Meet Scarlett Striker, a bold and quirky journalist for the Seattle Times. She's fun, confident, sassy, and just the right amount of weird. Scarlett is determined to rise to the top, no matter what it takes.
When her boss offers a golden opportunity...
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It's only been two days, and I am absolutely invested—more than I should be. This investigation has consumed me, dragging me into a world that feels increasingly dangerous with every new connection I uncover. Now, I'm huddled in my dimly lit apartment, the only light coming from my laptop and a few scattered lamps. Papers are strewn across the kitchen island, filled with notes, diagrams, and the intricate web of connections I've been piecing together. The tension in the room is palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife, as I dive deeper into the murky waters of this investigation.
My fingers fly over the keyboard, my mind racing as I delve into the history of La Vida Nueva Foundation and its suspicious ties to other organizations. I'm no longer content with surface-level details; now, I'm in deep—digging through tax records, tracing property ownerships, and untangling the labyrinth of offshore accounts. Every thread I pull at seems to unravel another, leading me further down a rabbit hole where nothing is as it seems.
I narrow my focus on the so-called silent partner—a phantom who seems to have vanished from public records after the foundation's initial success. It's as if this person never existed, leaving me with only a handful of obscure clues and a growing sense of unease. I start cross-referencing names, scouring for any link to Brixton Holdings or other known fronts for criminal activity.
Then, I stumble upon a name that sends a jolt of recognition through me—Acosta International. It's a holding company with ties to several European and South American businesses. The name triggers a vague recollection from an article I read years ago about a powerful Spanish family with whispered connections to organized crime. My heart races as the dots begin to connect, the pieces falling into place. This could be the link between La Vida Nueva Foundation and something far more sinister than I'd imagined.
Just as I'm about to delve deeper into Acosta International, my phone buzzes with a text from James: Come to my office. Now.
Ever so demanding. I roll my eyes, irritation flaring up. Why now? I glance back at the name Acosta International on my screen, my fingers itching to dig deeper, but I hesitate. My gut tells me I'm onto something big, something dangerous. But I'm not ready to reveal what I've found—not until I have more concrete evidence. Yet I can't just ignore James's text, even if the abruptness of it sends a shiver of unease down my spine. What could he possibly want at this hour? It's nine at night, for crying out loud.
