“Whatever you think is best,” he says, his voice oozing with charm as he casually brushes Cheri’s ass with the back of his hand. She adds just a bit too much powder to one of his cheeks in retaliation, and God. I love her. She knows just how far to take her revenge. “As long as I can mention the shindig we’re throwin’ to raise money for the new youth center next month.”
“Oh, of course, sugar.” Like I’d forget that. It’s the whole reason I’m here.
“We’re all ready to go Emmylou,” Kyle says as Cheri pins the wireless microphone to Eugene's suit jacket.
“Now remember, Mr. Fowler, this is a live interview, so try to keep the cussing to a minimum,” I offer with a sweet smile. “Otherwise, we’ll have to bleep you, and we certainly don’t want to do that.”
Eugene chuckles and tugs at his dark suit coat. “I’m sure we’ll be just fine, little lady.” With another wink, he adds, “Ms. Marsh.”
Kyle gives me the silent countdown, and I take a slow, centering breath.
You can do this. Don’t back down. Get him to crack, and you’re golden.
“This is Emmylou Marsh reporting from the future site of the Empress Hotel and Conference Center. With me, I have Eugene Fowler, owner of Consolidated Investment Group, and the driving force behind the development of the Empress.”
For two full minutes, we stick to the script Fowler expects, and he’s getting comfortable—both with me and with being on camera.
“This site was rather controversial, Mr. Fowler. For months, you had protestors demonstrating outside the fence every single day.” Kyle pans the camera for a wide shot showing the mostly empty fenced lot devoid of all but a handful of construction workers and a few passersby. When the camera refocuses on me and Eugene, the man’s smile has faltered slightly, but he’s still on his game.
“Now that we did, Ms. Marsh. We had to tear down a youth center on the northeast corner of the property, and the community was understandably upset. But that building was infested with black mold. In fact, it was condemned not long after we broke ground. It was a miracle none of the kids came down with serious health problems.” Fowler straightens his tie, his chest puffing out with pride. “In a couple of weeks, I’m hosting a charity event at the Metro Hotel on Grand. All the money we raise will go to build a brand new, state-of-the-art community center four times the size of the original. A small percentage of the profits from the Empress Hotel will fund staff and supplies for the center so any child in the city can attend its programs for free.”
“That’s quite generous of you, Mr. Fowler.”
“I think so, little lady. But it’s also the right thing to do.”
Flipping a page in my notebook for effect, I narrow my eyes at Eugene. “The right thing? That’s interesting. Was it the right thing to pay off the health inspector who condemned the old youth center? To the tune of fifty thousand dollars?”
Fowler’s cheeks turn splotchy. “Now listen here, Ms. Marsh?—”
“You also donated another thirty thousand to the city planner who approved your permits for the Empress. Isn’t that right?”
He’s full-on crimson now. “You have no basis for these wild allegations! This is libel!”
I stifle my snort. “Don’t you mean slander, Mr. Fowler? Libel is for print media. But you’d still be wrong. Alan Trowing, the building inspector, sent me copies of his bank records, screenshots of the text messages the two of you exchanged, and photos of the cash you gave him. The serial numbers are clearly visible. Should I contact your bank and ask them if the bills were withdrawn from your account? Or perhaps the account of one of your associates?”
“Fucking bitch,” Eugene snarls. “What the hell are you playing at?”
Despite the adrenaline flooding my veins, I manage to keep my expression neutral. “Playing? I’m not playing, Mr. Fowler. I’m simply reporting the facts. You only obtained the permits for the full complex because the community center was condemned. And when you did get those permits, you paid less than a quarter of what most developers would have been charged. I can show you the receipts.”
“Now look here, missy. This was supposed to be a publicity piece on the Empress Hotel. You’ve turned it into a trial without judge or jury. I refuse to listen to these unfounded allegations one more second!”
He yanks the microphone off his lapel, pulls the battery pack from his pocket, and throws them right at me. The shock as they hit my side makes my placid expression falter for a second, but I catch the jumbled mess before it hits the ground.
“You’ll be sorry, bitch,” Fowler growls under his breath as he storms away.
Did he just...threaten me? Damn. I wish he hadn’t taken the mic off.
“Well, that took a turn,” I say, no longer smiling as I stare directly into the camera. “Over the next three nights, tune in for a special investigative series on Eugene Fowler, the Empress Hotel Project, and the corruption we’ve uncovered surrounding Consolidated Investment Group. For Channel 5 Evening News, this is Emmylou Marsh reporting.”
Kyle gives me the all clear, and Cheri’s at my side two seconds later. “Are you okay, Emi?”
“I’m fine. Stop fussing. We need to get back to the station. I want this story dialed in tight. A corrupt land developer throwing his mic at the on-air reporter and threatening her? This is going national. I can feel it.”
Chapter Five
Jasper
“For Channel 5 Evening News, this is Emmylou Marsh, reporting.”
