On the Record- the Complete Collection

by Lee Winter

  “Who gives a shit about that?” a voice called out from much closer. “What about us? We have mortgages. Kids. We can’t afford to risk being fired so you get one last chance to haul your trashed reputation back out of the gutter.”

  Lauren craned her head. Doug Daley. She snarled. There were more than a few nods around the room, agreeing with his sentiment.

  “So says a man who has to steal a story just to have any reputation at all,” Ayers retorted.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “You took Lauren King’s parking corruption story and pretended you’d found it.” Her voice was cool, lip curling in disdain.

  There were disbelieving murmurs.

  “Is that true?” Neil turned on Frank, who shifted awkwardly.

  “Well…sort of,” Frank admitted in a low voice. “I gave King’s story to Doug because that’s his area of expertise.”

  “And then Daley sold it as entirely his own research,” Ayers concluded. “How many awards are you putting it up for, anyway?” she asked the local government reporter. “You’re a fraud. Your opinion is therefore irrelevant here.”

  Daley stared at her as though he wanted to rip her tongue out.

  Ayers took one look at him, and a predatory smirk twisted her lips, her eyes narrowing. She went in for the kill. “But just think, Daley, here’s your chance at last to have a hand in a story that will have this newsroom, and everyone in it, immortalised in history. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You can even lie to your reflection and tell yourself you broke it.”

  Lauren winced at the depths of the maliciousness. It might have been deserved, but it didn’t go unnoticed, and the editorial staff started to shift uneasily. She glanced at Ayers. Catherine was a creature of habit—vicious, cutting habit. And right now she was supposed to be bringing the newsroom around to her side, not reminding them of all the reasons they disliked her. She knew the staff accepted Daley far more than an outsider who’d made no effort to befriend them in the past eighteen months. At best Ayers tolerated them, and everyone in the room knew it.

  The murmurings were starting to sound sympathetic in his favor.

  “You see,” Daley said triumphantly, jabbing his finger toward the room. “They don’t want to follow you in anything. You’re just a bitter, dried-up, old has-been put out to pasture.” He spun around to the room and raised his voice. “All in favor of risking your jobs and your mortgages in the tightest job market journalists have ever seen on the hope the Caustic Queen’s risky vanity project pays off, raise your hands.”

  About half the hands in the room slowly went up. Some were wavering. Others, like Florence, had her hand up straight and tall, a determined look on the secretary’s face.

  “And those who want to vote for job security and not taking on the entire federal government and its national security assholes, raise your hand.” More hands lifted.

  “There you are then!” Daley said. “Your story’s buried and so say half of us. The smart half at least. This dangerous shit storm you’re trying to drag us into is over.”

  The group began to disperse, splintering into two halves. Those who’d voted no looked sheepish and didn’t make eye contact, huddling toward other no voters. The rest looked disturbed by their colleagues’ cowardice, and several muttered jibes could be heard.

  “Sorry,” Frank told Ayers quietly. He looked to Lauren. “You, too, kid. Had to be unanimous for it to work.”

  “Goddamned Doug Daley,” Lauren spat. “If it hadn’t been for him—”

  “Then it would have been the next person. Times are tough. The newspaper market is shrinking; Doug’s not wrong about that,” Frank sighed. He studied Ayers. “Guess you get to say that you told her so now.”

  For once he wasn’t being a smart-ass. Shoulders slumped, not waiting for an answer, he shuffled over to talk to Neil.

  Lauren felt sick to her stomach.

  “Maybe you should have been the one to speak after all,” Ayers told her quietly. “It seems cynics with a bad reputation can’t win anyone over. Maybe we needed your unsullied optimism in the end.”

  “I was so sure,” Lauren muttered. “I thought truth was all we needed. Story always comes first. And I believe that. I do.”

  “I know,” Ayers said. “You’re a believer and a fighter. Dangerous combination. You either lead the revolution or get killed trying.”

  Lauren’s phone rang.

  “King,” she said, not looking away from the Ayers’s sympathetic gaze.

  “He what?” she barked so sharply that Frank, Neil, and half dozen reporters in the general vicinity stopped and stared at her. “Okay. Thanks for the head’s up, Max.”

  “It’s our publisher,” she said. “Someone here told Harrington about the meeting.” Her eyes settled on the publisher’s elderly secretary who suddenly busied herself with shuffling papers around. “He’s on his way up to speak to the floor.”

  “Shit!” “Hell!” “Oh great!” reporters began speaking over each other, looking around quickly.

  “Think he’s going to fire us anyway?” one asked.

  “He can’t; I’ve got my alimony payment due. I’ll be toast if he does.”

  Ayers took out her cell phone and went to a corner for privacy as Lauren tried to calm them. They ignored her completely. Well, she was still a no one. She sighed.

  Ayers returned to her side. “I’ve called in some reinforcements. It might be enough.”

  Lauren frowned. “I thought we’d done all we could?”

  “I had one ally left, and I decided, well, I may as well go down having tried everything.”

  “Two allies left,” Lauren said pointedly.

  Ayers paused. “One valuable ally,” she corrected.

  Lauren stared at her. “Really? That was necessary?”

