By dawn, Greyharbor was no longer just a fishing town — it had become a story. Cameras lined the coast, vans parked along the main street, reporters swarming near the courthouse steps. They’d all come for the same reason: the scheduled press address by the man at the center of the Locke scandal.No one outside his inner circle knew what Adrian planned to say. Some expected a denial, others a confession. A few whispered that he’d finally broken under the pressure.Inside the town hall, Adrian stood before the mirror in the small back room, adjusting the collar of his worn jacket. It wasn’t the kind of suit people expected from a billionaire’s son — it was simple, functional, honest. He ran a hand over his face, feeling the rough edge of sleeplessness.Sarah entered quietly, holding a folder. “The networks are already live,” she said. “You don’t have to do this, Adrian. Not yet.”He turned to her, eyes calm but burning with conviction. “Yes, I do. He’s controlling the narrative. The onl

The storm that had swept through Greyharbor the night before had passed, leaving the streets slick and silver under a low morning mist. The ocean lay still for once, as if holding its breath — waiting to see which side would move first.In the old boathouse that now served as their makeshift headquarters, Adrian stood over a cluttered table littered with files, printouts, and a single laptop humming faintly. Sarah and Cole flanked him on either side, both running on caffeine and sheer defiance.Cole was the first to break the silence. “If Locke wants to turn this into a media war, we can’t just defend. We need to hit back — hard.”Sarah looked up from her screen. “We will. But not with noise — with truth. I’ve been tracing his offshore accounts. Shell companies under fake environmental projects, all linked to Greyharbor’s developer network. If we publish this, it’ll tie Victor directly to illegal land transfers.”Adrian leaned closer, scanning the documents. The figures were staggerin

The studio lights were blinding.They glared down from high rafters, hot and sharp, as if trying to peel away every mask Adrian had ever worn.A producer’s voice echoed in the background. “Thirty seconds to live.”Sarah stood just beyond the frame, headset around her neck, her expression equal parts tension and pride. Cole hovered near the exit, scanning the corridor for anyone who didn’t belong. Every instinct in him said this was dangerous.But Adrian stood still, microphone clipped to his lapel, suit crisp yet simple — no tie, no pretense. His face bore the quiet calm of someone who’d stopped running.The anchor, a seasoned journalist with eyes like polished glass, turned toward him. “Mr. Locke,” she began softly, “the world knows your name now — but not your full story. Why come forward? Why now?”The red light above the camera blinked on. They were live.Adrian leaned forward slightly, his voice steady. “Because silence helps the powerful. And for too long, I was silent.”He paus

Greyharbor’s dawn broke gray and cold, the sea mist swallowing the horizon as if the world itself were holding its breath.Inside the marina’s boathouse, the hum of computers and the faint clatter of keyboards replaced the usual rhythm of gulls and waves. Cole had converted the small storage space into a makeshift command center — wires running along the floor, a portable generator purring softly in the corner.Sarah, pale but composed, reviewed the encrypted folders Adrian had unearthed. They were fragments of a much larger puzzle — transaction logs, email metadata, server access trails — all leading to the hidden arteries of Locke Global’s corruption.Cole exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “The FreePress Alliance will only move if they’re certain it’s authentic. They’ve been burned too many times by doctored leaks.”Adrian leaned against the table, his tone steady but urgent. “Then we give them proof — every checksum, every signature. I know Locke’s systems. If we can replica

By the next morning, Greyharbor buzzed with furious energy. The blackout had lifted in parts of the town, flickering lights returning like hesitant hope — but the real fire was now in the people.They had seen the leaked files, passed from hand to hand like contraband truth. They spoke of Locke Global’s manipulation, of the deliberate blackout to “leverage cooperation.” For a brief moment, unity burned bright — outrage drawing neighbors together.Then the screens lit up again.The first broadcast came from Channel Nine, one of the regional networks owned by a Locke subsidiary. The anchor’s tone was calm, polished, venom wrapped in professionalism.“Earlier this morning, unverified data — allegedly from Locke Global — was released by unidentified sources connected to Adrian Locke, the estranged son of the company’s founder. Experts have called the leak a deliberate act of defamation and potential cybercrime. Locke Global has confirmed that it will pursue full legal action.”The screen