Chapter 71
Nora's POV
The coffee shop on the first floor of the NPR building. I arrived ten minutes early, ordered a black coffee I didn't need, and claimed a corner table where I could watch the door.
Jacey appeared exactly on time—chestnut hair pulled into a sleek low ponytail, sharp blazer, portfolio in hand.
"Nora." She slid into the seat across from me, her smile genuine. "Thanks for making time."
"Of course. I appreciate you reaching out."
She got straight to business, which I respected. "Look, I'm not going to waste your time with small talk. You made the right call considering this move. The DSW system is rotten from the inside out, and I've seen every single report you filed that got buried. Each one could've been a front-page story."
I wrapped my hands around my coffee cup. "But they didn't change anything. And now they've transferred me back to the branch."
Jacey's eyes gleamed with something sharp and knowing. "Which is exactly why you should come to NPR. We can take those buried truths and expose them through investigative journalism—let the entire country see what's really happening in the rust belt."
She paused, then added casually, "Besides, DSW isn't exactly in a position to gloat right now."
My stomach tightened. "What do you mean?"
She leaned in slightly, voice dropping. "Word is Jeremy Wright, the regional director for DSW Silverton, was placed on administrative leave. Federal audit office sent people in directly."
The coffee cup nearly slipped from my hands. I thought of that day when Julian clarified the truth, his jaw tight with barely controlled anger.
Did he do this?
"You okay?" Jacey's sharp gaze didn't miss my reaction.
"Yeah. Just... processing." I took a sip of coffee to buy myself a moment.
She pulled papers from her portfolio, all business again. "The federal government just passed the Regional Public Media Integration Act. Silverton's the pilot city—they're consolidating several local radio stations and newspapers under the NPR umbrella. More resources, wider reach, better funding."
"Nora, you're more than qualified for this position — this interview is really just a formality." She slid a document across the table. "You'd be assigned to the investigative unit, covering social welfare issues. Seventy-two thousand annually, standard benefits package, fifteen days paid leave. There's a two-week training program—interview techniques, audio editing, legal boundaries, all the basics."
I scanned the contract, my pulse quickening. The salary alone was more than I'd ever made at DSW, even with overtime. The benefits were comprehensive—health insurance that might actually cover my mother's treatments without bankrupting me.
"This is... generous."
Jacey smiled. "We value real journalists. People who care about truth, not just paychecks." She extended her hand across the table. "Welcome to NPR, Nora. I think we're going to make a great team."
I shook her hand, feeling something shift in my chest. Hope, maybe. Or purpose. "Thank you. I won't let you down."
"I know you won't." She sat back, then her expression shifted to something more conspiratorial. "So. Speaking of things that are happening in Silverton... you and the Federal Inspector General. How's that developing?"
Heat flooded my face instantly. "We're not—there's nothing—he just trusts my work, that's all."
Jacey's eyebrow arched. "Uh-huh. Nora, I'm a journalist. I notice things. The way he looked at you at that business gala? That wasn't professional trust. I've interviewed twenty married couples for human interest pieces. I know what that look means."
"Jacey, please don't—"
"I'm just saying, if someone like Julian Sterling is interested in you, you could do a lot worse." She grinned. "Oh, and there's something else you might be interested in." She paused. "The Vaughn Mining scandal is about to explode."
I straightened in my seat. "What?"
"Multiple agencies just launched coordinated investigations—EPA, Department of Labor, Federal Audit Office. All their mining operations are under scrutiny for pollution violations and labor abuses. This isn't something that gets swept under the rug." She paused meaningfully. "Feels like someone with serious authority decided to take them down."
My mind raced. The timing was too perfect. Julian's trip to Cold Creek, the federal audit storm, and now this—could this still be coincidence?
"What they deserve," I said quietly. "If they've got nothing to hide, they've got nothing to fear from an investigation."
Jacey laughed. "You're such an idealist. It's refreshing, honestly. NPR needs more people who still believe in accountability." She checked her watch. "Speaking of which, we should head to the office. Get your paperwork sorted, meet the team, claim your desk before someone else does."
---
The NPR Silverton office occupied floors six through eight of a modern downtown building with floor-to-ceiling windows and equipment that looked like it belonged in this decade. After two years in DSW's crumbling branch office with its perpetually broken heater and ancient computers, walking into NPR felt like stepping into the future.
Human Resources processed my paperwork efficiently—contract signed, fingerprints scanned, ID badge issued along with a laptop, recorder, and work phone that actually had a functioning battery. I was assigned to the investigative unit on the seventh floor, a corner desk with a window view of Silverton's skyline.
My new colleagues were friendly without being intrusive, offering quick welcomes before returning to their own work. The newsroom hummed with focused energy—phones ringing, keyboards clicking, the low murmur of reporters conducting interviews. It felt alive in a way DSW never had.
As I organized my new desk, downloading software and setting up my equipment, my phone buzzed.
The screen lit up with Julian's name, the message simple and direct: "Free for dinner tonight? Would like to take you out."
I stared at the words for several seconds, my heart doing something stupid and irregular in my chest. I thought of last night's dream—the one I'd woken from in a tangle of sheets, pulse racing, his name on my lips. I told myself it meant nothing, just stress manifesting in weird ways, but now with his message glowing on my screen, I couldn't quite convince myself anymore.
I took a deep breath and typed quickly before I could overthink it: "Sorry, busy tonight. Rain check?"
The screen went dark. I caught my reflection in the black glass—mouth pressed into an uncertain line. What the hell am I nervous about? I shook my head sharply.
My phone buzzed again. Lucas: "Nora, I'm in the parking lot. Where are you?"
I texted back my location and headed for the elevator.
My car was still at the repair shop, so I had to ask Lucas to pick me up.