“All right. I can take care of that.” Dick informed the man that the cost for the ad space was only seven thousand dollars per month. What he learned next cinched the deal.
“We’ll be sending out two checks. One for the first month and a three thousand dollar check made out to you. For … administrative expenses.”
Dick hadn’t needed any more information than that. He imagined the cruise he and his wife could take with the bonus. There’d even be enough for gambling money … souvenirs … time off.
The checks had arrived the day before, and he’d already spoken with Laura, the Web master, about the ad. HOUR’s insignia and hot line number had been displayed prominently at the top of the Wednesday’s Child Web page since last night.
Getting the Asian girl’s picture removed had been another thing altogether.
The station’s standard permissions form for children who appeared on the Wednesday’s Child program and Web site stated that a child’s guardian had to be contacted before his or her picture could be removed from the Internet page. Dick hated having to contact Rosa Lee’s social worker, but there’d been no other way. At least he hadn’t lied to the woman. The fact was, there were younger, more desirable children whose pictures belonged on the Web site. Rosa Lee was something of a distraction, a misfit. Dick held his breath as the phone rang in the station’s computer lab.
“Yes?” Laura’s voice was robotic, as though she’d spent too many years in the company of a computer.
“Baker here. I notified the social worker. Pull the photo of Rosa Lee.”
Baker heard a series of clicking sounds as the woman’s fingers raced over the keyboard. “Okay. She’s gone.”
As he hung up the phone he smiled to himself—but even as he did, Baker felt a twinge of regret. What heartless person at HOUR had sent in the request that Faith’s favorite child or favorite children be removed from the site? He let the thought pass. The benefits far outweighed any damage to his conscience over the issue. WKZN would come off looking like it approved of HOUR, a fact that would help balance the conservative on-air views Faith Evans continually spouted. Baker could use HOUR to maintain an unbiased position, thereby pleasing the network executives in Philadelphia. His station had picked up an extra seven thousand dollars and he’d made a tidy bonus in the process.
Satisfaction filtered through Baker’s veins. There was one other benefit, the icing on the cake, really. If the HOUR group was intent on pressuring Faith Evans to quiet her religious views, then that would take the burden off him.
In the end, it was a win-win situation for everyone.
At just past eleven that morning Faith sat by the fireplace in her parents’ house sipping hot, steamed milk and second-guessing herself. She stared at the dancing flames, and though the warmth from the fire spread over her body, an icy wind resonated in her heart. The idea that had seemed so perfect the night before now felt impulsive and shallow and more than a little dangerous.
Faith curled her legs beneath her and considered the outcome if she went ahead with her plan. Certainly it could cost her a chunk of her savings—as well as any pretense of impartiality she might still have among her coworkers. She drew a deep breath and sank further back in her chair, her lips pursed together.
She had to be realistic about it … it could mean losing her job.
The image of Rosa Lee filled her mind, and she picked up the phone. Maybe an afternoon with the little girl would make Faith’s decision more clear, help settle her priorities into place. She dialed a number she had long since memorized and waited while the phone rang.
“Yup.” As far as Faith could tell, Sandy was an upbeat woman who dearly loved the children she cared for. The fact that she wasn’t as tender or soft-spoken as Faith might have been didn’t make her any less valuable in the lives of the kids. It merely underlined the fact that Rosa and the other children needed families.
“Hi, Sandy, it’s Faith. Any calls for Rosa yet?” Faith held her breath. It was the same question she asked every time she called, praying all the while that someone had seen the Web site, a mom or dad who wanted to make Rosa their daughter.
“Nope, and it don’t look like it’ll happen any time soon.”
Faith clenched her teeth and felt her heart sink halfway to her knees. Poor Rosa. Why God? Why isn’t there someone for her?
Silence.
There was no time to question the lack of holy reassurance. Sandy sounded more discouraged than usual, and a strange sense of alarm rippled through Faith. “Did something happen?”
“Yeah, something happened. That boss of yours down at the station called this morning and said they were pulling Rosa’s picture from the Web site.” Sandy paused, and Faith felt as though the fire had spread straight to her soul. “Something about her being too old.”
Faith’s hands began to tremble and her mouth went dry. “Dick Baker called you?”
“He’s the one.” Sandy’s voice rang with cynicism. “Get the little girl’s hopes up and then pull the rug out from underneath her. Don’t tell me Rosa Lee’s too old. If she were a white girl with a normal hand she’d be on the Web site as long as it took her to find a home.”
Faith’s mind was reeling. Why hadn’t anyone from the station called to tell her about the decision? How come she hadn’t known they were looking to keep older children off the site? “I’m sorry, Sandy. I’ll see what I can find out and I’ll give you a call back.”
Five minutes later she had Dick Baker on the phone. “Why didn’t you tell me you were pulling Rosa’s picture?” She didn’t bother masking her anger.
“Nothing says I have to contact you first.” Baker sounded flip and unyielding. “I’m too busy to get involved with matters such as this.”
Faith could feel her heart pounding in her throat. “Not too busy to call Rosa’s social worker earlier today and get the child’s picture removed. Why would the station manager have to take care of something like that? Isn’t that the webmaster’s job?”
