glare at him while he assumes an unconvincing innocent expression. "What? You know how I am with research. I pass out, fall asleep, die a premature death."
"I can help," Greyson says. "Although I'll have to check with Harley as to when. She's been with Dakota almost 24/7 lately - she's more than overdue for a little break."
"I can too," Emerson says, trying to smile reassuringly but only succeeding in looking less-than-eager. "But where do we start?"
"We start with looking at the claim Goldtree submitted," I say. "And looking into the company itself. See if Dad met with them at any point, had any connections who worked there, etc. I mean, if he plagiarized from them, then he had to have met or talked with someone who worked there at some point."
Greyson nods, eyeing his drink thoughtfully. "True." He rises. "I'm going to compile a list of Goldtree's top employees, or at least the ones involved in their broadcasting division."
I rise. "I appreciate your involvement, but don't you think I should be doing that?"
"No," he says. "You have more important things to be focusing on."
As soon as he says it, I realize I've missed the obvious. "Right - Dad's close friends and business associates. I'll have Madeline compile a list of them and call them up myself. They could've heard something about this Goldtree TV show if it was a big enough deal, or even know something more specific."
"Will they really jump at admitting anything that could implicate Dad in plagiarism?" Nolan wonders aloud.
"Not the way I'll put it," I say. "We can decide what to do with the information once we have it, but I'll promise them we're going to protect Dad at all costs."
"You mean you're going to lie," Nolan says helpfully.
"No." I sit back down. "I mean that I'm going to do what I have to do. Keeping Storm Media out of trouble might mean protecting Dad, unfortunately. We need to know the truth if we're going to figure out what to do with it.
"At any rate, it's a start," I add.
Nolan lifts his glass. "Well, I'll drink to that."
Chapter 4
Kyra
God, I love winning.
The feeling when you're at the precipice of a big case, one second away from everything being worth it. I even love the times like now, when you can feel yourself inching towards that moment inexorably, unavoidably.
"That's all for today," I say, smiling wide at the rheumy-eyed judge, then at Landon, who looks pissed enough to storm out on the spot. "The evidence speaks for itself."
The judge rubs at the white tuft on his chin contemplatively. "It would appear so. Court dismissed for today."
As I stride out, Landon calls after me, "Hey, wait!"
"Sorry," I say. "Not in the mood for another yesterday."
"Guess I'll keep your case binder, then," he says easily.
I pause. Sure enough, the jerk has my binder in his hands, is holding it out for me.
I take it, then continue walking off.
"Would a 'thanks' kill you?" he asks.
Don't stop - don't stop - don't -
I turn around to glare at him. "You're right, I should be falling all over myself for you showing basic human decency. After all, it probably is a stretch for you."
A smile plays on his face. "You're really determined to hate me, aren't you?"
I shoot him a sweet smile. "Doesn't take much determination."
He cocks his head to one side, smiles that stupid one-sided smile. "Oh yeah?"
I turn around again. "Yeah. Now, if you'll excuse me - "
"I'm sorry, you know."
I pause. My back stiffens. Here it is. What I'd been aching to hear for years - years - now, too many years too late.
"Kyra, did you hear me?"
I exhale. "Are you being serious right now?"
Despite my better instincts not to waste another second here, not to give the tool so much as a second look, I glance his way.
"What?" he says.
Stay cool. Just let him say whatever it is he needs to say, then leave. "What are you sorry for?"
"For yesterday, for what happened back in college. I'm sorry, Kyra."
I nod. "OK."
He adjusts his stance. "OK..."
My glare cuts to him. "What - am I supposed to be jumping up and down ecstatically?"
"No. I just... thought I should get that out of the way."
I nod. "Well. Right. OK. Now that you've gotten that out of the way, can I leave?"
He stands there, gaping at me. As if he expected a fricking Nobel Peace Prize or something.
"Am I supposed to be impressed that you're apologizing now of all times? Years too