Eddie had his opening. He'd been playing nice for the past ten minutes, lobbing soft questions about Drake's vision and accomplishments. But the names from last night's files were burned into his memory, and he couldn't let this opportunity pass.
"Mr. Drake," Eddie said, his tone shifting slightly, "I'd like to understand the specific operational mechanisms of the Life Foundation. Particularly how you arrange for people to participate in your pharmaceutical trials."
Carlton Drake's smile didn't falter, but something flickered in his eyes—a warning sign that Eddie registered but chose to ignore.
Sara, Eddie's assistant, immediately stepped closer and touched his elbow. "Eddie," she murmured, "stick to the approved questions."
Eddie pulled his arm away, keeping his gaze fixed on Drake. "I'm not off-topic. I want to ask about the lawsuits filed against your company."
Drake's smile vanished. "No comment."
"Some critics claim your entire business empire is built on the bodies of vulnerable people who trusted you." Eddie's voice grew harder. "That you specifically target homeless individuals for dangerous medical experiments. Fatal experiments."
"Eddie—" Sarah hissed.
"Mr. Brock," Drake said, his voice ice-cold, "I'm aware of the rumors circulating online. Fake news is everywhere these days. Surely you, as a journalist, understand the difference between facts and fiction."
Eddie reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone, where he'd taken photos of the legal files last night. "What about the wrongful death lawsuits? The settlements your company has been paying out?"
Drake's expression froze. "Excuse me?"
"The people who died in your trials." Eddie's voice cut through the corridor like a blade. "Philip Barclay. Robert MacDonald. Eduardo Flores. Jennifer Kim. Should I keep going? Because I have fifty-four names."
The color drained from Drake's face, but his eyes went hard as diamonds. He made a sharp gesture to the security personnel who'd been following at a discreet distance.
Two men in black suits immediately moved forward, one reaching for Eddie's cameraman. "Sir, you need to stop recording."
"Hey!" Mike protested as the guard grabbed his camera.
Drake straightened his tie, composure sliding back into place like armor. "I appreciate you coming for the interview today, Mr. Brock. But I have pressing matters to attend to. This interview is concluded."
"Concluded?" Eddie stepped forward, anger replacing his professional demeanor. "Those people walked into your facility and never walked out. What happened to them? What are you really doing in there?"
The security guards moved between Eddie and Drake, physically separating them. One guard put a hand on Eddie's chest and began pushing him backward. Sarah and Mike were already being herded toward the exit.
"I'll be back," Eddie called out over the guard's shoulder. "I'll get the truth, Drake!"
Carlton Drake looked at him with something approaching pity. "No, Mr. Brock. You won't."
He extended his hand in a gesture that might have been a wave or dismissal. "I wish you a happy life."
The words carried a weight that made Eddie's stomach drop. This wasn't just the end of an interview. It was a threat.
"Are you threatening me?" Eddie asked, even as the guards pushed him toward the door.
Drake's smile was cold and empty. "Merely offering well wishes. Goodbye, Mr. Brock."
The moment Eddie and his team were escorted out the main entrance, Carlton Drake pulled out his phone and dialed his chief secretary.
"Sir?" The secretary answered on the first ring.
"Contact the Daily Globe immediately," Drake said, his voice clipped and precise. "Tell them if they want to avoid bankruptcy, they'll terminate Eddie Brock's employment within the hour."
He walked toward his private elevator, security personnel clearing the path. "Then contact every media outlet, every publication, every network. I want Eddie Brock blacklisted. Anyone who hires him is declaring themselves an enemy of the Life Foundation."
Drake stepped into the elevator. "I want him unemployable. I want him to spend the rest of his miserable life regretting the day he said my name."
"Understood, sir. Anything else?"
"Find out how he accessed that information." Drake's voice dropped to something dangerous. "Someone leaked those files. Find out who, and make sure they understand the consequences of betraying me."
"Yes, sir."
Drake ended the call and stared at his reflection in the polished elevator doors. Eddie Brock had made a fatal mistake—he'd challenged Carlton Drake without understanding who he was dealing with.
That mistake would cost him everything.
Daily Globe—One Hour Later
Eddie sat in Barney Bushkin's office, trying to explain himself before he was cut off mid-sentence.
