Ava barely remembered the drive home. The city blurred past in streaks of neon and headlights, her mind tangled in too many thoughts. Josh’s scandal had been a disaster waiting to happen, but something about his desperation unsettled her. He had faced bad press before—he laughed at it, brushed it off. But this time, he was unraveling.

  And then there was the note.

  Win this one for me.

  It had been tucked inside her father’s old case files, a ghost of his handwriting staring back at her. She had told herself it was nothing, a remnant of his obsessive need to win. But the timing… first the note, then Josh’s meltdown, all colliding just as she was handed Ethan Cole’s case. It didn’t feel like coincidence.

  As she pulled up to the Sinclair estate, Marco was waiting by the door, phone in hand, expression grim.

  "Where is he?" Ava asked as she stepped out.

  "Upstairs," Marco said. "Hasn’t come down since the story broke. It’s bad, Ava. He’s not himself."

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  Ava didn’t waste time with reassurances. She strode inside, climbing the marble staircase two steps at a time. The door to Josh’s room was ajar, and inside, her brother sat on the floor, half-empty whiskey bottle in one hand, phone in the other, his knuckles white from gripping it.

  He looked up at her, eyes bloodshot. "Took you long enough."

  "Put the bottle down," Ava said evenly. "Then talk."

  Josh exhaled a humorless laugh, setting the bottle aside but not letting go of his phone. "You want to know why I called? Because someone is screwing with me. And I think Dad knew it was coming."

  Ava stilled. "What do you mean?"

  Josh tossed his phone at her. She caught it, scanning the screen. Anonymous messages. Not just threats, but details—dates, locations, accusations that the tabloids hadn’t printed yet.

  Her stomach twisted. "Who sent these?"

  Josh shook his head. "No clue. But they knew about the party before it even happened. They knew I’d be there, knew exactly when the cameras would catch me. This wasn’t just some paparazzi leak, Ava. Someone wanted this scandal to blow up. And I don’t think it’s just about me."

  Ava’s grip tightened around the phone. The note. The messages. The case. A thread of something bigger wove between them, and she was starting to see the pattern.

  "Dad’s files," she muttered under her breath.

  Josh frowned. "What?"

  She looked at him, then back at the messages, her pulse hammering. "Nothing. Get some rest. We’re handling this."

  But as she left his room, her mind was racing.

  Her father had left her a message from the past. And now, someone was making damn sure she didn’t ignore it.