  “No, but factual. Truth isn’t always palatable, is it?”

  Lauren glared at her. “If this is about this morning—”

  “For god’s sake, do you have a one-track mind?” Ayers interrupted coldly. “But speaking of truth, I made a promise to destroy the Boy King, and I sincerely plan to keep it within the next fifteen minutes.”

  Paul Harrington Jr. strode into the middle of the newsroom. His Armani suit was showy and expensive, his tie bright red. His designer shoes—black, polished, and pointy—burned a trail across the news floor.

  “What is this?” he demanded, turning to address everyone. “Was my memo not clear? Anyone who runs a SmartPay story gets fired. Yet you all stop to discuss it? Am I the publisher here, or am I not the fucking publisher?”

  He sounded enraged, but even in his fancy suit he gave the impression of a little boy having a tantrum.

  “Yes Paul,” Neil said calmly, stepping up to him. “You are the publisher. Why don’t you step inside my office, and we can have a meeting about what took place just now and why.”

  “I think we should have it out, right here. I want someone to explain to me what happened.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Well?”

  “We voted,” Daley spoke up. “Not to run Ayers’s story.”

  Harrington’s head snapped around. “Voted. Like it was up to you people when I’d already said no?”

  Daley swallowed.

  “Well, let’s see it—show of hands. Who voted yes?” Harrington asked.

  The crowd shifted anxiously.

  “Come on, Paul,” Neil said soothingly. “You can’t ask them that. That’s not fair.”

  “I’ll tell you what’s not fair. Disloyal ingrates on my payroll.”

  “Oh some of them are very loyal,” Neil snapped, clearly annoyed.

  “What?” Harrington glared.

  “Loyal to the truth.”

  “You’re in on this mutiny, too?” Harrington sized him up. He smiled.
“Well, they say management sets the tone. You’re fired.”

  The watching reporters murmured their growing disapproval, shooting the publisher outraged looks.

  “Where were we? Ah yes. I want a show of hands of who voted yes, or I fire every last one of you. And I’m not bluffing.”

  “You can’t fire them all,” Frank intervened. “No one’d be left to run the paper if you do.”

  “That’s my concern isn’t it?” he said. He assessed Frank. “And which way did you vote?” he asked dangerously.

  “I didn’t. It wasn’t my role.”

  “Good answer.”

  “My role was to implement what the staff decided,” he added and stuck his chin out pugnaciously.

  Lauren’s eyes widened. Oh crap.

  “You…” Harrington glowered at him. “You’re fucking fired, too.”

  “Good,” Frank barked back. “Wouldn’t want to work for a corrupt publisher. We all know about your SmartPay shares.”

  “My investment portfolio is not your concern.”

  “Nah,” Frank shook his head. “Why would a massive conflict of interest concern a room full of fucking journalists?”

  Harrington deliberately turned his back to him and looked at the rest of the staff. “I won’t ask again—hands up if you voted yes.”

  His gaze shifted from face to face. No one seemed willing to even twitch.

  “Your father must be so proud,” Ayers said quietly, moving gracefully toward him. In the deathly quiet room, the words carried.

  “I couldn’t give a crap what Dad thinks. And you’re fired too, you insubordinate acidic ice bitch.” He gave her a smug look, and Daley snickered loudly.

  “You should care what your father thinks,” Ayers said calmly. “He still owns the shares in the Daily Sentinel. And you’re not fit to run it or any newspaper.”

  “What drugs are you on, Ayers? Dad’s retired. The paper’s mine now.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” a ragged voice said from the rear of the room. Out of the shadows stepped a thin man in his mid sixties dressed in jeans and a golfing shirt.

  Harrington paled. “Dad?”

  The older man moved toward the middle of the room and sized his son up.

  “I’d hoped your leadership and publishing abilities would improve if I got out of your way and you wouldn’t always have me looking over your shoulder,” he said. “But Catherine’s right. You’re not fit to run my paper.

  “She emailed me a copy of her story this morning and asked me to be in the vicinity today in case I was needed. She called me not ten minutes ago and asked me to come in. Didn’t expect to find you tossing out half your staff and trying to kill the story.”

  “It’s my call to spike any story I want.”

  “That story, son, was the greatest thing I’ve read in four decades of journalism. You should be on your knees with gratitude to have it sitting on your plate. Instead you’re more interested in—what? Making money on top of the millions I already gave you? You don’t need more money—you need loyalty. Firing two of the best news chiefs in the game and one of the most exceptional journalists I’ve ever worked with is a rookie error. I’m taking the paper off you, boy. You’re not cut out for it. You never were—and that is the sorry truth.”

  “You can’t!”

  “I just did.”

  “You’re taking her side?” he jabbed his finger at Ayers. “She’s nothing. I’m your son!”

  “And that’s why you’ll never be a good publisher. Because you undervalue everything you have. You overlook your most valuable assets and are more interested in your World Wide Web ventures than the talent that’s parked right under your nose.”

  “Internet news is the future! You think you know news? I know what’s trending. News as it happens. Live, all over the world in an instant.” He snapped his fingers. “What do you know? A dying industry that worships dead trees and ink. You’re a fossil. All of you are.”

