Beneath it was a grainy image of a bank receipt, alongside a photo of Grant looking solemn in a dark suit.

I read the first few sentences aloud, my voice cracking in the quiet car.

“Sources close to the Whitmore family reveal that tech mogul Nathan Cole has orchestrated a smear campaign against Grant Whitmore.”

“According to leaked financial documents, Cole transferred a substantial sum to Emily Carter just days before her custody hearing.”

“The payment allegedly secures Carter’s cooperation in a plot to destroy the reputation of one of Nashville’s oldest families.”

I dropped the phone onto my lap.

“It’s not true,” I whispered, looking at Nathan.

“The only money you gave me was the advance for the apartment deposit.”

“They took that transaction and twisted it,” Nathan said, his voice flat and dangerously quiet.

He stared out the windshield at the concrete wall ahead of us.

“They made it look like a bribe for services rendered.”

“Grant did this,” I said.

My chest felt tight, like a band of iron was winding around my ribs.

“Or Evelyn,” Nathan added.