The writing team comprised seven segments: movies, music, the arts, business, sports, food, and news. One reporter with a staff of four headed each section.
“All right, everybody, let’s get to it!” Alex called over the mix of conversation that stirred as more people entered the office. “Good morning,” he greeted, nodding as the team returned the sentiment. “Before we get started today, I’d like you all to join me in welcoming our newest writer. He’ll be working with Dominic Morris and the rest of the business team—Casey Williams.”
The group clapped to welcome Casey, then began to cheer for Dominic, who’d constantly complained about being understaffed.
“Thank you all,” Casey was saying as he waved to the group from his place at the long oval table. “I hope you all will find me a worthy addition to this fine team you have here.”
“Aw, he’s just bein’ humble, y’all,” Dominic revealed, fixing Casey with a sly grin. “He’s already been burnin’ our ears with ideas.”
Alex leaned back in the navy swivel chair near the head of the table. “Care to share any with us, man?” he asked, spreading his hands as he spoke.
Casey hesitated only a moment, before leaning forward to share what he considered to be his strongest pitch. “I had an idea for a new subsection where we’ll feature local African-American businesses and the owners.”
The group listened intently as Casey explained his brainstorm. Clearly, they were all impressed. Even Alex was riveted on the man’s proposal, his stare focused and narrowed as he jotted notes pertaining to the conversation at hand.
“What types of businesses do you have in mind for this feature?”
Casey cleared his throat and turned to face his boss. “Well, all kinds, Mr.—uh, Alex,” he quickly corrected when the man’s stare narrowed. “Everything from hair salons to investment counselors. If you give us the green light with the project, I’d like our first story to profile the business of a lady we both know—Topaz Emerson.”
“Who’s she?” someone asked.
Alex smiled, his gaze lowering to the table. “Finally someone who doesn’t know her,” he muttered.
“She owns a very successful garage and towing service on Briarcliff,” Casey shared.
Sandra Morgan, the head music reporter, whistled. “Lady mechanic? Very impressive.”
“She is,” Casey confirmed. “And so is her business,” he added, with a nod toward his other colleagues.
“Well, I already told Case I thought it was a good idea,” Dominic announced in a definite tone.
“So do I,” Alex concurred, pointing his pen in Casey’s direction. “It’s a damn good idea and I want you on this ASAP.”
Casey nodded, barely able to contain his grin. “Yes, sir.”
“But tonight, you join us at this City Council dinner.”
Casey couldn’t mask his confusion. “City Council, sir?”
“They’re playin’ around with an idea similar to the one you have. They’re wanting to get some sort of charity ball going centered on an awards banquet featuring the city’s entrepreneurs.”
“Is that right?” Casey sighed, a rush of pride surging through him just then.
“Mmm,” Alex replied with a slow nod while leaning back in his chair. “Maybe you can come up with a few more ideas on how we can make this a collaborative effort between the QC Happening and the City Council?”
Casey was determined to tone down his eagerness. “Yes, sir,” he said.
Alex knocked his fist against the table. “Good. All right, people, let’s keep this meeting rollin’. What’s up next?”
Forty-five minutes later, the group of reporters trickled out of the publisher’s office. Only two remained, Dominic Morris and Rossell Stanley.
“A tip?”
“Lex, man, we don’t even know if the damn thing’s worth investigating,” Dominic sighed as he perched on the edge of the conference table.
Alex removed his heather gray woven sport coat and tossed it to an armchair. “Tell me about it,” he said.
Dominic raised his hand toward Rossell.
“About a week ago, I got a call about two businesses that had been sold on Briarcliff,” she began, smoothing the sage-green skirt beneath her as she took a seat on one of the armchairs before the desk. “The caller said the owners had been forced to sell.”
Alex frowned and began to swivel his chair to and fro. His conversation with Horace White and Stanley Webster immediately surfaced.
“I know it could be a long shot, but it sounded like something we should at least check out,” Rossell finished.
“The call came from a family member of one of the owners,” Dominic supplied. “They flat-out confirmed that somebody forced their brother to sell.”
“They know who’s doing the supposed forcing?”
Rossell glanced at Dominic. “They have no idea,” she said. “The owner was extremely tight-lipped about the whole deal—especially with his family. They do know that he got quite a bundle for his business, though.”
Alex rolled his eyes. “Small consolation when you lose your life’s work,” he grumbled, gazing out at the view of downtown Charlotte. Suddenly, he turned to face his two reporters. “Get on it,” he ordered.
“I just finished talking with Darryl and Stacy about this very thing. If he’s a regular customer, you want him to stay regular. Fix the problem and suggest other improvements.”
