As Maddie dropped her bag at her desk the next day, Lisa bustled up. She nudged her in the ribs and plopped her curvy ass on Maddie’s desk.

“Hey,” the secretary said, “that was a great story this morning. The kid on the drugs charges? It really impressed Dave, and nothing impresses our boss.”

“Cool,” Maddie said with a grin. “I’m glad.”

“I really liked that you started and ended it with the same line—‘Tell Momma I didn’t do it’. It was…artistic.”

Maddie shook her head in disbelief. “Last night someone tried to tell me that the news machine could be beautiful, and today you say my story was artistic.” She laughed. “You’re all mad.”

“Oh, hon, it was classy. I liked it. Take the compliment, okay? Cos you won’t get too many around here.”

“I didn’t do it for the kudos, though. The kid has a college scholarship riding on this. He just needs good lawyer money now.”

“The FundMeNow campaign you mentioned in your article should help.” Lisa nodded. “I chipped in ten bucks this morning.”

“That’s great. He’s a good kid. He’s scared and feels so alone. It took courage for him to speak to me.”

“Dave says the day shift is following it up. There’s talk of an internal investigation into the charges. They look fishy.”

“That’s what I was saying! Way I see it is the drug squad sees Ramel as collateral damage. Like, they’re not stupid, they probably know he didn’t do any of it, but they’re just letting his buddies go free so they relax and they can follow them to the drug suppliers or something. In the meantime, though, Ramel loses his scholarship.”

Lisa nodded. Silence fell, but still she stayed, fiddling with her wedding ring and looking pensive. That was weird because this was now the longest conversation Maddie had ever had with the woman.

“I…actually…we need a favour,” Lisa said.

“Oh?”

“I know you said you wouldn’t help before, but this is serious. We need you to get us the latest gossip on Bartell. Something’s going down. She’s had wall-to-wall suits in with her all morning, and it looks serious. I’ve tried talking to that stuck-up pit bull of hers, the blonde with the fangs and bun hair, but all I got was that we’d find out in ‘due course’.”

“Felicity is an acquired taste.” Maddie wondered why she was defending a woman who said horrendous things but always acted as if she’d said something perfectly reasonable. Maybe she was growing on her.

“So you’ll find out for us what all the fuss is, okay?” Lisa pressed. “We’re counting on you. And Stan and I need to know if I should be looking for a new job real soon.”

Fear was clear on her face, as was a hint of desperation, willing Maddie to agree. It felt wrong to use her personal connection like this. Besides, Elena would probably ignore any business questions she put to her. Rightly so. It was presumptuous to even ask. So Maddie should just say n—

“Please? I’ve seen the way Bartell watches you. She does it a lot. I think she hates you the least of any of us. You’re our best hope.”

She watches me? Madeleine bit her lip and then sighed. “I’ll try.” Hope leaked from Lisa’s expressive brown eyes, and Maddie’s heart sank. “Lisa, I can’t promise anything.”

“I know. Just ask. That’s all we want. Into the dragon’s boca you go. You can do it! You went into Queens in the middle of the night for your interview, right? If anyone can get the dirt, it’s you.” With that, she sashayed back to her desk, shooting several milling reporters the thumbs up.

Maddie sighed and logged on, splitting her screen to see the newsfeeds coming in from the wire services. She also grabbed her obits folder to see who needed a write-up.

A low voice called from the office behind her. “Madeleine.”

Glancing over her shoulder, Maddie saw blue eyes watching her. She rose, headed for the glass office, and slid into the visitor’s chair. Elena was writing something in front of her. For two minutes, Maddie was left staring at the woman’s immaculate black hair, fine cheekbones, and aloof expression while she continued scratching her pen across her paperwork.

“Do you understand that most people who become journalists have ambition?” Elena suddenly asked, without looking up. “I know I did. They write with the hope of a breakthrough of a national story, in the hopes it will propel them ever higher. Not you, though. Do you know why that is?”

Maddie fought the urge to deny it. She waited.

“Because you aren’t a journalist.”

“What?… No!”

“Oh yes.” Elena stopped writing and fixed her with sharp eyes. “You have no ambition, no drive, no understanding of what it takes to be in this profession. You hate your job. You hate this city. You hate your life. So tell me why? Why, Madeleine Grey, are you even here? In New York? Still?”

No words came to Maddie, and she felt herself withering under her scrutiny.

“I’ll give you a hint,” Elena said. “Because, deep down, you’re as beige as your name. You have no killer instinct. You don’t like who you are, and you don’t even know who you are. But we both know what you’re not—a journalist.”

Maddie gasped, her hands forming tight balls. “I can write,” she protested.

“Yes, you can write. It may surprise you, but that is not the issue. You write well when it suits you. Your story today was exceptional. I believe I actually saw your hardened news chief tear up for half a second. You have a skill to evoke a response through words. I’ve been studying you, and you excel when you have an emotional connection to the subject you’re writing about. The obituary on the train guard who gave his life to save that passenger on the tracks, for example. An emotional piece which obviously touched you.”

Maddie nodded numbly.

“And did you reach out to the family, too? Offer them support? Maybe send flowers to the funeral? Or, knowing you, baked goods?”

Maddie looked at her hands. It was just some brownies. Practically baked them in my sleep.

“And we come back to your story on Ramel Brooks.” Elena eyed her closely. “It was you who set up that charity page to crowdfund a decent lawyer. Correct?”

“Um.” Maddie started. “Okay, yes. I sent all the passwords to his mother with instructions on how to get the money. She just needed a hand in getting started. The internet isn’t her thing.”

“Mm. How predictable of you. And then there was your story on the former property developer who carried out an armed hold-up. That was about as flat a story as I’ve ever read. And it’s because you didn’t care about him.”

Maddie shot her an indignant look. Who would care about some entitled ass terrifying everyone because his business had gone belly up?

“That’s what I thought. Madeleine, that’s not a journalist. A journalist needs to be able to find a way to do their job, regardless of whether the story’s speaking to them. So my conclusion stands—you might know how to write, but you are no journalist.”

Maddie’s heart sank, and she felt anger and humiliation warring. “I…” She stopped. “What’s wrong with always wanting to care about what you write? What’s wrong with having an emotional investment in the subject? No reporter has complete objectivity. That’s a myth. So what’s wrong with acting like a human and a reporter?”

“What’s wrong with it?” Elena’s eyes took on a flinty quality. “It’s an impossible standard. Most of what a journalist writes has no emotional resonance. You will burn yourself out trying to find one. You will suffer and flame out in very little time.”

“You can’t know that. Why are you writing me off?”

“Madeleine, you can’t actually believe this career is a good fit for you.”

Silence fell between them. Maddie’s hands balled into fists. Did Elena understand her so little—even after all their late-night chats—that she didn’t grasp how much Maddie loved to write? How was it Elena didn’t get that she could be a great reporter? No one could tell her otherwise. This was bullshit. She opened her mouth to say as much when Elena’s hand came up to stop her.

“Don’t bother. The rest of the office will find out at the end of the day. I am aware it’s only been a month, but some things have moved faster than I anticipated. I’m closing down the paper.” She pinned Maddie with a pointed look. “And I’m going to do you a favour. A big one—you’re fired.”

Maddie felt her stomach drop through the floor. How could she? Maddie realised she’d actually begun to put some trust in this woman. Elena’s betrayal stung, more than if she’d actually leaned over the desk and slapped her. “How is that a favour?” she ground out.

“I’m sparing you clinging to a failed experiment out of some misplaced sense of obligation. You don’t want to be in New York. And you don’t belong in journalism.”

“So that’s it, then? You’re just throwing me…all of us, to the wolves?”