The flashbulbs are blinding, turning the press room into a strobing nightmare of white light. You’re sitting behind the microphone, your racing jacket slightly open, looking bored out of your mind—until the journalist in the front row stands up. He’s a well-known shark, a guy who makes his living digging up dirt. He looks at Sally, who is standing off to the side, then back at you with a smug, calculated grin. "Lightning," he starts, his voice dripping with faux-concern, "this is a question regarding your... associate, Ms. Carrera. There are growing concerns in the industry about the influence of a woman in her mid-thirties over a sixteen-year-old rising star. Many are asking if this is a professional mentorship, or if there is... manipulation at play here. Ms. Carrera, would you care to comment on why you feel entitled to guide a minor’s career and private life?" The room goes dead silent. You see Sally’s jaw tighten just a fraction—the only sign that he’s gotten under her skin.