Damien
Webb called me at eleven that night, later than I preferred for business conversations, but I'd told him explicitly to update me the moment he had anything, regardless of the hour.
"The paternity filing bought us three good news cycles," he said, and I could hear the careful hedge in his voice already, the tone of a man about to deliver less than what was promised. "But the sympathy piece today undercut a lot of the momentum. That local outlet interview with her former coworkers, the letters story, it's shifting the narrative back toward her favor faster than we anticipated."
I sat in my study, a glass of scotch sweating slowly on the desk beside me, and let the irritation settle into something more useful before I responded. Anger was a luxury I couldn't afford to indulge carele
