Chapter 3

A small crowd gathered, reporters mostly, a few curious onlookers.

The cameras flashed. Microphones were thrust in my face.

I let them buzz for a moment.

Then, I held up the legal pad.

Leo's handwriting, stark and black.

"This was my brother's last message," I said, my voice clear, amplified by a small speaker I brought.

"Leo Rodriguez. Winner of the American Justice Fellowship three years ago."

I paused, letting his name hang in the air.

"The official story is that he died by suicide."

I looked directly into the nearest camera.

"That is a lie."

A murmur went through the crowd.

"This note," I continued, holding it higher, "says 'Don't accept the fellowship.' They want you to believe it was a sign of his despair. They want you to believe he couldn't handle the pressure."

I shook my head.

"I believe this note was coerced. Or its meaning twisted. My brother did not kill himself. He was murdered."

More gasps. More frantic scribbling from reporters.

"And I believe all the previous fellows were murdered too."

I pointed to the note again. "This isn't a suicide note. It's a warning. A warning he was forced to write, or one he wrote because he knew what was coming for him, and for anyone who followed."

I scanned the crowd, my gaze searching.

"The American Justice Fellowship is not a path to public service. It's a trap. And I am here to expose it."

I challenged the unseen forces. "Whoever you are, whoever is behind this, your reign of terror ends now."

The air crackled with tension.