Clearance Denied

Leanna adjusted her blazer, feigning the effortless composure of someone who belonged. Olivia, dressed in a crisp, professional black dress, had done most of the talking so far knowing full well that bureaucrats responded better to confidence than aggression.

The air smelled of toner and old carpet. A water cooler bubbled behind them like an anxious metronome. Everyone looked tired, like they'd been trapped in committee meetings since the Cold War.

They had spent the last three hours maneuvering through an endless series of security checks, background verifications, and layers of administrative red tape.

A middle-aged woman in a beige suit and thin-rimmed glasses peered over their documents for what felt like the third time. The nameplate on her desk read Judith Morrison, White House Press Liaison.

"You're requesting temporary press credentials," Morrison repeated, as if they'd just stepped into her office.

"Yes." Olivia kept her voice even, diplomatic. "We've filed all the necessary paperwork. Black Orchid Investigations has media accreditation under our investigative journalism division."

Morrison adjusted her glasses. "Investigators aren’t journalists."

Olivia smiled in a way that didn’t reach her eyes. "We're a hybrid organization. We've published in major outlets. Cross-reference my bylines in The Atlantic and The Post if you'd like."

Leanna leaned in, voice smooth. "We aren’t asking for a front-row seat at a press briefing. We just need access to cover the President’s next address."

Morrison exhaled sharply. "You do understand there are additional security considerations when granting access to private entities?"

Olivia didn’t miss a beat. "Absolutely. We’re happy to undergo any security review necessary."

A pause. Morrison studied them for a long moment, fingers drumming against her desk. Leanna met her gaze, silent but unyielding.

Finally, Morrison slid a form toward them. "Fingerprint verification will be required. Processing takes seventy-two hours. If you clear it, you’ll receive temporary credentials. That is not an invitation for investigative work inside the White House. It is access to the briefing room. Nothing more."

Olivia took the form with a practiced nod. "Understood."

* * *

Leanna sighed as they stepped out into the crisp fall air. "Seventy-two hours."

"That’s faster than I expected," Olivia muttered. "I was prepared for them to bury us in paperwork for a week."

Leanna scanned the passing crowds on Pennsylvania Avenue. "If this was a normal press request, sure. But if we’re right about the President, we’re not the only ones digging." She glanced at Olivia. "How many other journalists did you see inside?"

Olivia frowned. "None."

“Exactly.”

* * *

Jessica had taken the corner booth, back to the wall, watching the entrance. She had been nursing the same whiskey for the last hour, her mind replaying every second of her meeting with Richter.

Langley.

The word carried weight. Not a person but an institution. A fortress of intelligence and shadow operations. Now, they were going straight toward it.

She glanced up as Leanna and Olivia slid into the booth. Leanna placed the press clearance documents on the table; Olivia ordered a bourbon neat before leaning in.

"We got them," Olivia said. "Three days."

Jessica swirled the ice in her glass. "You think they’ll approve it?"

"They wouldn’t have let us this far if they planned to shut it down." Olivia took a sip of her drink. "Question is, how much do they already know?"

Leanna tapped the document. "Either way, we have a window." She turned to Jessica. "What about Richter?"

Jessica hesitated. She should have expected the question, but speaking it aloud made it real.

"He told me to go to Langley."

Olivia frowned. "Langley Langley?"

Jessica nodded. "CIA headquarters."

Leanna let out a slow breath. "Well. That’s a hell of a breadcrumb."

Jessica traced the rim of her glass, watching the amber swirl like a storm in a bottle. She exhaled, staring down at the table. "I don’t know if we should keep going."

The words landed like a hammer. For the first time since they had started this case, Leanna and Olivia exchanged a look—not doubt, but concern.

Olivia leaned forward. "Jessica. Are you pulling back?"

Jessica didn’t answer immediately. Not with words. But her grip tightened around the glass like she was trying to hold onto something slipping through her fingers.

She ran a hand over her face. "You realize how deep this goes. If we’re right about this, if the President of the United States is compromised, then we’re playing in a league where we don’t belong."

Leanna’s voice was calm but firm. "You didn’t come this far just to quit."

Jessica closed her eyes. The weight of it all settled over her, pressing into her ribs.

No, she hadn’t come this far to quit. But she had seen what happens to people who dig too deep.

Olivia reached for her drink. "I say we go to Langley."

Jessica exhaled. "They’ll never let us in."

Leanna smirked. "They don’t have to let us in. We just have to find the right person."

Jessica stared at them both. There it was. The choice she already knew she’d make. She downed the rest of her whiskey, set the glass on the table, and nodded.