Chapter 92 The Broadcast

• The studio lights burn white-hot, searing my retinas as I stare into Camera 3’s unblinking eye. My reflection glows back at me from the teleprompter—pale, frayed, alive. The red tally light flickers. *Live.*
• “My name is Emma Evans.” The words crackle through the studio, amplified by the mic clipped to my collar. “And everything you’ve been told is a lie.”
• I slam the USB onto the anchor desk. The screen behind me erupts with files, photos, spreadsheets—Gregg’s empire laid bare. Gasps ripple through the crew. The floor director mouths *holy shit* as Lily’s school photo fills the screen, her daisy barrette sharp against the pixelated blur.