The press conference was held at an independent media center downtown — neutral ground, no political ties, no backdoor favors.
Every seat was full. Reporters, bloggers, livestreamers — they all came, pulled by rumors of something explosive.
Then Lynn walked in.
Her presence alone silenced the room. Confident, poised, dressed in all black with sleek gold accents. Power dripped from every step.
Michael stood to the side, alert but calm. Lwandile managed the tech. Behind them, a banner simply read:
"Truth Matters."
Lynn approached the podium, her eyes scanning the crowd like a predator with purpose.
> "You don't know me. At least, not officially."
Flashes went off. Phones rose.
> "My name is Lynn Nare. And for the past decade, I've worked behind the scenes — cleaning up messes for the powerful, the corrupt, the untouchable."
A wave of murmurs broke out.
> "Today, I break that silence. Not because I want attention. But because silence has a cost… and I'm no longer willing to pay it."
She reached into her folder and pulled out three names. Calmly placed them on the podium.
> "These men — all tied to registered charities. All with shell companies laundering illicit funds through humanitarian fronts."
> "I was part of it once. I fixed things for them. Hid their crimes. Cleaned their scandals."
> "Not anymore."
Lwandile clicked a button, and behind her, images flashed: falsified donation receipts, offshore bank records, snapshots of private meetings.
But no names. Not yet.
> "This is only the beginning," Lynn continued. "I'm giving every name involved the same courtesy I never received — a warning."
> "Come clean. Step down. Or the next time I stand here, I'll expose everything."
Gasps. Shouts. Reporters swarmed, but she raised a hand.
> "There will be no questions."
Lynn stepped away from the mic like she'd just dropped a bomb. Because she had.
Michael met her with a half-smile. "You really did it."
> "No," Lynn said. "I started it."
As they exited, her phone buzzed.
Private Number: "You should've stayed hidden, Lynn. Now it's war."
She stared at the message, then locked the screen.
> "Good," she whispered. "Let him come."