Chapter Thirty Two
Maggie
My eyes blur as I scroll through the endless stream of articles on Liam.
Each headline feels like a jab, each paragraph another twist of the knife.
I’ve read through all of them at least three times, but exhaustion doesn’t stop me from combing through them again.
This time, though, something new catches my attention—something I didn’t notice before.
“Jack!” I call out. The room goes quiet for a moment, heads turning toward me, but I keep my eyes on Liam’s cousin-in-law.
Jack saunters over, a steaming cup of coffee in hand and a curious look on his face. “What is it?” he asks, his tone calm but tinged with urgency.
I swivel my laptop toward him, tapping on a highlighted section of text.
“Take a look at this,” I say, struggling to keep my voice steady.
“There’s the usual stuff about Liam’s personal life—his diet, his routines, the stuff you’d expect—but then there’s this…
” I point to a specific paragraph. “Details about him struggling in the weight room, not keeping up with the other guys like he used to. That’s not public information. Is it even true?”
Jack frowns, lowering his coffee to focus on the screen. “You’re right,” he mutters, skimming the article. “That’s... pretty detailed. Way more specific than anything Lyla could’ve given them.”
I nod, my mind racing. “Exactly. Lyla might’ve had access to his personal life, but this? This feels like it came from someone who’s seen him train. Someone who’s been there.”
Jack leans back, his arms crossing over his chest. “So, what are you thinking? Someone on his team? His coach? A trainer, maybe?”
I hesitate, biting my lip. “I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but… a trainer would know about his struggles in the gym, wouldn’t he?”
Jack tilts his head, considering it. “Zach? That’s a bold accusation, Maggie. You really think he’d sell Liam out like that?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, shaking my head. “But it makes sense, doesn’t it? Zach would have firsthand knowledge of Liam’s routines—of his highs and lows. If someone wanted to make these allegations believable, they’d need something concrete. And this? This is concrete.”
Jack nods slowly, his expression grim. “You’ve got a point. But we can’t just go around accusing people without proof.”
“I know,” I say, rubbing my temples. “But we’re running out of options. It could still be Lyla, but we have to consider that all the information leaking might not be coming just from one source.”
Jack sighs, taking a long sip of his coffee before setting the cup down on the table. “Alright,” he says firmly. “Let’s think this through. Could someone like Zach be feeding Lyla the information?”
I shake my head. “The details in this article are intimate. Whoever leaked this had to have been close enough to slowly craft a story about him struggling but distant enough to not care about the fallout. Whoever did this, they’re calculated.”
Jack arches a brow. “Distant enough… but trusted enough to stay close.”
My stomach twists as the pieces begin to fall into place. “Zach,” I whisper, the name hanging heavy in the air between us.
Jack’s eyes narrow. “It’s a theory,” he concedes.
“But we need more than a gut feeling to go on. We need evidence. We also have to consider Lon. He’s been itching to retire but Liam’s talked him into still coaching.
He’s the one who hand-picked Zach as Liam’s new trainer years ago.
Lon is a contender for leaking the information, too. ”
“I know,” I say, swallowing hard. “But if Zach or Lon really is the leak, what does that mean for Liam? What does that mean for us?”
Jack places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “It means we dig,” he says. “We follow the trail, find the connections, and get to the truth. No matter where it leads.”
I nod, my resolve hardening. If Liam’s team is behind this, I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it. For Liam. For the truth. And for the chance to finally put this nightmare to rest.
***
Several hours later, the house feels eerily quiet after a group of Thompsons leave go to watch Liam’s final run down the mountain.
Part of me wanted to be there, bundled up in the snow, cheering him on.
But I know I can do more good here, in front of a screen, digging through articles and chasing leads.
If there’s even the slightest chance I can uncover the truth before the competition ends, it’ll be worth missing the spectacle.
The chime of my phone snaps me out of my thoughts. I grab it and see a message from Odie: Check your email.
My heart pounds as I open my email in a new internet tab on Liam’s laptop. Sure enough, there’s a message from Odie with just one line: Call this number. Below it is a string of digits. No explanation. No details. Just a number.
Jack’s voice pulls me out of my spiral. “What’s going on, Cooper?” he asks, his sharp eyes catching the tension in my face.
“My colleague just sent me a phone number,” I explain, showing him the screen. “No context. Just the number.”
“Then call it,” Jack says, his tone decisive.
I swallow hard, pick up my phone, and dial. Each ring feels like an eternity. I count four, five, six rings before the line goes dead. No answer. No voicemail. Nothing.
“Damn it,” I mutter, blowing out a frustrated breath. “No one picked up.”
Jack, ever the problem solver, leans over the table. “Google it,” he says simply.
I nod, typing the number into the search bar with shaky fingers. I don’t expect much. Phone numbers rarely lead to anything useful. But when I hit enter, my breath catches in my throat. Something pops up.
“Wait,” I whisper, leaning closer to the screen. “There’s… something here.”
“What is it?” Jack asks, low and cautious.
I click on the first link. It’s a directory listing, tied to a name and a business. My heart races as I read it out loud. “Zachary Miller… Miller Performance Coaching?”
Jack’s eyes widen. “That’s Liam’s trainer.”
