Page 109 of Every Shattered Note
Eddie’s nursing his third espresso, his tie draped around his neck like it gave up being professional hours ago.
“So tell me again why I shouldn’t finish everyone,” my voice grits out before I sit.
“Because it’s not about extinction,” he says without looking up.“It’s about control.”
“I’ve been controlled my whole damn life,” I snap, dropping a folder onto the table with enough force to send a few pages sliding off the top.“This time, I bite back.If I don’t, this will be haunting my children one day.This doesn’t go away on its own.”
Someone clears their throat.One of the younger lawyers—nervous, overpaid, terrified I’ll throw something.
“We’ve filed preliminary suits against three publications,” the one who speaks—Harris, I think—says carefully.His voice is level, almost clinical, like he’s seen too many of these explosions and stopped flinching years ago.“But we can’t go nuclear on everyone at once, Dexter.It’ll look like retaliation.”
“It is retaliation,” I say, leaning forward.“Because what they’ve printed isn’t just false.It’s invasive.They’re writing fiction and calling it legacy.If we don’t shut it down now, it’ll be worse next time.And there will be a next time if we don’t nip it.”
Across from me, Eddie rubs his temple, looking more tired than usual.His eyes are bloodshot, but he’s still too stubborn to admit he needs rest.“You want justice, not revenge,” he says quietly.“There’s a difference.”
“Not to me.”
We sit in the stillness that follows.No one moves.
He doesn’t fight me on it.Don't try to convince me otherwise.He just slides a new folder toward me.“These are the official filings.Your stepbrother’s listed as the source.We’re pursuing defamation, breach of contract, and emotional distress.”
The paper touches my fingertips, but I don’t open it yet.
My jaw tightens at that word—stepbrother.
I don’t ask which one.I don’t need to.There’s only one who would sink this low.
Only one who ever smiled while watching the world burn.
Only one who knows just enough of the truth to twist it into something cruel.
My stomach coils.It’s a slow, acidic twist.Not rage.Not even betrayal anymore.Just exhaustion.The kind that settles into your bones when you realize family doesn’t always mean protection.Sometimes, it means proximity to ruin.
“What do we have on him?”I ask.
Harris hesitates, then flips a page in the packet.“We’ve traced the leak to an online account tied to him.He sold the voicemail recordings—selectively edited—and a scanned portion of your father’s will.”
He pauses, like the next part requires extra care.
“PulseWire,Variety Weekly, andAccessNowall ran with it.The others—Backstage Confidential,StarLine Digest—passed for now, but they’re circling.”
I blink at the names.Familiar.Too familiar.
The ones that never needed facts to run a story—just a whisper, a hint, a headline that hummed like scandal.
Eddie adds, “He signed an NDA in 1999 when he tried to get a share of the publishing rights.That gives us a foothold.”
“Did he need the money?”I ask, though I already know the answer.He didn’t do it because he needed anything.
He did it because he could.
“He wanted attention,” Eddie says.“And you gave it to him by staying silent this long.”
I shake my head.“I stayed silent because my grandfather didn’t want this to become a fucking carnival.And now look at us.”
Harris clears his throat again.“We’ve drafted a formal response to the allegations.You can review and revise.The tone is assertive but careful.You deny the claims, reaffirm your separation from your father’s estate, and clarify the inaccuracies in the timeline.”
“I’m not reading a press packet like I’m on a talk show.”My voice drops.“If I’m going to say something, it’ll be mine.”
