Four more days had passed.
Zoe had basically moved in at the lounge. The glass coffee tables were littered with half-empty Venti iced coffees, discarded protein bar wrappers, and legal pads. She sat cross-legged on a velvet sofa, her thumbs flying across her laptop keyboard with the speed and aggression of a woman possessed.
"To the legal department of GossipGoblin," Zoe muttered out loud, her eyes bloodshot behind her blue-light glasses. "If you do not immediately retract the article stating Damien Sinclair is holding his wife hostage in a medically induced coma to control her voting shares, we will sue you into the Stone Age. Cease, desist, and choke. Sincerely, Zoe Chen."
She hit send with a vicious stab of her finger.
It was a drop of water in an ocean of fire. The internet was a relentless, ravenous beast, and without a statement from the Sinclair camp, the conspiracy theories had mutated into full-blown public hysteria.
And the clock was ticking. Loudly.
