothing.
“Mr. Cross. Lamont.” Brenner shook their hands with a firm grip. “Please, sit.”
Ewen settled into a leather chair and pulled out the laptop. His fingers trembled slightly as he opened the file containing the article. If Brenner noticed, he didn’t say anything about it.
“Lamont mentioned you have a story involving American defense contracts,” Brenner began. His English carried a precise German accent. “Before we discuss details, I need to understand the scope. Are we talking about simple fraud, or something more serious?”
“Corporate manslaughter,” Ewen said. The words came out steadily despite his nerves. “In short, it involves the systematic falsification of safety tests, bribery of government officials, and at least forty-three dead American soldiers over four years because of it.”
Brenner’s expression didn’t change, but he leaned forward slightly. “That’s quite an accusation. What evidence do you have?”
This is it. Nervous, Ewen walked him through it - starting with Cortesi’s story, then moving to the documentation.
He pulled up the maintenance logs showing repeated armor failures, the comparison between original specifications and actual manufacturing specs, and the financial records proving bribes to Winters, Paulson, and Channing.
“I have signed affidavits from three former Hardline employees confirming the material substitutions,” Ewen continued.
“Field reports from multiple incidents where the armor failed, and casualty reports that the Pentagon tried to classify. There is also a direct paper trail connecting the Department of Defense to Hardline through Winters’ daughter’s consulting firm. ”
Brenner took the USB drive Ewen offered and plugged it into his own laptop.
For several long minutes, the only sound was the clicking of keys as he navigated through the files.
Ewen’s heart hammered against his ribs. It was one thing to believe in the story so entirely, but showing it to someone else was always nerve racking, especially with a story that had the potential to blow people’s careers out of the water.
Beside him, Lamont radiated calm confidence through their bond, an anchor that kept Ewen from spiraling into a complete panic.
“This is extraordinary work,” Brenner said finally, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve got to commend you for the meticulous documentation, but I have questions.”
“Of course.”
“You worked for The New York Times. Why bring this to Der Spiegel instead of publishing with your own outlet?”
Ewen had practiced this answer with Lamont.
“Because two days after I was kidnapped in Egypt, someone from the U.S. government met with The Times’ publisher.
Within hours, my employment records were scrubbed, my office was cleaned out, and my editor was told to stop asking questions about my disappearance.
They’re calling it a sabbatical now. A misunderstanding, apparently. ”
“But you weren’t on sabbatical.”
“I was being held in a basement by private security contractors while a woman interrogated me about my sources.” Ewen met Brenner’s eyes.
“The man I was supposed to meet in Cairo - a quality control supervisor from Hardline’s Egyptian facility - was killed in a car bombing disguised as a terrorist attack while I was in that basement.
My captors told me it had happened. My primary source, Sergeant Cortesi, died in a suspicious car accident three months ago.
I don’t think I’m being paranoid if I suggest there’s a bit of a pattern here. ”
Brenner sat back, fingers steepled. “You understand that publishing this story will make you a target.”
“I’m already a target,” Ewen said flatly. “Publishing is the only way to make sure I don’t disappear permanently.”
“And you?” Brenner turned to Lamont. “What is your involvement in this?”
“Ewen is my partner.” Lamont’s voice was firm, despite the casual tone. “I’m here to make sure this story gets published before anyone else dies trying to bury it.”
Brenner studied them both for a long moment.
Then he smiled, and Ewen recognized it for what it was.
The smile of a man who’d snapped a prize he knew others would be frothing at the mouth over.
“Der Spiegel has a long history of exposing corruption, Mr. Cross. If your documentation holds up under verification, we would be honored to publish your work.”
Relief flooded through Ewen so strongly that his fox nearly surged forward. “Thank you. I…”
“However,” Brenner interrupted, “I have conditions.”
Ewen’s stomach dropped. “What conditions?”
“First, our investigative team will need to verify everything. I want independent confirmation of the financial records, interviews with the former Hardline employees if possible, and verification from military sources about the casualty reports.” Brenner tapped the desk. “This is too important to get wrong.”
“Of course.” Ewen had expected that. “How long will verification take?”
“Two weeks, perhaps three.”
“That’s too long.” Lamont leaned forward. “Every day we wait is another day for Arcturus to eliminate witnesses or destroy evidence.”
Brenner’s expression hardened. “And every mistake we make gives Hardline and their government allies ammunition to discredit the entire story. We do this right, or we don’t do it at all.”
“Can we coordinate with other outlets?” Ewen asked. “Simultaneous publication across multiple countries. That way, even if one gets pressured to pull the story…”
“The others still run it,” Brenner finished. “Yes, that’s smart. Who did you have in mind?”
“The Guardian, Le Monde, maybe NRC Handelsblad.” Lamont counted them off. “Outlets with strong investigative traditions and independence from American political pressure.”
Brenner nodded slowly. “I can make those calls. We’ve worked with Guardian before on cross-border investigations. But understand I’m going to insist Der Spiegel gets first rights. We publish the full investigation, and the others can run their own versions, citing our reporting.”
“Agreed,” Ewen said quickly, before Lamont could object. This was more than he’d hoped for. Getting major international coverage with Der Spiegel’s credibility behind it was the sort of thing journalists dreamed of.
“Excellent.” Brenner stood, extending his hand again. “I’ll have our senior investigative reporter contact you tomorrow to begin verification. In the meantime, Mr. Cross, I suggest you watch your back.”
The friendly warning sent ice down Ewen’s spine. “You think Arcturus will come after me again?”
“I think you’re sitting on evidence that could destroy a billion-dollar defense contractor and bring down multiple government officials.
” Brenner’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“The Arcturus Group is not going to be happy when this publishes. And people who hire private military contractors to solve their problems tend to be...persistent.”