  “You might know a lot of things, son, but you haven’t got a lick of sense with it. I’ve never been so disappointed.”

  “Dad…”

  “Go home. We’ll talk later. As for everyone else?” his eyes roamed the newsroom. “Your jobs are safe. Get back to work. And I expect to see a SmartPay spy scandal on every news feed in the nation tomorrow.”

  A small cheer went up, and Lauren’s face split into a huge grin. Relief coursed through her.

  “Will you resume as publisher?” Ayers asked as the room dispersed.

  “For now. But I’ll find someone qualified next time I hand over the reins.”

  “You’d better,” she said.

  “Sassy,” he scolded her fondly. “And Cath? We’ll catch up for lunch soon. You can explain to me what the hell congress thinks it’s doing on that healthcare nonsense. Like old times.”

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  He left her and headed over to Frank and Neil, slapped them both on the shoulder, and launched into an animated discussion about their exclusive story.

  Lauren sauntered over. “Some last ally. He’s only the boss of everything. Jesus.”

  “Not quite, but he is a friend, true,” Ayers admitted. “But it was always a hugely risky move pitting father against son. He didn’t intervene when I was demoted, choosing to let his son make his own decisions and mistakes. I thought there was a good chance he might yet again decide blood was thicker than ink.”

  They regarded each other for a moment, taking in the importance of what had just happened.

  “Holy crap,” Lauren said, grinning. “They’re running our freaking story.”

  “Yes,” Ayers smiled. “I do believe they are.”

  Lauren saw her own excitement mirrored back, and as their gazes locked, she forgot she was supposed to be mad as hell with her.

  Chapter 15 –

  Countdown

  Wednesday, May 29

  33 Days Remaining

  7:37 a.m.

  Lauren rolled over, coughed once, and buried her face in her pillow. Nothing like waking up after a night of celebrating the story to end all stories.

  Her cell phone gave a faint beep from the bedside table.

  It beeped again. And then again.

  She scowled. Only people with a death wish would harass a entertainment reporter before ten in the morning. Everyone knew it. It was the unwritten rule of journalism.

  With a sour grunt, she groped around for the beeping phone.

  Twenty-seven new messages?

  Her eyes focused on the first of her texts. A congratulations from her dad. She smiled and scrolled down. All of her brothers had sent her texts of various degrees of awe and mockery.

  Mariella had emailed to let her know her house guests had left, with Duppy cheerfully vowing to hack any website she wanted as a thanks for putting them up. She demurred. At Harold’s workplace, she added, State of California employees had staged an impromptu burning of their new SmartPay employee cards in the staff parking lot. Mariella admitted she possibly may have put them up to the idea. And she also may have called in a TV camera crew or six to witness the fiery carnage.

  Lauren laughed and flicked her phone browser over to the Daily Sentinel’s website.

  SHOCK ESPIONAGE SCANDAL

  Government agencies implicated in scheme to spy on the American people

  EXCLUSIVE

  By Lauren King and Catherine Ayers

  Read full story

  More: Nevada Government Bribes—Corruption at the top. Hundreds of thousands paid for top officials to endorse SmartPay USA to interstate government officials and corporations.

  Breaking news: Nevada’s governor, lieutenant-governor, and chief of staff resign. Carson City Sheriff’s Office raid their offices. Tax investigation announced. NV accountant insider who was forced to receive brib
es helps officials.

  Business news: Paul Harrington Jr. steps down as publisher of Daily Sentinel. His father, Paul Harrington Sr. who came out of retirement to resume the top role, wished his son all the best on his “exciting new online projects.”

  Interstate roundup: A missing LA-based Nevada IT worker, who was the subject of a two-state manhunt this week, has turned up alive at his Carson City, NV, family home just before six this morning. “I’d just gone fishing,” Jonathan Sands reportedly told shocked LAPD Adult Missing Persons Unit (AMPU) investigators.

  LAPD AMPU Detective Jay Rankin was quoted earlier in the week as saying Sands had “unfortunately most likely suffered a fatal outcome in Topaz Lake” where his vehicle was discovered, seemingly abandoned, on May 22nd. Wife Della Sands reports she’s “over the moon” to see him and “always knew” he wasn’t dead.

  Lauren grinned. Good for them.

  She flicked curiously through all the major news sites. The SmartPay scandal was headlining the news everywhere. Every expert was so shocked, and no one knew anything. The CIA and NSA predictably had nothing to say. The president was being briefed on the situation.

  She resumed her trawl through her text messages. A few of them made her laugh.

  Her old boss at the Des Moines Standard had written in.

  Hell, King if we’d known you were this good, we’d have put you on politics. You should have said.

  She rolled her eyes. She’d only pitched her case what, eight or ten times?

  CNN wanted an exclusive interview. So did all the other networks. She’d have to check with Frank about how he wanted her to handle it. She scrolled to the next message and then stopped cold.

  “Spies, King? Oh and thanks for the scoop. Whatever do you do for an encore?

  She wrote back.

  Hilarious. And yay us. We’re the toast of town. What a rollercoaster ride!

  The reply landed seconds later. Indeed.