“I knew it,” I whisper, my chest tightening as the pieces start falling into place. “It has to be him.”
Jack leans over my shoulder, scanning the page. “It doesn’t prove anything yet,” he says. “But it’s a start. We need to find any correlations between leaks and Liam’s training sessions.”
I nod, my hands flying across the keyboard as I open new tabs, searching for connections between Zach and the media outlets that published the doping allegations. With every click, I feel the walls closing in on the truth.
“Why would his trainer—someone who spends every day with him—lie?” I ask Jack, my frustration bubbling over as I stand and begin pacing the room.
Jack leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest as he watches me. “Motives can be complicated, but in my journalistic experience, they usually boil down to four things: fear, revenge, anger, or jealousy.”
I pause mid-step and let out a bitter chuckle. “So basically, love, money, or power?”
Jack tilts his head thoughtfully. “You’re not wrong.
Those are the classics. But with Zach? I think it goes much deeper than that.
Love could be a stretch; he’s had the same girlfriend for years.
Money’s unlikely too—Liam already pays him a lot more than most trainers make, so what would he gain by sabotaging him? ”
“Which leaves power,” I say, sliding into the chair across from him. “But what kind of power could a trainer want? He’s just a guy living on a small mountain, coaching snowboarders.”
Jack drums his fingers on the table, his gaze sharpening. “Power doesn’t always mean running the world, Maggie. It can be about control—controlling a narrative, controlling someone’s future. Or maybe Zach feels like Liam has too much power and he resents it.”
I mull that over for a moment, chewing on the idea. “So, fear, revenge, anger, or jealousy. Which one do you think it is?”
Jack clicks his tongue thoughtfully. “My gut says it’s a combination.
Fear, maybe—if Zach thinks his role in Liam’s career is coming to an end.
Anger? Possible, if there’s been tension between them.
And jealousy—absolutely. Liam’s at the top of the world in his sport, while Zach’s just a shadow in the background. People don’t always handle that well.”
The truth of his words sinks in, and I sit back, rubbing my temples. “If it really is Zach, then Liam needs to know. But we can’t go in accusing someone without solid proof. We have to be sure.”
Jack leans forward, his expression serious. “Then we dig deeper. Look for patterns, anything that links Zach to the media or the timing of these leaks. If Zach’s our guy, we’ll find the thread that ties him to this.”
I nod, determination settling over me like armor. “Let’s do it. Liam deserves to know who’s been stabbing him in the back.”
Jack smiles faintly, a glimmer of respect in his eyes. “You’re good at this, Cooper. Now let’s find that thread.”
I dive into Zach’s business social media pages, scrolling through countless photos of his clients mid-training.
Unsurprisingly, Liam dominates the majority of his posts.
There are sponsored advertisements featuring Liam lifting weights in the background, his name tagged in nearly every caption.
He’s clearly making more than his fair share of money off of Liam.
Both in the weight training room and through advertisers wanting a glimpse of snowboarding’s bad boy.
I skim the comments on posts with Liam featured, noting the flood of praise from fans and clients alike. Then something catches my eye—Lyla Goldberg.
She left a comment on a sponsored post about protein powder from a year ago: Best trainer ever!!!
My curiosity piqued, I start combing through Zach’s older posts. Sure enough, Lyla’s name pops up repeatedly across various platforms. She hasn’t posted anything blatantly inappropriate, but her presence is impossible to ignore. It feels calculated, like she’s staking a claim.
“What can you tell me about Lyla Goldberg?” I ask Jack, leaning back in my chair.
He smirks. “You jealous?”
I roll my eyes. “No, but she’s all over Zach’s social media pages. Something about it feels... off.”
Jack scratches his chin thoughtfully. “She chased after Liam hard for a while. Wore him down, if you ask me. He never seemed all that into her. You know, now that I think about it, she never stepped foot in this house. If she did, I wasn’t here.
And she certainly wasn’t invited on family vacations or trips. ”
“That is odd,” I say, tapping my pen against the desk. “But it’s also odd that you noticed.”
Jack grins. “I notice everything. Comes with the territory. It’s probably why I’m such a damn good editor.”
“You think?” I tease, raising an eyebrow.
“No,” he replies confidently, “I know.”
We share a laugh before a new thought nudges its way into my mind. I bite my lip, hesitating before asking, “So, uh... do you really have an opening for a senior writer?”
Jack’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Yeah. You interested?”
I let out a dry laugh. “Let’s just say I’m on the brink of unemployment. And I kind of, sort of, maybe... like it here.”
“The pay’s crap,” Jack warns, deadpan.
“I’m used to crap pay,” I reply, grinning. “I drive a car that has to be started with a screwdriver.”
Jack laughs harder at that. “You’re kidding.”
“Not even a little,” I say, shaking my head.
“Well, if you want the job, it’s yours,” Jack offers. His sincerity catches me off guard, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I might have options.
“Can I let you know in a few days?” I ask.
Jack nods. “Take your time. And I’m guessing you’d prefer I keep this between us until then?”
“Please,” I reply, grateful for his understanding.
“Consider it done.”
Feeling a flicker of hope, I dive back into my research. If Lyla and Zach are connected, I’m going to find out how—and why.