"What condition?"
Dean Whitmore leans forward. "You're going to do a follow-up series. A redemptive profile on the hockey team. Behind-the-scenes access, humanizing pieces. Balance out the criticism with the full picture."
I stare at him. "You want me to write puff pieces about the team I just exposed."
"I want you to write fair pieces that show all sides. Surely you believe in journalistic balance?"
It's a trap. A beautifully constructed trap that I can't refuse without looking biased.
"And if I say no?"
"Then the article doesn't run and your position as investigative editor comes under review." Dean Whitmore stands. "This isn't punishment, Miss Hayes. It's an opportunity. Show you can report on complex issues from multiple angles. That's what good journalists do."
He leaves before I can respond and I turn to Mitchell, who has the decency to look apologetic.
"I fought this. For the record." He fights his case.
"But not hard enough."
"He's the Dean. He threatened to pull funding from the paper entirely if we ran your piece without the follow-up."Mitchell runs a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, but this is the deal. Take it or the article dies."
I think about the months of research. The interviews with former players who trusted me with their stories. The evidence I compiled of systematic problems.
All of it meaningless if it doesn't publish.
"Fine. I'll do your redemptive series." The words taste like ash. "But I'm not compromising my integrity. If I find more problems, I'm reporting them."
"Fair enough. The article runs tomorrow. You start the interviews next week." He slides a folder across the desk. "Captain Carter Lynch has been instructed to cooperate. Full access. You'll shadow him, attend practices and games, do in-depth interviews."
"Carter Lynch." Of course. The universe has a sick sense of humor.
"He's not happy about it either, if that helps."
"It doesn't."
I take the folder and leave before I say something that gets me fired.
Outside, the March air is cold and sharp. Winter hasn't quite released its grip on campus, and dirty snow still lines the pathways.
I'm halfway back to my dorm when my phone buzzes.
Unknown number:Got your number from the athletics department. We need to schedule our first interview. How's tomorrow, 4pm, rink? Lynch
The audacity. The fucking audacity.
Me:The article hasn't even published yet. How do you know about this?
Carter:I'm the captain. I know everything that concerns my team. Tomorrow at 4. Don't be late.
Me:I have a shift until 5.
Carter:Then I guess you're skipping it. See you at 4, Hayes.
I stare at my phone, fury building in my chest.
He's already trying to control this. Control me. Dictate terms like he's in charge.
Absolutely not.
