Chapter 6 Disastrous Conference

• With Tom still ranting in one ear and Devin glaring daggers at him from across the room, Lance grabbed the remote and flicked on the TV. The screen flickered to life, immediately filled with Edwin Kasper's face, looking far more haggard than when Lance had last seen him mere hours ago.
• "I swear to you, I would never intentionally hurt anyone," Edwin was saying, his voice strained and his eyes darting nervously. "I'm cooperating fully with the authorities and I'm confident that once all the facts come to light, my name will be cleared."
• Lance felt a pang of sympathy for the actor. He looked like a man drowning in deep water, desperately grasping for any lifeline.
• "Tom, I've got to go," Lance interrupted his manager mid-rant. "I'll call you back." He ended the call before Tom could protest, his attention now fully focused on the unfolding drama on the screen.
• Devin, his anger momentarily forgotten, moved closer to the TV. "Is that Edwin Kasper? What the hell is going on?"
• Lance opened his mouth to explain, but was cut off by a commotion on the screen. A reporter had stood up, holding what appeared to be a small recording device.
• "Mr. Kasper," the reporter called out, her voice sharp and accusatory, "how do you explain this audio recording that was anonymously submitted to our network this morning?"
• Edwin's face drained of color as the reporter hit play. A familiar voice, unmistakably Edwin's, filled the room:
• "I'm sick of playing it safe, of being the good guy all the time. I want to let loose, to do something crazy. And I want to do it with you, not Laura. You understand me in a way she never could."
• The recording continued, growing increasingly explicit and damning. Lance watched in horror as Edwin's carefully constructed defense crumbled before his eyes. The actor stood frozen at the podium, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
• "Oh man," Devin whispered, shaking his head. "That poor bastard is toast."
• Lance felt a wave of pity wash over him. He may not have known Edwin well, but the man he'd talked with last night – confused, vulnerable, and desperate – didn't match the callous player in the recording.
• "This isn't right," Lance muttered, more to himself than to Devin.
• Devin turned to him, eyebrow raised. "What isn't right? Sounds pretty clear cut to me. Guy cheated, got caught, end of story."
• Lance shook his head, struggling to articulate the nagging feeling in his gut. "You don't understand. I spent hours with him last night. He was genuinely confused, terrified even. It doesn't add up."
• "Last night?" Devin's eyes widened in realization. "Wait a minute. Is this why you didn't come bail me out? You were playing host to Edwin freaking Kasper?"
• Lance winced, bracing for another explosion of anger. But to his surprise, Devin just started laughing.
• "Oh man, this is rich!" Devin wheezed between fits of laughter. "I got left in the slammer so you could babysit a movie star! I don't know whether to punch you or applaud you!"
• "I'm really sorry, Dev," Lance said, relieved that his friend seemed to be taking it better than expected. "I promise I'll make it up to you."
• Devin waved him off, still chuckling. "Oh, you bet your ass you will. But right now, I want to hear everything. How the hell did you end up in the middle of Hollywood's latest scandal?"
• As Lance recounted the events of the previous night, the TV continued to broadcast Edwin's rapidly unraveling press conference. The actor looked shell-shocked, barely able to form coherent responses to the barrage of questions now being hurled at him.
• "I don't... I can't explain that recording," Edwin stammered, sweat beading on his forehead. "I don't remember saying those things. I would never-"
• "You expect us to believe you have no memory of this conversation?" another reporter shouted. "Just like you conveniently have no memory of the alleged assault?"
• Lance felt his chest tighten as he watched Edwin flounder. It was like witnessing a car crash in slow motion – horrifying, yet impossible to look away from.
• "I think I believe him," Lance said quietly, interrupting his own story.
• Devin, who had been listening with rapt attention, looked at him incredulously. "Seriously? After hearing that recording?"
• Lance nodded slowly. "I can't explain it, but something about this whole situation feels off. The guy I talked to last night... he was genuinely lost, Dev. Scared out of his mind. It doesn't match up with the guy in that recording."
• Devin studied his friend's face for a moment, then sighed dramatically. "Oh no. I know that look. That's your 'I'm about to do something stupid and noble' look. Please tell me you're not thinking of getting involved in this mess."
• Lance's silence was answer enough.
• "Lance, buddy, pal, light of my life," Devin said, gripping Lance's shoulders and staring intently into his eyes. "This is not our circus, and that is definitely not our monkey. Let the guy's fancy lawyers and PR team handle it."
• But Lance's eyes had drifted back to the TV, where Edwin was being ushered away from the podium by his frantic-looking manager. The actor's face was a mask of despair and confusion.
• "I can't just stand by and do nothing," Lance said softly. "Not when I might be the only person who believes him."
• Devin threw his hands up in exasperation. "And here we go! Lance Castellan, professional quarterback and amateur detective, riding to the rescue!"
• Despite the seriousness of the situation, Lance couldn't help but crack a smile. "Hey, if this football thing doesn't work out, maybe I have a future in private investigation."
• Devin groaned, flopping back onto the sofa. "You're impossible, you know that? Fine. If you're determined to dive headfirst into this dumpster fire, I guess I'd better come along to make sure you don't get yourself killed. Or worse, traded to the Jets."
• Lance's smile widened into a grin. "Thanks, Dev. I knew I could count on you."
• "Yeah, yeah," Devin grumbled, but there was a glint of excitement in his eyes. "But you're still on the hook for leaving me in jail. I'm thinking... tickets to every home game this season. In your private box."
• "Deal," Lance laughed, relief washing over him. He turned back to the TV, where pundits were already dissecting every moment of Edwin's disastrous press conference.
• As he watched, Lance felt series of strange emotions swirling in his chest – sympathy for Edwin, excitement at the prospect of unraveling this mystery, and a touch of fear at what they might uncover. But beneath it all was a sense of purpose, a feeling that he was exactly where he needed to be.