The stale smell of forgotten dreams filled the New York yellow cab as rain blurred the city outside, a scene hauntingly familiar.
In my last life, this exact ride took me straight to the Pulitzer jury, to the beginning of my catastrophic downfall.
My own daughter, Gabrielle, systematically dismantled my life, using my name and reputation to peddle fake insider trading tips to desperate writers.
When her scheme inevitably imploded, she seamlessly shifted blame onto me, painting me as a corrupt public figure, a "whistleblower" feeding lies to the hungry online mob.