Page 22 of In Her Path

“I had it laid out, scheduled for the front page. But then—” Natalie’s expression shifted, a shadow crossing her features. “Paige called me. Said he’d heard I was working on a story about the council and would I mind stopping by his office to discuss it before publication.” Her laugh was bitter. “A courtesy call, he called it. Said he wanted to make sure I had all the facts.”

The reporter sank back down onto her couch. “He was all smiles when I walked in. Offered me coffee, asked about my family. Then he opened his desk drawer and pulled out a folder—just like the ones I had. But this one had my name on it.”

Natalie’s breath caught for a moment.

“It was my brother,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Daniel. He’d had addiction problems for years. Three years ago, he relapsed. Was driving drunk and hit a telephone pole. No one was hurt, but he panicked and left the scene. I found him, got him into a private rehab. Paid for it with my savings. Helped him start again.”

The words came faster now, tumbling out as if she couldn’t contain them any longer.

"Paige knew everything. The police report, the doctor's visits, the fact that I'd kept it quiet. His nephew works for the Kansas City PD—he'd pulled the records somehow. Daniel's doing well now. He's an accountant, engaged to be married. Paige said if I ran the story, he'd make sure everyone knew." Her voice cracked. "That Daniel would lose his job, his fiancée, everything he'd worked for."

“And if you killed the story?” Jake asked.

“Then no one would ever know. It would be like it never happened.” Natalie reached for the folder on her coffee table and pushed it toward Jenna. “This is everything I gathered. Names, dates, dollar amounts. It’s all there.”

Jenna took the folder, feeling its weight. “And you’re finally willing to tell us this now?”

“Because he’s dead,” Natalie said simply. “And because I’ve been carrying this around for two years, watching him destroy other people’s lives while I stood by.” She looked up at Jenna. “The police should have this. You should have this.”

Jenna understood what it must have cost the reporter to finally relinquish her secret. “Thank you. This could be important to the investigation.”

She gave the folder to Jake, who began flipping through it, scanning the contents. Paige had silenced his critics through blackmail, not just political maneuvering. How many others were out there, carrying secrets they’d traded for their silence?

"Lots of people hated him," Natalie said carefully. "But if I were you, I'd consider Warren Oswinkle as a suspect."

“On account of that conversation you had in the break room at Trentville Weekly News?” Jake asked.

“On account of a conversation that happened after that. Oswinkle came to my house. About a week ago. He’d been drinking—a lot.”

“What did he want?” Jake asked, looking up from the folder.

“He wanted to talk about Paige. About what happened to his store. You know about that, right? How Paige targeted Oswinkle Hardware for the redevelopment, forced Warren out after three generations of his family running the place?”

“We’re familiar with the case.”

“It broke him,” Natalie continued. “The Warren I met when I first came to Trentville was proud, you know? A little rough around the edges, but solid. But the last time I saw him, he was really different.”

She paused, seeming to choose her words with care. “He was angry. Reminded me that he’d lost everything because of Paige—his business, his wife, his self-respect. And no one had done a thing to hold Paige accountable.” She looked down. “And he was angry at me for not publishing the story he knew I’d been working on. Of course, I didn’t dare tell him why that was.”

Natalie’s cheeks flushed. “He said I needed to help him make Paige pay. He asked if I knew when Paige would be alone in his office. Said he’d waited long enough. That someone needed to ‘balance the scales.’ That’s exactly what he said. ‘Balance the scales.’”

Jenna exchanged a glance with Jake. The phrase had an ominous sound to it.

“I told him I didn’t know Paige’s schedule,” Natalie added quickly. “And I didn’t. He didn’t believe me, and he went away angry. And now...with Paige dead...”

Jenna studied the reporter’s face, looking for signs of manipulation or deflection, but saw only the raw edges of genuine concern. “Where can we find Warren?” she asked.

“Warren now lives in a rented room above a bar on the east side, but you probably won’t find him there,” Natalie said. “He spends most of his days and nights in the empty store drinking away the settlement money that remains,” Natalie said. “Sits there drinking, staring at the walls.”

Jenna was already calculating their next move. “Thank you for your honesty, Ms. Grasso. This has been helpful.”

As she and Jake prepared to leave, gathering the folder of evidence and their notes, Jenna caught Natalie watching them from her doorway. The reporter’s expression was that of someone who had just jumped from a great height, not knowing if the net below would hold.

“So,” Jake commented as they got into the patrol car, “Paige was blackmailing Natalie to stay quiet about his corruption. Classic power play.”

Jenna started the vehicle and pulled away from the curb. “Makes you wonder how many other people in town are keeping secrets because of him.”

“That’s assuming Natalie was telling the truth,” Jake pointed out. “She’s got a solid motive to point us toward Warren instead of herself.”