Page 72 of Landing Liam

Jack sighs, taking a long sip of his coffee before setting the cup down on the table. “Alright,” he says firmly. “Let’s think this through. Could someone like Zach be feeding Lyla the information?”

I shake my head. “The details in this article are intimate. Whoever leaked this had to have been close enough to slowly craft a story about him struggling but distant enough to not care about the fallout. Whoever did this, they’re calculated.”

Jack arches a brow. “Distant enough… but trusted enough to stay close.”

My stomach twists as the pieces begin to fall into place. “Zach,” I whisper, the name hanging heavy in the air between us.

Jack’s eyes narrow. “It’s a theory,” he concedes. “But we need more than a gut feeling to go on. We need evidence. We also have to consider Lon. He’s been itching to retire but Liam’s talked him into still coaching. He’s the one who hand-picked Zach as Liam’s new trainer years ago. Lon is a contender for leaking the information, too.”

“I know,” I say, swallowing hard. “But if Zach or Lon really is the leak, what does that mean for Liam? What does that mean for us?”

Jack places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “It means we dig,” he says. “We follow the trail, find the connections, and get to the truth. No matter where it leads.”

I nod, my resolve hardening. If Liam’s team is behind this, I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it. For Liam. For the truth. And for the chance to finally put this nightmare to rest.

***

Several hours later, the house feels eerily quiet after a group of Thompsons leave go to watch Liam’s final run down the mountain. Part of me wanted to be there, bundled up in the snow, cheering him on. But I know I can do more good here, in front of a screen, digging through articles and chasing leads. If there’s even the slightest chance I can uncover the truth before the competition ends, it’ll be worth missing the spectacle.

The chime of my phone snaps me out of my thoughts. I grab it and see a message from Odie: Check your email.

My heart pounds as I open my email in a new internet tab on Liam’s laptop. Sure enough, there’s a message from Odie with just one line: Call this number. Below it is a string of digits. No explanation. No details. Just a number.

Jack’s voice pulls me out of my spiral. “What’s going on, Cooper?” he asks, his sharp eyes catching the tension in my face.

“My colleague just sent me a phone number,” I explain, showing him the screen. “No context. Just the number.”

“Then call it,” Jack says, his tone decisive.

I swallow hard, pick up my phone, and dial. Each ring feels like an eternity. I count four, five, six rings before the line goes dead. No answer. No voicemail. Nothing.

“Damn it,” I mutter, blowing out a frustrated breath. “No one picked up.”

Jack, ever the problem solver, leans over the table. “Google it,” he says simply.

I nod, typing the number into the search bar with shaky fingers. I don’t expect much. Phone numbers rarely lead to anything useful. But when I hit enter, my breath catches in my throat. Something pops up.

“Wait,” I whisper, leaning closer to the screen. “There’s… something here.”

“What is it?” Jack asks, low and cautious.

I click on the first link. It’s a directory listing, tied to a name and a business. My heart races as I read it out loud. “Zachary Miller… Miller Performance Coaching?”

Jack’s eyes widen. “That’s Liam’s trainer.”

“I knew it,” I whisper, my chest tightening as the pieces start falling into place. “It has to be him.”

Jack leans over my shoulder, scanning the page. “It doesn’t prove anything yet,” he says. “But it’s a start. We need to find any correlations between leaks and Liam’s training sessions.”

I nod, my hands flying across the keyboard as I open new tabs, searching for connections between Zach and the media outlets that published the doping allegations. With every click, I feel the walls closing in on the truth.

“Why would his trainer—someone who spends every day with him—lie?” I ask Jack, my frustration bubbling over as I stand and begin pacing the room.

Jack leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest as he watches me. “Motives can be complicated, but in my journalistic experience, they usually boil down to four things: fear, revenge, anger, or jealousy.”

I pause mid-step and let out a bitter chuckle. “So basically, love, money, or power?”

Jack tilts his head thoughtfully. “You’re not wrong. Those are the classics. But with Zach? I think it goes much deeper than that. Love could be a stretch; he’s had the same girlfriend for years. Money’s unlikely too—Liam already pays him a lot more than most trainers make, so what would he gain by sabotaging him?”