Chapter 12: The Box

The reporter's name was on his badge, but I didn't read it.

I was looking at the folded sheet of paper in his hand.

"I'm Reed Mason," I said.

"You were," he said politely. "At nineteen you changed your name by court order."

He unfolded the page.

"Your birth certificate says Reed Gordon Westerfield, son of Gordon Westerfield."

He smiled.

"I covered your father's funeral. I remember you standing by the cars."

"What do you want?"

"A statement. A video of a woman in scrubs taking apart your stepmother has two million views this morning."

He lifted the page.

"People want to know who her husband is. The answer is more interesting than the question."

I looked at him for a long moment.

"Dalton's office called my editor twice this morning," he said. "They asked us to kill the story."

"And?"

"And my editor wants to know why a billionaire's family is so afraid of a loader."

I almost smiled.

"Off the record," I said, "I need seventy-two hours."

"For what?"

"For the answer to get more interesting."

He studied me, and he gave a slow nod.

"Seventy-two hours. Then I print."

He put his hat back on and walked away.

I stood at the gate with my heart pounding.

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