Bitcoin Billionaire: I Regressed to Invest in the First Bitcoin!

"Well, of course not, Mr. Steele." The playful voice of Brooklyn Baker carried an unmistakable smirk with it. "I'm not a delinquent."

She was walking with her feminine, hurried steps, hips and ass swaying with the motion of her feet as she walked towards a large building.

Darren frowned, continuing toward his car, his mind sharp with calculation. "But you did enter my house."

Brooklyn's lips perked a bit, but she kept listening.

"You knocked. Saw the door was open, and you went in — maybe out of honest worry at first," Darren continued, keeping his tone level, though there was still an edge to it. "But when you saw it was empty, you went in, did a little digging. You found the receipt."

A soft chuckle crackled through the receiver. "Wow. How impressive. I didn't know you were such a detective, Mr. Steele. Ever thought of being an investigative journalist?"

Darren wasn't amused. "The least you could have done when you came to my house in Greenbaby was tell me that you found my house open."

"And admit to trespassing?" Brooklyn mused with brows raised. "Doesn't sound very smart, does it?"

"Are you admitting to it now?"

A pause. Then, teasingly, she replied, "Are you going to file charges against me if I did?"

Darren opened his car door, letting out a frustrated but tentative exhale. "No."

Brooklyn's smile widened, she even bit her lip involuntarily as she walked closer and closer towards the building.

"I know it's only happened twice, but something about hearing your voice over the phone just brightens up my day, Mr. Steele. Do call me, so we can do this again."

The line clicked dead before Darren could respond.

Brooklyn Baker lowered her phone, slipping it into her coat pocket. She looked up to the building she was approaching. It was a place she could basically call her second home at this point.

The towering glass monolith of Everyday News.

Everyday News carried the slogan; The Power of Information

In the subject of power, they indeed had that. Their headquarters was a tower skyscraper.

It loomed over the city like a modern-day colossus, with its sleek steel frame and gleaming windows reflecting the morning sun.

It was designed with grandeur in mind, standing as a symbol of journalistic power. It was one of the top five news organizations in the country and the most influential in the state.

With the globe on top of the building, one would be reminded of the Daily Planet.

Owned by Douglas Harrington, a media mogul with deep ties in both political and business spheres, Everyday News was a titan in the industry.

Its reach extended far beyond newspapers and television broadcasts; it controlled public opinion, influenced policymakers, and dictated what stories lived or died.

Each floor of the building catered to a different branch of the news empire:

Entertainment Everyday – The latest on film, music, and celebrity culture.

Fashion Everyday – Covering trends, designers, and industry scandals.

Sports Everyday – The heart of athletics, from college games to international championships.

Politics Everyday – The nerve center of governmental affairs and political movements.

There were many more branches, but the floor Brooklyn called home, the kingdom where she reigned as the head journalist, was Business Everyday.

She strode into the vast lobby, her heels clicking against the polished marble floors.

The place was a flurry of activity.

There were journalists rushing in and out, interns scrambling with files, camera crews setting up interviews. The humming energy of information in motion.

"Morning, Baker."

"Brooklyn, need a quote from you on that stock crash!"

"You owe me coffee for yesterday's interview tip!"

Brooklyn nodded, offering the occasional smirk as she weaved through the chaos. She had a reputation here; sharp, relentless, and unshaken. But today, her focus was on one thing.

She approached a glass-walled office at the end of the hall. Inside, a woman with meticulously styled blonde hair, rectangular glasses, and an air of constant urgency was signing off on contracts while speaking to three different people at once.

Her name was Catherine Langley. She was the Media Manager for Brooklyn's branch.

Brooklyn knocked once before stepping in. "Hello, Mrs Langley?"

Langley barely looked up. "Make it quick, Baker."

Brooklyn leaned against the desk, placing a file down. "So... I've compiled enough testimonies, secured statements, and confirmed sources. The Gareth Smithers exposé is ready. We need to schedule a day for the big release."

Langley didn't even glance at the file. She continued scribbling, flipping through documents, then, without raising her head, delivered the words like a guillotine drop.

"The story's been buried."

Brooklyn paused... then blinked. "What?"

"We're not running it."

Another pause. Then she let out a short, incredulous laugh. "That's funny, Mrs Langley. Come on, we both know this is going to blow up once it airs. We—"

"It's not happening, Brooklyn."

Brooklyn's amusement vanished. "You can't be serious. This is major. Right now, in my hands, I have proof. Testimonies. Signed statements. Victims who—"

"It came from higher up." Langley finally looked at her, dropping the pen in her hand. "Funding is at stake."

Brooklyn's jaw tightened. "Funding?"

Langley's gaze was steady. "Let's not kid ourselves, Brooklyn. We both knew this was going to happen. Gareth Smithers has powerful friends. Friends who have deep investments in this company. If we air this, we're looking at major financial withdrawal. Lawsuits. Boardroom battles." She sighed, closing a file. "It's not worth the risk."

Brooklyn clenched her fists. "Did... did you not read the reports? Women were hurt. Young people were taken advantage of and left to suffer. You know that."

Langley exhaled, rubbing her temple. "I do."

"Then why are we letting this go?"

Langley studied her for a moment, then said something that made Brooklyn's stomach drop.

"You've gotten a little attached to this story, haven't you?"

Brooklyn's lips parted slightly. "What?"

Langley leaned forward. "It's not happening, Brooklyn. Bury it"

Her experience grew stern. "Have you forgotten? You're a journalist, Brooklyn. It's not our job to search for justice. We just deliver the news."

Brooklyn stared at her, feeling those words pulling her down with its weight.

Langley stood, gathering her files. "I have meetings to attend. Take the rest of the day off."

Then, she walked away, leaving Brooklyn standing there.

Dumbfounded.

Crestfallen.

And furious.

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A/N: Congratulations on reaching the goal, folks! Ten chapter mass release is coming on Friday! Get us to 200 Golden Tickets for another ten!