"Then what?"
I can’t tell her about that scent. I just can’t. Akari is a beta. She won’t understand, not really.
I open my mouth to deflect again, but my phone buzzes before I can speak. I glance at the screen, expecting another podcast request. I freeze.
It’s my editor at the Daily Scoop. Or rather, my former editor, considering she cut me loose rather than risk antagonising the mighty Cranes.
"Hold on," I tell Akari, and answer the call. "Hello?"
"You backstabbing little shit.” Marjorie says, her voice shrill enough that it sends a shiver down my spine. “You gave the story to the Times? To the fucking Times?"
I lean back against the couch cushions. "You killed it. What was I supposed to do?"
"I killed it because no one with any sense would run that story!”
“The Times did.”
I think it’s a good point, but she doesn’t seem to care. She just keeps shouting. “Do you have any idea who you've pissed off? The Cranes have connections everywhere. They will bury you."
"They can try."
"This isn't a joke, Jamie." Her voice wavers, and I realize with a start that she's not just angry. She's scared. "You don't know these people. You don't know what they're capable of."
"I know exactly what they're capable of," I say quietly. "I wrote the expose, remember."
There’s silence on the other end. I can hear her breathing, quick and shallow. Marjorie has been in this business for twenty years. She's seen journalists threatened, sued, ruined. She killed my story because she was trying to protect the paper and maybe, in her own way, trying to protect me.
It doesn't change what she did.
"You're on your own," she says finally. "Don't call me for references. And Jamie—" She pauses, and for a moment I think she might apologize. "Watch your back."
The line goes dead.
I lower the phone and find Akari watching me with wide eyes. "Well," she says. "That sounded fun."
"Marjorie. She's not happy I went around her."
"Can she do anything to you?"
I consider the question. The Daily Scoop isn't exactly a powerhouse. It's a mid-tier outlet with delusions of grandeur.Marjorie can badmouth me, sure or refuse to give me references, but after this story, I won't need references. Every major outlet in the world knows my name.
"No," I say. "She can't."
My phone buzzes again. And again. And again. I turn it over, scrolling through the notifications.
"Looks like you're popular," Akari observes.
"Looks like."
I keep scrolling. Most of the requests are the same: talking head spots, podcast interviews, the standard victory lap Akari mentioned earlier, but my dance card is full. I have interviews scheduled every day from tonight until three weeks from now. I'm about to set the phone down when one catches my eye.
Mr. Dean, we'd like to invite you to appear on Point of Contention with David Glass to discuss your investigation into the Crane family. Please call at your earliest convenience to discuss details.
I must have watched Point of Contention a thousand times. Glass is sharp, ruthless, famous for ambushing his guests. He's also the most-watched political commentator on cable news. An appearance on his show would be career-defining.
"What is it?" Akari leans over to look at my screen. "Oh shit. David Glass?"
"David Glass."
