Bitcoin Billionaire: I Regressed to Invest in the First Bitcoin! Chapter 71: Cost of Truth

In this world, many had different beliefs of what was moral and what wasn't, but at so level, there are certain things people all generally agreed were vastly immoral.

Brooklyn didn't need to be told that this was one of them.

After being admonished by the dia manager, she sat in her office, her fingers pressing against her temples, eyes staring blankly at the wooden desk that had been hers for years.

Brooklyn loved coffee, yet the steaming cup sat untouched beside her laptop, its aroma mixing with the faint scent of old books and printer ink.

Papers were scattered in front of her, but she wasn't seeing them.

Her thoughts swirled like a storm, crashing violently against the walls of reason. How could she just let this go?

She understood how politics worked. She had even played the ga herself, spinning narratives, omitting inconvenient truths when necessary.

The governnt manipulating the dia wasn't new to her; hell, she had facilitated it at tis.

But this was different. This was a cover-up. This was burying a story that truly mattered.

Brooklyn exhaled sharply, her nails digging into her palms.

'Do you even care about any of this?'

'You're a heartless woman.'

Sandy yers's words resurfaced in her mind, the accusation ringing louder than ever.

Brooklyn had no way to prove it, but she could tell that Sandy herself was a victim of Gareth Smithers's woeful actions. There was no way a woman like her would have stayed that long and not experienced anything.

Their conversation hurt as she thought about it.

Brooklyn had mastered the act of accepting being disliked. It ca with the profession.

She had never had a problem with walking the tightrope between ethical and questionable. In this field, the truth was rarely black and white. But this? This was crossing the line.

And she didn't want Sandy yers — a victim — to think that she was a completely heartless woman. Especially in this situation.

Journalists weren't law enforcent, weren't judges or executioners. They didn't bring justice. But they sure as hell made sure the truth was known so that justice could be brought.

And if they weren't doing that — if they were suppressing the truth — then weren't they just as guilty?

A knock on her door. Brooklyn looked up as a junior assistant stepped in, placing a thick folder on her desk.

"From Langley," the assistant said. "She wants you working on this next."

Brooklyn pulled the folder toward her, flipping it open.

Her stomach twisted.

'Bitcoin's Alleged Collapse: Why Cryptocurrency is a Failing Investnt'

Her jaw clenched. More bullshit. Another manufactured hit piece ant to instill fear, to manipulate public perception.

She flipped through the pages, scanning the data, the carefully curated language ant to overstate a minor dip in Bitcoin's value, painting it as catastrophic.

As if that was more important than exposing a man who had ruined lives.

Brooklyn slamd the folder shut, pushing away from her desk so violently her chair scraped across the floor.

No.

No, she wasn't doing this.

She grabbed the real story; the Gareth Smithers exposé, and stord out of her office.

Everyone paused, watching her storm past then, all having an idea of what was about to happen.

Brooklyn stord into Catherine Langley's office, refusing to knock.

The dia manager was seated at her desk, glasses perched on her nose, scribbling on a contract.

As though she was expecting the outburst, she didn't even look up.

Brooklyn slamd the exposé onto Langley's desk.

"I can't let it go, Mrs Langley. We need to run this."

Langley sighed, setting her pen down with deliberate slowness. She glanced at the folder, then at Brooklyn, unimpressed. "We've already discussed this."

"No, you've dismissed it." Brooklyn's voice was tight, controlled rage simring beneath. "And I need you to look at this again. Actually look at what's in front of you."

Langley exhaled sharply but opened the folder. Brooklyn's eyes burned as she watched her boss skim the pages; pages filled with evidence, testimonies, lives shattered.

"Neil Grayson. Twenty-two," Brooklyn read out with a cutting tone. "Ca to work for Smithers right after college. He had the next big startup idea, a social networking platform for professionals. Smithers took him under his wing, promised ntorship. Instead, he stole Neil's work, claid it as his own. Neil was blacklisted. No one in the industry would touch him after that."

Langley stayed silent and expressionless.

"Sarah Keene. Twenty-four. She interned at Smithers' firm. He cornered her in his office. When she refused his advances, he tanked her career before it even started. She's working at a coffee shop now, Catherine. With a degree from Stanford."

Brooklyn's voice rose. "Do you know how many won didn't fight back? How many just — let it happen because they knew no one would believe them?"

Langley's lips pressed into a thin line. "Brooklyn—"

"This is a pattern. A cycle. And we're letting it continue." Brooklyn's heart pounded. "I know what's happening here. I understand who's pulling the strings. But that doesn't change the fact that this is our job."

Langley closed the folder. "It's not happening."

Brooklyn's eyes made her appear insane. Maddened with anger and frustration. "You can't be serious."

Langley leaned forward, folding her hands together. "Brooklyn, listen to . This isn't about right or wrong. This is about business. Do you know what the Morrisons will do to us if we run this? These investors with deep pockets don't want this story out. If we push it — if we defy them — funding gets pulled. We'll crumble and then we can never bring any story to light once again. Is that what you want?"

"What does it matter when they're the ones who get to choose what stories we report?!"

Langley looked at Brooklyn, shook her head and sighed. Then she returned to her work.

Brooklyn's blood boiled. "So that's it? Money over truth?"

"It's always money over truth, Brooklyn." Langley's tone was final.

Brooklyn stared at her, disgusted. "And you're okay with that?"

Langley sighed, rubbing her temples. "I don't have a choice."

Brooklyn's hands curled into fists. Then she unfurled them. Took a deep breath.

"Then give one."

Langley's brow furrowed.

Brooklyn straightened, unshaken. "Authorize the release of the exposé." She paused. "Or fire ."

Langley blinked. "Excuse ?"

"You heard ." Brooklyn's voice was ice. "Either you let do my job, or you let go. Your choice."

Silence.

Langley studied her for a long mont. Then, she laughed.

It was quiet. Amused. Pitying.

"I was once like you Brooklyn," Langley said, shaking her head. "Excited. Driven. Fired up with my vain belief of what's right and wrong? This is business, Brooklyn. It's the world of capitalism we've built."

She sighed. "I had hoped you'll learn and adjust. But it seems you prefer to do that the hard way."

She gave Brooklyn a dark gaze. "Do you really think this company needs you?"

The words hit hard, but Brooklyn didn't flinch.

Silence stretched for multiple seconds, then Langley exhaled, pushing the exposé back toward Brooklyn. "You're fired."

Brooklyn stilled.

A second passed. Then another.

She had gambled, and she had lost.

Slowly, she reached for the folder, gripping it tightly as if it could anchor her. She swallowed hard, the weight of reality settling in.

Then, she straightened.

With every ounce of dignity she had, Brooklyn turned and walked out of the office.

The open newsroom was silent.

The reporters, editors, interns had all heard what had happened. They watched her leave.

Brooklyn kept her chin high, ignoring the stunned and pitying gazes.

Was Brooklyn really leaving Business Everyday.

She walked past the desk that had been hers for years. Past the walls that had once held her work, her legacy.

And then, she arrived outside.

The city stretched before her, vast and indifferent. Brooklyn exhaled, the cold air purifying her lungs from the suffocating atmosphere back in the office.

She turned back and gazed at the tall building. She'd lived a great deal of her adult life in the walls of this glass tower.

Now she'd been fired, she only had one question for herself.

Who was Brooklyn Baker without Business Everyday?