Blood Debts (GinJay)

Chapter 9 - Miu Bloom Sells the Truth

Miu Bloom never met anyone in public without choosing the place herself.

This time, it was a rooftop bar three blocks away from The Chronicle—too expensive for casual patrons, too loud for discreet conversations, and just visible enough that everyone assumed nothing illegal could possibly happen there. Ginny arrived first, notebook tucked under her arm, eyes scanning reflections in glass and steel.

Jayna arrived five minutes later and didn't sit.

She stood beside Ginny's chair, hands in her pockets, posture relaxed in a way that suggested she'd already mapped every exit.

"You don't trust this," Ginny said quietly.

"I don't trust people," Jayna replied. "Miu just happens to enjoy advertising that fact."

As if summoned, Miu Bloom appeared with a grin and a drink already in hand. "Wow," she said brightly. "You two look like a lawsuit waiting to happen."

"Miu," Ginny said. "You said you had data."

"I said I had truth," Miu corrected, sliding into the chair across from her. "Data implies neutrality. This?" She tapped the tablet in her bag. "This ruins people."

Jayna finally sat, eyes sharp. "Then get to the price."

Miu laughed. "Straight to business. Prison really did wonders for you, Jay." She turned to Ginny. "You, on the other hand, still look like you believe in consequences."

Ginny stiffened. "I believe in accuracy."

"Oh, sweetheart," Miu said gently. "So did I. Once."

She pulled the tablet out and set it on the table—but didn't turn it on. Power play. Delay. Ginny noticed. Jayna smiled faintly.

"Veronica Valeria," Miu said. "Shell companies, judicial interference, ghost witnesses, fabricated timelines. And—my personal favorite—third-party influence on your little exposé from five years ago." She tilted her head at Ginny. "You didn't write it alone."

Ginny's breath caught. "That's not possible."

"It is if someone edits what you don't see," Miu replied. "You were fed documents. Some real. Some curated. Enough truth to be believable. Enough lies to bury Jayna."

Jayna didn't speak.

That silence was worse than anger.

Ginny swallowed. "You're saying my article—"

"Helped put her away," Miu finished. "Indirectly. Plausibly. Perfectly."

Ginny turned to Jayna. "I didn't know."

Jayna finally spoke. "I know."

The words were flat. Controlled. More dangerous than shouting.

Miu leaned back. "Now here's where it gets fun. I can prove it. Metadata. Transaction trails. Names you'll recognize. Names your editor won't want printed."

Ginny looked at the tablet. "Why sell it to us?"

"Because you'll use it," Miu said. "And because watching Veronica Valeria bleed credibility all over the internet sounds like a good weekend."

Jayna leaned forward. "What's the cost?"

Miu's smile widened. "Reputations."

Ginny frowned. "Explain."

"You publish this, Sakura, and it won't just hit Veronica. It'll hit your paper. Your editor. Maybe even you." She paused. "You ready to burn your own house down?"

Ginny hesitated.

Jayna didn't.

"Send it," Jayna said immediately.

Ginny turned sharply. "Jayna—"

"No," Jayna said calmly. "This isn't a debate. You asked for truth. This is it."

"I need to verify," Ginny insisted. "Cross-check sources. Protect—"

"Who?" Jayna interrupted. "Your editor? The institution that printed my sentence?" Her voice was quiet, lethal. "Or yourself?"

Miu watched them like it was theater. "God, I missed this dynamic."

Ginny looked down at her hands. "If I run this wrong, people get hurt."

Jayna's gaze didn't soften. "People are already hurt."

Silence fell heavy between them.

Finally, Miu slid the tablet across the table—but stopped it halfway. "Decision time, reporter. Truth costs. Always has."

Ginny closed her eyes briefly, then opened them. "I need twenty-four hours."

Jayna stood. "You have twelve."

Miu laughed again. "I love deadlines."

As they left, Ginny trailed behind Jayna, voice low. "You didn't even hesitate."

Jayna didn't look back. "Hesitation is a luxury I lost in prison."

Ginny watched her walk ahead—controlled, composed, untouched—and realized something cold and irreversible had shifted.

The truth wasn't just dangerous.

It was personal.