“Listen, your job’s on thin ice as it is, Evans. I don’t need some two-bit anchor questioning my decisions.” His anger came like a sudden storm and she felt her heart rate quicken in response. “Not that I have to tell you this, but it wasn’t my call. We had complaints from advertisers, and honestly they had valid points.”
“Complaints?” Faith pressed her fingers up along her scalp and let her forehead settle in her hands. “About Rosa?”
Mr. Baker sighed as though he could barely tolerate her. “About her age. She belongs on a special-needs Web site; not the WKZN Wednesday’s Child page”
A dozen questions jockeyed for position and Faith tried to articulate the most important. “What advertiser could have possibly cared about that?”
“This conversation is over. I’ll expect you in at the regular time this evening and I don’t want to hear another word about the matter. It’s your job to locate orphaned children; it’s our job to manage the Web page.” He might have been a rabid bear for the way he growled at her, but this time Faith’s fear dissolved, leaving in its place a growing determination as foreign to her as the idea of arguing with her boss.
“Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes.” Faith gulped silently, considering her options. She had to know who the advertiser was, what company would single out a lonely child such as Rosa and have her picture removed from the Web site. “I’ll see you at the station.”
Faith moved across the room to the computer and accessed the Internet. Typing in the correct address she pulled up WKZN’s home page and clicked onto the Wednesday’s Child link. What she saw made her sit back in her chair, her heart hurting as though it were bound and gagged.
Across the top of the page was a banner advertisement for HOUR.
The realization took nearly a minute to sink in. Clearly Jordan Riley had placed the ad, but why? Was this how he’d chosen to pay her back for her televised animosity toward him and his group? Faith felt the enormity of their differences more
sharply than ever. To think he’d take out his anger on a little child—a child as desperately lonely as he himself had once been. Faith had the strong desire to call him at work and tell him how she felt. Instead she reached into the cupboard and pulled down the phone book. Flipping to the list of government offices her eyes searched the page until she found what she was looking for.
Mayor Furlong answered on the third ring.
“Hey, Frank, it’s Faith Evans.” Her body tingled from the adrenaline racing through her system. There’d be serious repercussions, no doubt, but nothing could stop her now. This call was for the people of Bethany, in memory of her father. It was for little Rosa Lee, and most of all it was for Faith herself.
She had lived in the shadows long enough; this time her mind was made up.
Suddenly she knew that this feeling—the odd sensation that her heart was in her throat, the way her body pulsed with conviction—this was what her father had lived for.
It was a feeling that what was about to be done was inherently right.
No matter the cost.
“Hello, Faith. What can I do for you?”
Faith cleared her throat. “I’m interested in buying a piece of property from the city.”
14
The meeting took place after hours in a spacious, well-appointed office on the top floor of the headquarters for HOUR. In attendance were all three partners, as well as five of the firm’s top lawyers.
The notable exception was Jordan Riley, whose case against the town of Bethany was causing more than a little concern.
A silence fell over the room, and Peter T. Hawkins, the oldest and most intimidating partner, rose from his seat and leaned against the wall. “Morris, tell ’em about the phone call.”
T. J. Morris stood and slid his hands in his pockets. This was the year he’d been hoping to make partner and he knew he had no choice but to play the part asked of him in the Bethany case. There was the other detail as well … the bonus money.
What would Jordan think if he knew they were meeting behind his back? That they’d resorted to blackmail to make sure the press portrayed HOUR in a favorable light? He restrained a grimace, but not the thought that came with it: What have I become?
For a fleeting instant his thoughts nearly got the better of him. But with each man in the room waiting for him to speak, he had no time to answer his own question—and no answers, even if he’d had the time.
He stared at his notes and then lifted his eyes to meet those of his peers. “We received a phone call this afternoon from a reporter in Bethany. Apparently the city council held another of its emergency meetings today, and the reporter caught wind of something he thought we’d find interesting.”
T. J. raised a piece of paper so he could see his notes more clearly. Beneath his shirt he could feel the perspiration building along his collarbone. The Bethany case was supposed to have been a natural winner, a simple, open-shut situation. Now he was at the center of what could wind up being a public relations nightmare. He exhaled slowly.
“Apparently a private citizen came forward yesterday and offered to purchase part of Jericho Park.” He glanced at the stone-cold faces around him. “The piece where the Jesus statue sits.”
There was a shifting of legs and glances about the room, and two of the partners whispered something to each other. T. J. waited until they were quiet again. “The city council chose not to inform the people of Bethany about the offer. Instead, they accepted it without question.”
Steve Nelson sat forward in his chair. “What was the offer?”
“Ten thousand dollars.” T. J. glanced at his notes again. “That includes the statue. Joshua Nunn, the attorney for the city, has requested a hearing for early next week, at which time we expect him to ask Judge Webster to throw out the case against Bethany. By that time the statue will no longer belong to the city, but to the private citizen, so there is no way a judge can rule separation of church and state.” He looked at the others and tossed his notes onto the table.
