by S. D. Rudd
“The president.” Richard assumed his lack of response was intentional. What a prick. That’s what he thought. What he said? “Of the United States of America.”
The leather executive spun around. Richard thought the challenging glare in the eyes of this pompous big shot unnecessary yet an expectation. “Your mind obviously has no bearings on what is known as figuratively speaking, does it?”
That made Richard’s skin crawl but he had to let it go. It wasn’t worth losing his job over.
“Why would the President call me?” Cornelius prodded. “In my office, on my Blackberry? Are you crazy!” He paused, Richard speculated, for effect then he let out the familiar sound of an irritating sigh.
It wasn’t a good idea to give Black a reason to take him off whatever cockamamie assignment he obviously had in mind for him. “Unfortunately, I’m powerful but I’m not that powerful.” Now Black was the cause of an even more irritating pause, something that made Richard almost swear after using the Lord’s name under his breath.
He would have.
But it was too quiet in this office…this penthouse with full Jacuzzi bathtub, a pool game room, a kitchen and a living room with Italian leather sofas facing a 57 inch flat screen TV hanging from a white wall that rested atop white marble flooring.
Nice office…really nice office.
But it was too quiet.
Quiet enough to hear a muttered swear; quiet enough to get thrown off the unannounced assignment that Richard much needed at the moment…his reputation was on the line. He had to get it back.
Like last week.
“Yet.” Richard stood there watching helplessly as Cornelius carved a wretched grin across his evil genius of a face. “I was talking about Ambrose,” he finally said. “You do know of an Ambrose last I checked.”
Sylvain Ambrose. The madden Frenchmen with billionaire pockets and the most remarkable influence over powerful political figures around the world Richard had ever seen. How could he forget?
“He’s ordered me to run the story next issue and you know very well what that means for us.”
“A lotta heat. How can I not?”
“Which means a lot of magazine sells and an incredible rating with the ABC.”
“Yeah, but at an equally incredible cost. The people aren’t ready for that kind of change, Neil, and you know it.”
“The people don’t know what they’re ready for, much less what they need. It’s our job to make these decisions for them and to make them clear.”
“And what if they don’t want we want them to want? Do we just run another BS story to cover the loss of trust generated by the last one?”
Cornelius just looked at him. “The people always want what we want them to want.”
“Because they don’t know the truth…”
“But they still…always want what we want them to want,” he said in syllables. He paused for a moment, a bewildered expression carved into his perfect face; a perfect face made possible by a few plastic surgical enhancements, chiseled nose, cleft chin…the works.
“You know, before ten seconds ago, I was so confident that you were the man for the job. Now you’re standing there with two dark circles under your eyes, a crooked imitation silk tie, bent on proving to me that I’m a liar.”
Richard fell silent—straightened his crooked tie—mostly to avoid losing a high profile assignment that would assassinate his career. Funny, that word assassinate. Because that’s all he ever did with the truth.
Assassinate it.
This next story…an idea that verged on ludicrous, was just that. Another assassination yet Richard knew he was right. Cornelius may have been a jerk but he was never wrong about these kinds of things.
“How do we make them believe?” he said.
Cornelius allowed a familiar silence to pass, holding a conceited gaze, before turning his chair sideways to view both he and the New York City skyline in his peripheries. “We are the press, Ricky,” he said. “They’ll believe us. They’ll believe anything we write, especially if what we write is anything worthy of negativity.
“It’s tradition. We write it, they believe it, and no one asks questions. Instead, they employ effective word of mouth marketing by telling everyone they know because, in news, bad news travels fastest.
“That’s how we get our ratings, Ricky. Who cares if it’s true; we need readership and that’s the bottom line.” An awkward hesitation passed before, “besides, this has been a long time coming and tell me I’m not right about that.”
Richard walked around the desk and stood beside Cornelius as he sat and stared at the skyline to his right. He couldn’t believe the world had come to this. He felt numb, fearful, yet fascinated at the same time. “Nothing like this has ever been done before,” he said. “You think it’ll work?”
A short pause. Then, “obviously I’m giving the story to you,” Cornelius said. “Gimmie the first draft soon as the last period is dotted. I don’t want you to edit it until I see it, is that understood?”
“Yes sir,” Richard said and then headed for the door.
“I’m serious, Ricky.”
Richard hesitated but he did not turn around.
“No editing.”
“Ok Neil.” He moved toward the exit before Black made another decree.
“Send Rachel in here on your way out.”
His hand paused at the right double-door handle, halfway to the seventy degree angle. He glanced over his shoulder at the Black’s profile, still gazing out with a clenched fist to his lips, thought about asking a probing question, but changed his mind and pushed on the heavy mahogany wood door.
S. D. Rudd has also written…
Seer
Coming Soon…
Brainstorm (A “Black Water” Sequel)
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Table of Contents
Copyright
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
