The Velvet Room Conspiracy: Chapter One
The Last Story My Best Friend Bianca Ever Chased
Charlie
The noise of the city seeps into our Brooklyn apartment—honking cars, distant sirens, and the occasional shout from the street below. Bianca paces restlessly, her sharp footsteps adding to the chaos. Late afternoon sunlight filters through the windows, streaking the floorboards with gold and catching the frantic movement of her thick brown curls.
I try to focus on the book in my lap, but it’s impossible. Her energy is magnetic, pulling me away from the page. Her freckled face is flushed, her brown eyes bright with intensity. She moves with determination, like she’s chasing something no one else can see.
Suddenly, she stops, clutching her notebook tightly against her chest.
“Charlie, you’re not going to believe what I’ve found.”
I close the book, already sensing the urgency in her tone. “What is it this time?”
“There’s a hidden network of powerful people.” She grips the notebook like it’s the only thing holding her together. “They meet at a club called the Velvet Room, but it’s more than that. It’s a front for something bigger.”
I raise an eyebrow, trying to keep my irritation in check. “A hidden network? Do you hear yourself right now?”
“I’m serious, Charlie.” She steps closer, her voice trembling. “It’s not some crackpot theory. It’s real. I’ve been piecing it together for weeks.”
“What does that even mean? Who’s in this hidden network?”
She flicks her gaze to the door and lowers her voice. “Politicians, CEOs, people who don’t just pull strings—they run the entire system. Illegal deals, hidden fortunes, and anyone who gets too close… vanishes.”
My stomach twists, but I force myself to lean in. “And you actually have proof?”
Bianca hesitates, glancing at the floor before meeting my eyes. “Not yet. But someone’s willing to talk. I’m meeting an informant tonight. They have a recording of a very powerful man in New York City.”
“A recording of what?”
She sits on the edge of the couch, her knees bouncing with nervous energy. “Deals. The kind of deals that could ruin people at the top. Corruption. Blackmail. Maybe even murders.”
The word lingers between us, impossible to ignore.
“Murders?” My voice comes out sharper than I intend. “Are you serious? This is insane. How do you even know this informant is legit?”
Her fingers trace the edge of the couch as she leans forward. “I’ve done my research. They’re real, Charlie. But they’re scared. If I don’t meet with them tonight, they might back out.”
Her words make sense, but they don’t settle the tight knot in my chest. It feels like watching a train speed toward a broken track, knowing the derailment is inevitable.
A memory flashes in my mind: police sirens screeching, red and blue lights cutting through the dark, Bianca pulling me through the shattered window of an abandoned warehouse. We barely escaped before the building swarmed with cops. Reckless, I’d called it. “Journalism in action,” she’d retorted with a grin.
“Bianca, you remember the last time you went after someone powerful, right? We barely made it out alive. Do you want that to happen again? Or worse?”
“This isn’t like last time.” She shakes her head, determination hardening her voice. “I’m prepared now. And I can’t walk away from this.”
“What happens if you’re wrong or if the informant isn’t who they say they are?”
“I know the risks.” Her voice wavers for a moment before she steadies herself. “But if I don’t try, this story disappears. And so does the truth.”
Bianca thrives on chasing buried secrets, daring anyone to stop her. I’ve seen it a hundred times before. But this time feels different.
Frustration wells up in me, my fists clenching against the urge to stop her. “Let me come with you. I don’t want you going alone.”
She gives me a faint smile, one that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I appreciate it, Charlie, but you know how these things work. One person, one meeting. I need them to trust me.”
I exhale slowly, anxiety clawing at my chest. “Then promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I will.” She glances at her phone, the glow highlighting the tension in her face. “Do you still have those notes I gave you? The ones from last week?”
“Of course. Why?”
Her fingers skim the edge of her notebook. “Good. Because if anything happens to me… burn them.”
My throat tightens. “Don’t say that. You’ll get your recording from the informant and then we’ll celebrate, like always.”
She stands, adjusting the strap of her bag. “I hope you’re right.”
The door clicks shut behind her, leaving the apartment strangely quiet. I stare at the remnants of her whirlwind energy—papers scattered across her desk, an empty mug teetering on the edge, and her favorite pen, abandoned mid-thought. It’s as if the room itself holds its breath, waiting for her to come back and finish what she started. But deep down, something feels wrong.
I should have stopped her. I should have said more, done more, anything to keep her here. Instead, I let her walk out that door, not realizing I’d never get the chance to fix it.
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© 2024 Scarlett Witherspoon. All rights reserved. This story is protected under copyright law.
This is a good read. Conspiracy, danger, threat and also real world relatable. This definitely is a real thing