“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?”
Elena tilted her head. “No, not all of you. I have identified two staff members as worthy of redeployment within Bartell Corp. But I do not need a journalist with a talent as unpredictable as yours—a talent so pinned to whether she’s feeling her story.”
All Maddie’s rationalisations died on her tongue, as she stared into Elena’s eyes and saw only ice staring back. Cold. Empty. “I don’t know you.” Maddie glared at her and stood to leave.
Elena’s jaw twitched, and a small frown appeared. “I already told you who I was last night. I told you not to bet on my humanity. It’s just you didn’t believe me.” She nudged an open manila folder to one side.
Maddie’s attention fell to it, and she read upside down. It was a press release. The title said “Hudson Shard Announced”. What the hell was a Hudson Shard? A Post-it note was stuck to it.
Received from publicist, Feb 6. Pls approve.
Just under a month ago. Realisation slammed into Maddie. “You never intended to save anyone’s jobs or this paper, did you? You’ve always been planning on turning this building into a skyscraper.”
“This building is ideally sited.” Elena leaned back in her chair. “Close to the heart of New York City, easy transport access. The air above it is worth many more times that of the newspaper below. It will become an office space that will be highly sought after. Possibly a New York landmark by the time I’m done. It will be iconic. Beautiful.”
“So all this time, you’ve been pretending to check out the talent on staff, but, what, you’ve been running surveyors and engineers through? Keeping it on the quiet?”
“Staff tend to do intemperate things when they know they’re about to lose their jobs,” Elena said with a nod. “It’s smart not to reveal your hand to anyone. I told you before, I let nothing get in my way. I play the game well, because I play it smart.”
“Except it’s not a game for us; it’s our lives. And you told us…you said…” She swallowed back the lump in her throat. “You let us believe there was hope.”
“It’s business.” Elena regarded her. “Besides, I can talent spot people at the same time as I talent spot a building’s bones. My development plans were submitted this morning. You were the one who hand-delivered them to me last night. But you can read all about it in the Wall Street Journal tomorrow, along with everyone else.”
Maddie stared at her. “Why would you do this? Get into office space? You’re in the media business!”
“I’m in the profit business. And when I see an opportunity, I seize it. Wherever it might be; whatever it might be.” She gave Maddie an appraising stare. “As I tried to warn you last night—nothing and no one gets in the way of that. You really should have listened.” She slapped the folder shut and gave Maddie a look of finality, tilting her head towards the door. “We’re done.”
A coldness shot through Maddie’s bones. Holding Elena’s hard gaze, she realised she could see nothing at all of the woman she thought she’d known before. She stood. “You really are what they call you,” Maddie said with rising fury. “A calculating, icy, money-hungry bitch of a shark.”
* * *
Three days later, Maddie found herself semi-comatose on the sofa, staring at the debris of several chocolate and Fun Factory benders, and a wall of Simon’s packing boxes. Her head hurt. Stomach too. Not moving ever again seemed like a sound plan.
Her phone rang. With an indignant grumble, Maddie scrabbled around for it and answered.
“She’s going to Australia next,” Felicity’s clipped voice announced without so much as a hello.
“Screw you and your asshole boss.” Maddie slurped the remnants of her bright blue Car Seat Cover concoction.
“Whatever. Look, Style Sydney is in a tailspin, and she wants to fix it before it hurts the whole Style International brand. She’ll need a PA. The one here now is useless. Plus, she wears green eye shadow. Green! God, she makes you look fashionable.”
