The control room of “The Luna Search” studio was a hive of frantic activity. Cynthia Sharpe stood behind the main producer, looking like a general surveying a battlefield.
A courier arrived, breathless, handing Cynthia a thick envelope sealed with the Croft crest. It was the dossier from Lady Beatrice.
Cynthia ripped it open. Inside were high-resolution photos of Sophie Laurent meeting Beatrice in a parked car, along with bank statements showing the payoff of Sophie’s father’s medical debts.
“It’s beautiful,” Cynthia whispered, a cruel smile touching her lips. “The Exploiter” had her ammunition.
She handed a USB drive to the producer. “Load these images into the main projector queue,” she commanded. “When William gets down on one knee–when he thinks he’s won–I will touch my earring. That is your signal to run the slideshow.”
“Are you sure, Cynthia?” the producer asked nervously. “This will destroy him.”
“That,” Cynthia said, turning to watch the monitor, “is the entire point.”