Chapter 37
thirty-seven
. . .
Jess
The blue folder sits open on my desk, its contents spread across the surface like evidence at a crime scene. Three women’s stories. Three careers derailed. One powerful man at the center of it all.
I haven’t returned to Lucas’s apartment since our fight. It’s been a week, but the pain of his accusations still cuts deep. Thankfully, I’ve channeled that hurt into something productive: verifying every detail of the allegations against Senator Logan Carmichael.
Poking her head into my office, my assistant announces, “Ms. Martin is here.”
I nod, gathering the papers into a neat stack. “Send her in.”
Vanessa Martin enters with the careful composure of someone who’s spent months preparing for this moment. She’s younger than I expected, maybe early thirties, with a straight-backed posture that speaks of resolve rather than fear.
“Thank you for meeting with me,” I say, gesturing to the chair across from my desk.
“Thank you for taking my story seriously.” She settles into the seat, her hands folded in her lap. “Not everyone has.”
“I’ve reviewed the documentation you provided.” I tap the folder. “Your employment records, the text messages, the timeline of events. Everything checks out.”
Relief flickers across her face. “So, you believe me?”
“I do.” I lean forward. “But I need to understand what you want from this story. Justice? Vindication? Revenge?”
Her shoulders square. “Truth. That’s all. The senator presents himself as a family-values candidate while treating women who work for him as disposable. People deserve to know who they’re voting for.”
The clarity in her voice makes my chest tighten.
It’s the same familiar story, the one I’ve told over and over: the mask of charm, the unchecked entitlement, the way powerful men operate just beneath the surface of plausible deniability.
Hell, I’ve even experienced it personally with men like Marcus.
I study her, looking for any signs of ulterior motives, political rivalries, personal vendettas, or financial incentives. I find none, just the quiet dignity of someone who’s been wronged and seeks only acknowledgment.
“I’ll publish the story,” I tell her, “but not until after he announces his candidacy for governor. And I want to give his team plenty of time to respond.”
“They’ll deny everything,” she says with certainty.
“Most likely. But we have evidence.” I hesitate. “Ms. Martin, I should disclose that I have a personal connection to this story. The senator is my father-in-law.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “I’d heard you were married to his son, but I wasn’t sure if it was true. Does that complicate things for you?”
“It does.” Honesty seems the only appropriate response. “But it doesn’t change my commitment to the truth. This story will run, regardless of my personal circumstances.”
She nods, and a look of respect crosses her features. “That’s why I came to you. Your reputation for integrity, even when it’s difficult.”
After Vanessa leaves, I stand at my office window, watching Los Angeles traffic crawl below. The wedding band on my finger catches the light, a constant reminder of what’s at stake. I spin it absently. The now-familiar weight suddenly feels heavier.
My phone vibrates on the desk. Dylan’s name flashes on the screen.
“Hey, Dylan.”
“Jess! Just checking in about the Carmichael announcement shoot. We’ll plan to meet the two of you there and can run through the shot list before everything starts.”
My stomach tightens. The gubernatorial announcement is our last major documentary obligation before the final interview. Despite everything, Lucas will be standing dutifully beside his father.
“Yes,” I say, my voice steady though everything inside me feels off-kilter. “We’ll be there.”
We’ve agreed to these shoots, signed off on them weeks ago. Even with whatever’s unraveling between us now, we won’t break our commitment.
“Great. This should be fantastic material. The power couple supporting family despite professional challenges. It’s the perfect narrative arc.”
“See you in two weeks,” I say, fighting my instinct to correct him.
My phone rings again. Unknown number.
“Jess Lexington speaking.”
“I’m confused? Is it Lexington or Carmichael?” The voice is instantly recognizable. Logan Carmichael’s practiced political tone is a blend of authority and folksy approachability.
“What can I do for you, Senator?”
“I understand you’re working on a story that concerns me.”
“Yes, I’m investigating allegations of workplace harassment from several former staffers. Would you like to comment?”
A pause, followed by a short laugh. “Always the professional. I was hoping we might speak off the record, as family.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Senator.”
“Logan, please. We are family, after all.” His voice drops slightly. “Family that looks out for each other.”
The implication hangs in the air between us.
“If you’d like to provide a statement for the record, I’m happy to include it in the story,” I say, keeping my voice neutral.
“Jessica,” he says, his tone harder now, “you know how this works. These allegations are baseless—disgruntled former employees looking for a payday. Publishing them serves no one but harms many, including my wife. Including Lucas.”
My chest tightens, but I don’t let it show in my voice. “Then maybe you should’ve thought about that before you used your position to take advantage of people who trusted you.”
A beat. Then he drops the last card he has.
“You really think the political world’s going to embrace a tabloid journalist who married into the scandal she exposed? You’ll lose access. The calls will stop coming. You’ll be the story no one wants to touch.”
I smile, sharp and steady. “That’s the difference between us, Senator. You’re scared of losing access. I’m not scared of telling the truth.”
The charm vanishes completely. “I expected better from you after welcoming you into our family.”
“If the allegations are baseless, then you have nothing to worry about,” I reply evenly. “Your official statement will be included prominently.”
“I see. Well, I hope you’re prepared for the consequences of your choices, Ms. Lexington. Good day.”
The line goes dead.
I set the phone down, my hands steady despite the subtle threat in his words. Logan Carmichael is used to controlling narratives, to making problems disappear through influence and intimidation. He’s met his match.
As afternoon fades into evening, I work methodically through the evidence, crafting the story that will likely end my marriage but uphold everything I believe in professionally.
My phone buzzes, and for a minute, hope surges at the thought of Lucas reaching out.
AUSTIN
Surf Sunday morning?
I’m disappointed when I don’t see his name on my screen.
JESS
Yes, I need it. 6AM. Zuma.
I glance at the wedding ring on my finger one more time, remembering Lucas’s face when he accused me of choosing my career over him. The pain of his words still stings, but underneath it all is a deeper hurt—that he could believe, even for a moment, that I was using him.
I return to my keyboard, and my fingers fly across the keys with renewed determination. If Lucas can’t see me clearly through his pride and pain, that’s his choice, but I won’t compromise who I am—not for him, not for anyone.
The story will run. The truth will come out.
And whatever happens after that, I’ll face it standing on the foundation of integrity I’ve built my entire career upon.