Hawkins had stood throughout T. J.’s announcement and now he stepped out to the front of the room. “Tell them who bought it.”
T. J. felt a drop of sweat roll down his right side underneath his dress shirt. “Faith Evans, the WKZN newscaster for the Philadelphia affiliate. Pretty girl with the whole town on her side.”
Everyone spoke at once.
“That’s a conflict of interest … ”
“Reporters can’t get involved that way … ”
“Does the station know what she’s done?”
Hawkins slammed his fist on a nearby desk and the room fell silent again. “HOUR simply will not stand for this debacle of justice. We cannot have it. The press will have a field day with us. Outsmarted by a bunch of bungling townspeople and some … some religious fanatic reporter!”
T. J. cleared his throat, and the attention shifted back to him. “Obviously Jordan Riley needs to know about this development. But for now—” he glanced at Hawkins—“we thought it was best to discuss this without him.”
Hawkins’s face contorted into a frustrated mass of wrinkles. “Jordan’s got—” he waved his hand in the air—“a personal interest in this case. I think we all know that. He wanted the statue gone in the first place.” Hawkins looked as though he’d swallowed something that was still moving in his stomach. “But he let something slip the other day in a conversation with T. J. It seems back when he was a boy he was in love with the very same girl who’s giving us fits.”
One of the other partners lurched forward, his face pale. “Faith Evans?”
“Yes.” Hawkins spit the word as though he had a bug in his mouth. “Faith Evans.” Hawkins shifted his gaze back to T. J. “I assume you took care of that little item I requested.”
T. J. nodded. “Of course.” He was still having trouble sleeping at night, wondering when HOUR had stooped to using orphans as pawns, but he kept that to himself. “I placed an ad on the WKZN Web site, paid off the station director, and got the photo of a young girl removed from the Wednesday’s Child page. Apparently, the orphan was Faith Evans’s favorite, and by now she knows HOUR was responsible for the child’s removal.”
“Excellent.” He looked at the others. “I have nothing against this Evans woman personally, you understand. But she’s taken up the wrong battle. In cases such as this, intimidation can make for superb warfare when the battle gets intense. And this figures to get downright ugly before it’s all over.” Hawkins looked at T. J. “Tomorrow I want you to call the news station and talk to Dick Baker; he’s the station manager. Tell him you have something that might interest him. Then ask if he knows that his nighttime anchorwoman has purchased a piece of Jericho Park to help the town of Bethany sidestep Judge Webster’s ruling.” Hawkins chuckled and scanned the room again. “Something tells me there’ll be an opening for an anchor on the WKZN eleven o’clock news by tomorrow night.” He nodded at T. J. “Give us the rundown on the plan from here.”
T. J. took a step forward, hoping he looked more together than he felt. I’m only being a friend … it’s for Jordan’s good … But the party lines felt as comfortable as thumbtacks in his gut and he cleared his throat. “We’ll work on a solution tonight and then tomorrow get the information to Jordan, who will then file a secondary suit at the same time the city asks for a reprieve. That way the media will be less likely to focus on the people’s defensive move—the sale of the park land—and more likely to highlight our next stage of attack.” He looked at the eyes of the men and saw they were tracking with him. He raised his chin and his voice grew steady.
“In other words, we don’t want the story to be the sale of the park land. Not for a single day. Obviously it’ll be an aspect of the story, but the main point of interest must be whatever move we choose to make.”
Hawkins stepped forward and waved his hand at the others. “That’s where you all come in. No one, and I mean not one of you, will leave this room until an action based on case precedent has been d
ecided on. At that point, T. J. will write up the plan as a single brief and give it to Jordan tomorrow.”
T. J. blinked. He could just imagine Jordan’s reaction when he learned he had not been one of the first to hear Bethany had sold the land to Faith Evans. Or when he found out that T. J., one of his best friends, had been part of the plan to leave him out. But then, business had to come first. And if Hawkins was being level with him, his work on the Bethany case could mean he’d make partner that much sooner.
Hawkins sat down and leaned back in his chair. “Jordan Riley must never know about this meeting, is that understood?”
The men around the room nodded, and three of them agreed out loud. As they began tossing out ideas and jotting down notes, T. J. tried to convince himself that such meetings were a necessary part of being a lawyer. That blackmailing reporters, getting an orphan’s photo pulled from a Web site, and holding clandestine meetings behind the back of a coworker and friend were an understandable price to pay in the fight for human rights.
He tried to believe it was all in Jordan’s best interest. Just a way of ensuring his friend’s heart didn’t get too involved—which would only render him ineffective.
But for the first time since T. J. took the job at HOUR he could only convince himself of one thing: This time he and his coworkers were going too far.
Hawkins waited until the others had filed out of his office before returning the call. The message had come in just before the meeting. An advisor to one of the top politicians in the state of Pennsylvania wanted to talk to him.
Hawkins felt his heart beat hard against his chest. Whatever this was, it ought to be interesting. He dialed the number and waited for the man to take the call.
“Hello, sir. Peter Hawkins here. With the HOUR organization.”
A Kingsbury Collection Page 82
