The Last Lie
February 21, 2025
Detective James Holloway stepped into the upscale apartment, the flashing red and blue lights from the street casting eerie shadows across the walls. On the floor, sprawled near a shattered glass coffee table, was Adam Pierce, a well-known journalist. A bullet hole in his chest. His phone lay nearby, screen cracked, an unsent message frozen on the screen: “I know who killed—”
James turned to Officer Reynolds. “Who found him?”
“Neighbor downstairs heard a gunshot around 10:30 p.m. Called it in. No sign of forced entry, and the front door was locked when we got here.”
James frowned. “So either the killer had a key or Adam let them in.” He glanced at the phone again. “Get tech to recover the rest of this message. It might tell us exactly who we’re looking for.”
The first person James wanted to talk to was Sophia Lane, Adam’s ex-girlfriend and a fellow reporter. They had split up two months ago, but sources said Adam had been digging into something big—something Sophia might have known about.
At the station, Sophia sat across from James, arms folded. “I hadn’t spoken to Adam in weeks.”
James tilted his head. “Then why did he call you three times yesterday?”
She hesitated. “He wanted to talk about a story he was working on. He said it was dangerous. That he was getting too close to something.”
“What was the story about?”
Sophia exhaled. “Corruption. He believed someone high up was covering up a murder. But he wouldn’t tell me who.”
James leaned forward. “Where were you at 10:30 last night?”
“At home. Alone.”
The tech team recovered the message. James read it out loud: “I know who killed Senator—” The last word was missing. Corrupt politicians, cover-ups, and now a dead journalist. This was getting bigger by the minute.
James’s next stop was David Connelly, a political aide who had been seen arguing with Adam two days ago. David was sweating when James brought him in.
“I don’t know anything about his murder,” David said, voice shaky.
“But you knew about the story he was writing,” James pressed.
David swallowed hard. “He had evidence of something that could ruin a lot of people. He wanted to go public.”
James narrowed his eyes. “And you wanted to stop him?”
David shook his head. “No! Look, Adam was paranoid. He thought someone was following him. He wasn’t wrong.”
James went back to the crime scene, scanning the room again. That’s when he noticed it—a second glass on the table, with a faint lipstick stain. Someone had been there with Adam before he died.
Forensics confirmed the DNA: Sophia Lane.
When confronted, she finally broke. “Adam was going to expose the truth, and they paid me to stop him.” Her hands shook. “I didn’t want to, but they made it clear—I do this, or I die too.”
James sighed. Another journalist silenced. Another secret buried. But not for long.