Kid had been on the tip of my tongue. Not that it suits her, but because it harkens back to the first time I'd called her that in teasing. She'd hated it. I'd used it liberally in texting since.
Audrey gives me a last nod and closes the door behind her. Leaving me alone in the too-big, too-bright office. I reach for the gold plaque with my name on it and shove it in the bottom drawer of my desk.
The phone on my desk blinks and I press it down. "Yes?"
"Colt Whittaker is here for you, sir. Should I send him in?"
I close my eyes. That's another person I need to fire, and I hate it every single time. But I'll be damned if I'll make the decision and then send in someone else to make the kill for me. If there's one thing I've learned in this business, it's that integrity matters.
My father taught me that, by having absolutely none at all himself.
"Send him in," I say.
I leave my tiny apartment and the leaky sink-Old Man Pierce hadn't called a plumber after all. He'd called one of his old friends from the post office, who had come and installed a temporary fix.
So temporary, in fact, that it only lasted two days.
He's gotten mail again, although by the looks of it, it's just coupons. I shove them under his door and race toward the subway.
My phone has been as good as dead this week. Not a text from Carter since the scene in his office, and I haven't reached out either. That avenue is closed.
I can't believe the man I joked with is the same person who'd sent three members of the junior trainee programme out the door yesterday. The decision had baffled everyone, including Booker, who told the entire newsroom not to overreact. But she'd worn a tight look about the mouth that made me think she's as nervous as the rest of us.
Is this the beginning of the end for the Globe ?
Declan has been frazzled all week, like he suspects he might be next. But he's been there for a year, and while he still has junior in his job title, there are reporters who are more junior than him.
Like me, for example.
There's a painful victory in it all. Carter had really been the slick, suit-wearing, profit-seeking businessman I'd thought he was at first glance. Now that I've seen him in his element, he reminds me too much of the man who'd ripped off my father many years ago. That conman had worn polished suits and charming smiles too, his native tongue double-talk. And he'd left my dad with empty college and retirement funds and broken pride.
By the time I make it into the office, Booker is already handing out story beats. But she's doing it earlier than usual.
"What's going on?" I whisper to Declan beside me.
"I don't know," he whispers back. "But all the higher-ups are on edge today."
I meet his worried gaze with one of my own. Is this our last day at the Globe ?
The shoe drops a quarter past eleven, when the announcement comes through an email blast.
There's an all-hands meeting in fifteen minutes.
The news goes through the office like a shot. People turn to one another in speculation, while others turn a ghostly white at their desks. I hate it. I hate what it means, what it looks like, and most of all I hate how the Goliath in this situation is someone I know.
Though I don't really know him at all, do I?
There's only one spot large enough to house the Globe 's entire staff, and it's the newsroom with the accompanying soundstage. It's where interviews are conducted in a studio setting before they go on our website.
It's empty now.
Wesley arrives first. As the editor-in-chief, he's Carter's right-hand man. "Look at him smiling," Declan mutters at my side. It's the type of comment I've heard several times about Wesley. People don't seem to trust him.
Carter follows him into the room and the small talk quiets down.
He looks like usual. Polished suit, no tie, hair pushed back. But there's no smile lurking in the corner of his mouth this time.
He stops in front of the anxious group. "Hello, everyone. I appreciate you taking time out of your day for this meeting."
Not like we had a choice, I think.
"I understand there have been significant changes made at the Globe over the past few weeks. I want you all to know that while there will be more changes to come, I, as well as the entire executive team, will always strive to be clear and direct with you about the decisions we take."
In the brief silence, the entire room holds its breath.
"Unfortunately, the reason I asked you all here today is because we have to offer a number of employees buyouts. Two departments of the Globe will cease to exist by the end of the month. A few select employees will be asked to stay on in other capacities."
The ripple over the room is instantaneous. Carter raises a hand, forestalling the murmured outbursts. "It affects editorial and circulation."
I look around the room. While I don't know everyone's name yet, I've been introduced to a few in the affected departments. They're huge. Surely he's just restructuring? I see Mona sitting with her head in her hands, covering her eyes. She'd been so nice to me on my first day.
Something twists inside my chest.
He's destroying their careers.
"I understand this is difficult news," Carter says. My eyes zero in on him. There's no kindness or playfulness on his face now, set in serious lines. It makes him look older than he is.
At least he doesn't seem to be reveling in it.
"These decisions were a long time coming and were not made lightly. The relevant department heads will be your points of contact for severance and logistics. Thank you all, and if there are no further questions, I'll let you get on with your day."
He nods toward us and turns. Is he leaving?
If there are no further questions, he'd said. But he hadn't asked if we had any.
I raise my hand.
People around me turn to look, but I keep it up high, my heart pounding in my chest. If no one else is going to challenge him, then I will.
Wesley notices me. "Mr. Kingsley?" he says.
Carter turns back to the crowd, his eyes searching. They widen when they stop on me. It's tiny, but it's there, the acknowledgement. "Yes?"
"You said this decision didn't come lightly," I say, my voice carrying across the room. "Will you explain why it was made in the first place? And why these two departments?"
His eyes leave mine, traveling across the crowd of people, all turning toward him for answers. The air is thick. "As many of you know, the Globe has been struggling for years. The landscape for print media is changing, and we have to change with it. While the affected departments are important in their own right, cuts are necessary, and after doing the math… these departments don't add up."
His gaze returns to mine. There's finally a challenge in it. Was that good enough?