"I know what you're going to say," Eddie said, leaning forward in his chair. "But Barney, Drake is dirty. Really dirty. If you just give me time to investigate properly, I can break a story that'll make the Smith Doyle interview look like a puff piece."
Bushkin's expression was unreadable. "Where did you get the information?"
The question hit Eddie like cold water. "What?"
"Your source, Eddie." Bushkin's voice was flat, businesslike. "Who gave you those names? Who leaked the files?"
This wasn't right. Bushkin had never asked about sources before. He'd always operated on a "don't ask, don't tell" policy—as long as the story was good and the facts checked out, he didn't care how Eddie got his information.
"I don't have a specific source," Eddie lied, his mind racing. "Just a hunch. Investigative instinct."
"A hunch?" Bushkin stood up, walked to the window overlooking the city. "Do you think you're some kind of cowboy, Eddie? We can't publish stories based on your gut feelings."
He turned back, and Eddie saw something in his boss's eyes he'd never seen before—fear.
"Journalism requires evidence," Bushkin continued. "On-the-record sources. Documented proof. You ambushed one of the most powerful men in California based on a hunch, and now—"
His phone buzzed. Bushkin glanced at it, and whatever he saw there made his jaw tighten.
"You're fired," Bushkin said quietly. "Effective immediately. I can't trust you anymore."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
"Barney—"
"I wish you a happy life, Eddie."
The same words. The exact same parting shot that Carlton Drake had used. Eddie understood then—this wasn't Bushkin's decision. This was Drake's power reaching into the Daily Globe and crushing Eddie's career with a single phone call.
"You're letting him do this?" Eddie asked, standing. "You're just going to roll over?"
"I'm protecting my company," Bushkin said. "And my employees. The ones who didn't decide to commit career suicide."
Eddie wanted to argue, to fight, to explain that he'd done this because people were dying. But looking at Bushkin's face, he knew it wouldn't matter. The decision had been made.
He left the office without another word, cleaned out his desk in silence while his former colleagues avoided eye contact, and walked out of the Daily Globe building for the last time.
And the worst part? He knew this was just the beginning. If Drake had gotten him fired this quickly, what else had he done?
The answer hit him like a punch to the gut: Anne.
Downtown San Francisco—Late Afternoon
Eddie stood on the sidewalk outside Anne's law firm, hands shoved in his pockets, trying to figure out what to say when she came out. He'd been waiting for over an hour, watching employees leave the building in ones and twos.
Then he saw her.
Anne pushed through the glass doors carrying a cardboard box—the universal symbol of sudden unemployment. Her face was flushed, her jaw tight, and even from thirty feet away, Eddie could see the anger radiating off her like heat.
The moment she spotted him, her expression went from angry to furious.
"Anne—" Eddie started.
"Don't." She walked past him, heading for her car in the parking structure across the street.
Eddie followed. "Anne, please, just let me explain—"
She whirled on him, and the box shifted in her arms. "Explain? You want to explain how you violated attorney-client privilege? How you accessed confidential files from my computer while I was asleep?"
Her voice rose, attracting stares from passersby. "Or maybe you want to explain how you didn't even have the decency to tell me what you'd seen? How you just went ahead and destroyed both our careers without even warning me?"
"I was trying to protect you—"
"Protect me?" Anne laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. "I just got fired, Eddie. They escorted me out of the building like a criminal. All because my boyfriend decided to play hero without thinking about the consequences."
Eddie reached for her arm. "Anne, I'm sorry. I didn't think Drake would—"
She jerked away from his touch. "That's the problem, Eddie. You never think. You're so obsessed with the story, with being the crusading journalist, that you don't care who gets hurt in the process."
Anne shifted the box to one hip, freeing a hand to wipe angrily at her eyes. "Your self-centeredness has reached a pathological level. You only care about the attention, about being the guy who breaks the big story."
She took a shaky breath. "And I've been willing to accept that. I've defended you, made excuses for you, believed in you even when you made it hard."
Eddie's chest tightened at the past tense. "Anne, don't—"
"Because I loved you," Anne said quietly.
The words hit Eddie like a physical blow. "Loved?" he repeated, his voice cracking slightly. "What do you mean, loved?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Writing takes time, coffee, and a lot of love.If you'd like to support my work, join me at [email protected]/GoldenGaruda
You'll get early access to over 50 chapters, selection on new series, and the satisfaction of knowing your support directly fuels more stories.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~