The Luna Clause

“Ughhhh” Sylvie groaned. She felt like tossing her phone across the room.

"Sylvie? Thank God. You need to get in here. Now."

"It's not even 6am, Marcus. What's so important that—"

"Myles Martins."

She paused. Myles Martins. That name that made any journalist sit up and pay full attention. Billionaire CEO, mysterious background, zero interviews in the past five years. The guy was practically a ghost with a Forbes ranking.

"What about him?"

"Big story. Career-making story. But I need to brief you in person. How fast can you get here?"

She looked down at her oversized t-shirt and wool socks. "Give me an hour."

"Make it thirty minutes. And Sylvie? This stays between us until I know we can trust you with it."

The line went dead. She stared at her phone for a moment, then ran out to make coffee. It burned her tongue, but she didn't care. This was it. This was the break she'd been working toward for three years of covering small-time corruption and petty political scandals.

She hurriedly took her shower, threw on a fresh pair of jeans and a clean sweater, then grabbed her laptop bag and headed for the door. But something made her stop at the small mirror by the entrance.

Her reflection looked tired. Dark circles under hazel eyes, light brown curls escaping from yesterday's ponytail. She looked like exactly what she was—a twenty-four-year-old journalist living on deadline stress and takeout food.

But there was something else in her reflection. Something that had been there her whole life but seemed stronger lately. An awareness that felt predatory. She shook her head and grabbed her keys. No time for weird thoughts.

The subway was its usual morning nightmare, packed with commuters who looked as thrilled to be awake as she felt. She squeezed into a corner and pulled out her phone, doing a quick search on Myles Martins.

The results were frustrating. Company press releases, a few blurry photos from charity events. The guy was forty-five billion dollars worth of mystery. His company, Martins Corporation, had interests in everything from real estate to tech to pharmaceuticals. But the man himself? Nothing personal. No family photos, no college friends selling stories to tabloids, no ex-girlfriends with tell-all books.

That kind of privacy didn't happen by accident. It took serious money and serious control to stay that invisible, especially being that wealthy.

The train lurched to a stop, and she fought her way onto the platform. Twenty minutes later, she was walking through the lobby of the New York Tribune, heading to Marcus's office on the fifteenth floor. She knocked and pushed through the door without waiting for an answer.

"Thirty-two minutes. Close enough."

Marcus looked up from his computer, and she could see the excitement in his eyes. He was forty-something, graying at the temples, and he'd been chasing big stories since before she was born. When Marcus got excited, it meant something huge was happening.

"Sit down. Coffee?"

"Already had some. What's this about?"

He leaned back in his chair and studied her for a moment. "How much do you know about Myles Martins?"

"Rich guy. Mysterious. Owns half of Manhattan. Why?"

"Because I just got a tip that he's not what he seems. And I mean really not what he seems."

She pulled out her notepad. "What kind of tip?"

"The kind that could win us a Pulitzer. Or get us sued into oblivion if we're wrong." Marcus stood up and walked to his window, looking down at the street. "I've been working sources for months. Trying to crack the Martins empire. You know what I found?"

"What?"

"Patterns. Business deals that don't make sense. Meetings with people who shouldn't exist on any government registry. Money moving through accounts that disappear when you try to trace them." He turned back to her. "And that's just the financial stuff."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning there are rumors. Weird rumors. About what Myles Martins really is."

Sylvie felt something cold settle in her stomach. "What kind of rumors?"

Marcus walked back to his desk and pulled out a thick file folder. "Rumours that sounded insane until you start seeing the evidence. Sylvie, security footage shows him moving faster than humanly possible. Multiple witnesses who swear they've seen him do things that shouldn't be possible. And then there are the disappearances."

"What disappearances?"

"Journalists. Three of them in the past two years. All working on stories about Martins Corporation. All officially relocated for family reasons or career opportunities. But none of them have published anything since."

The cold feeling in her stomach got worse. "Marcus, this sounds—"

"Crazy. I know. But here's the thing, Sylvie. You're the right person for this story."

"Why me? You've got senior reporters with twenty years of experience."

He sat down across from her and leaned forward. "Because there's something about you that's different from the others. I can't explain it, but you see things other people don't."

That was the second time in an hour someone had mentioned something different about her. She didn't like the pattern.

"What exactly are you asking me to do?"

"Get close to him. Martins is hosting a charity gala next weekend at his estate. Perfect cover for a journalist to ask questions. I already got you credentials."

She stared at the file folder. "And if he really is as dangerous as you think?"

"Then you'll be careful. But Sylvie, if even half of what I suspect is true, this story could change everything. Not just for us, but for how people understand the world."

She thought about her rent, which was due in two weeks. About her sister Jenna, who was brilliant and talented and stuck in a dead-end job because she couldn't afford the school she wanted. About the stack of rejection letters from major publications that she kept in her desk drawer as motivation.

"What's the charity for?"

"Something called the Luna Foundation. Supports education for underprivileged kids." Marcus slid the folder across the desk. "Everything we know is in there. But Sylvie, I need you to understand something. If you take this story, there's no backing out halfway through. Whatever you find, we follow it to the end."

She picked up the folder and felt its weight in her hands. Heavy with the potential to completely change her life.

"How long do I have to decide?"

"You don't. The gala is this Saturday. If you're going to do this, we need to start preparing now."

She opened the folder and looked at the first photograph. Myles Martins at some corporate event, wearing a perfectly tailored black suit. Even in the slightly blurry photo, she couldn't take her eyes off him. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark skin and short curls. But it was his eyes that caught her attention. Even through the camera lens, they looked intense. Like he was seeing something the rest of them were missing.

"Sylvie?"

She looked up at Marcus. "If he's really as dangerous as you think, why hasn't he stopped you already?"

"Maybe he doesn't know we're looking. Or maybe he's waiting to see what we find." Marcus stood up again. "But I've got a feeling that's about to change."

She closed the folder and tucked it under her arm. "Okay. I'm in."

"Good. But first, you need to call your sister."

That surprised her. "Jenna? Why?"

"Because if I'm right about Myles Martins, the next few weeks are going to get complicated. And I want to make sure the people you care about are safe."

She felt that cold feeling again, stronger this time. "Marcus, what aren't you telling me?"

He walked to his door and opened it. "Everything I know is in that file. But Sylvie? Trust your instincts. If something feels wrong, get out. No story is worth your life."

She stood up and walked toward the door, but something made her turn back. "Why do you really think I'm the right person for this?"

Marcus looked at her for a long moment. "Because I think you're more like Myles Martins than either of you realizes. And that might be exactly what this story needs."