chapter twenty-five

meghan

“Someone fucked with my chair.”

Shit. I swiveled around to see Xander standing outside my cubicle with his hands on his hips. With his brows furrowed, he looked even grumpier than usual. “What do you mean?” I asked, trying to sound innocent.

“The damn thing sinks every time I sit down. The lever’s broken, and I know for a fact it wasn’t like that when I left yesterday.”

“Weird, but that happens sometimes,” I said, glancing at the time on my phone. We had a staff meeting in the conference room downstairs in about fifteen minutes, and I was eager to see Chase. My brain was still a little broken after last night. Every time I closed my eyes, it was like I could see the desperate, hungry look in his eyes when he begged me to ride his face. And I actually fucking did it, despite every instinct telling me not to let this go that far because it would only end in pain.

But I had gone from “I’m not sure what I want” to asking him if I could return the favor pretty quickly. Suddenly, I was clawing at his zipper like I couldn’t wait to get my hands on his dick. And if it weren’t for the cleaning crew arriving to mop the hallway floors, who knew what might have happened?

I had thought Xander went back to his own cubicle, but he appeared by my side, still frowning, clearly more upset about his broken chair than I realized. He bent over my desk, leaning on his elbows. “Someone attempted to get into my Google account five times yesterday, too,” he said, speaking low enough that Devonte and Byron wouldn’t hear. “I was locked out for half the day after so many failed attempts. Couldn’t access any of my files, emails. Someone’s actively trying to see what I’m working on, and now they’ve resorted to coming into my cubicle and going through my stuff.”

I looked over at him with a sheepish grin. “The person who broke your chair isn’t the same one trying to hack your account.”

“I think they are. And-”

“It was me and Chase,” I blurted. “On your chair. At the… same time.”

Xander’s lips came back together slowly, and he squinted at me like he didn’t quite believe me. But when I didn’t laugh it off or confess it was a joke, he shook his head. “Okay, so, I’ll be burning that chair…”

“We didn’t actually do much on the chair, we—”

“I don’t need the details. And you owe me a chair.”

“Okay. But aren’t you at least relieved someone’s not trying to spy on you and sabotage your files?”

Xander pursed his lips, staring down at his crossed arms on my desk. “Yeah, maybe,” he said slowly, “but I still don’t think it’s a coincidence that someone tried to get into my account. I’m working on something that Silas isn’t going to like—and he might already know.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What are you working on?”

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping even lower. “I’ve been investigating the contractors hired by Weston Properties for that new apartment complex. They’ve been using building materials that got soaked from all the snow over the winter, and now there's black mold spreading. People who move into these apartments are going to get sick, but John Weston doesn’t give two shits.”

John Weston was the same shady real estate developer Silas made Jill do that fluff piece on. His last name was all over Woodvale, considering he owned about half the town. Like Silas, it seemed like he had a lot of people over a barrel, making his influence questionable. “Is this what you were referring to when you said your story was going to send the town into a frenzy?”

Xander exhaled. “Yeah. I’ve talked to some contractors, a couple of tenants that have moved into the completed buildings—I’m close to publishing this. And I know for a fact Weston’s hot on my tail, which means Silas probably is, too.”

“Does Graham know what you’re working on?”

“No. That fucking brown-noser… I’m not exactly sure this is the kind of controversy he wanted us to find.”

“Probably not.”

I eyed my Fannie papers, feeling pretty safe with this story. It wasn’t like a tale of two women from 170 years ago was going to ruffle any feathers. While Xander was out there doing some investigative journalism about actual, living people, I was traipsing through creeks and carrying around a stinky old journal. And what did I have to show for it? Proof that two women who lived in the same town at the same time knew each other?

Fascinating.

My shoulders slumped as Xander walked back to his own cubicle muttering about a chair replacement. He was four subscriptions ahead of me in the contest, and I could feel my motivation slipping away. If anyone belonged at that journalism conference this summer, it was Xander. Not me.

**

The conference room smelled like fresh coffee and sugar-glazed donuts—an obvious attempt by Silas to sweeten us up before whatever nonsense he was about to throw at us. I grabbed a paper cup and poured myself some coffee, glancing at the assortment of donuts on the table at the side of the room. They were from Dunkin’, I noticed—meaning Silas had sent someone an hour away to pick them up instead of supporting our local donut shop.

No surprise there.

"Think he brought any fruit for me?" Jillian muttered under her breath as she joined me at the donut table. Before I could even process her comment or what she might be hinting at, Chase strolled through the door running his hand through his hair, his other hand clutching a notebook at his side. He greeted one of the radio guys from the third floor, making some joke about them coming out of their cave for free food.

His eyes caught mine as he walked across the room toward the donut table, and all I could think about was the satisfied grin on his face when I lowered myself onto him the night before. “Morning,” he said, flashing me that exact grin.

“Morning.” I quickly took a sip of my piping hot coffee to cover the heat rising in my cheeks, but Jillian was already watching me with an amused smirk. She knew me too well.

Chase and I settled into two chairs near the middle of the long conference table. Xander strode in last and bypassed the donuts completely, dropping into the chair next to Jillian with a sigh. He was already crossing his arms, radiating defiance like Judd Nelson in The Breakfast Club.

His eyes darted from me to Chase, a subtle half-grin spreading across his face as he leaned over to whisper something in Jillian's ear. She bit her lip, clearly amused, while Xander cast a glance back in our direction.

Was he seriously gossiping about me right now? Wait, of course he was. Gossip was literally his job. I’d have to remember to keep my secrets to myself.

Chase gently nudged my elbow. “Did you sleep okay?”

I managed a quick nod. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

There was a beat of silence. “Did you?” I asked, keeping my eyes locked on him, because it felt like everyone in the room could tell this man had me screaming his name just one floor up from where we currently sat.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Good,” I said, tucking my hair behind my ears. What the hell was this? Why did we sound like two robots trying to remember how to speak? Across the table, Xander and Jillian were grinning at us like they’d just heard the punchline of some private joke.

"What?" I mumbled, trying to sound casual as I avoided looking directly at her.

Before she could answer, Silas's voice boomed from the head of the table. "Alright, everyone, let's get started. Take your seats.”

The last couple of stragglers found their seats at the long conference table, donuts in hand, and the murmuring in the room faded. Silas, standing up at the head of the table, adjusted his tie as he stared down at a printout of his notes. The way he towered over everyone, like he needed to remind all of us who was in charge, made me uneasy. Graham sat to Silas’s immediate left, refusing to meet the man’s eye. I couldn’t blame him for that.

“Let’s start with the good,” Silas began. “We’ve had some successes as of late, especially when it comes to our growing list of investors. But one of the biggest wins, which I think deserves some recognition, is the hybrid content strategy.”

Silas paused like he was waiting for some kind of applause, but he was met only with a silent group of people exchanging uncomfortable glances. Did he think we couldn’t tell he was just patting himself on the back?

"When we launched that initiative several weeks ago,” he continued, “a lot of people were skeptical. But our web traffic has doubled since then. That’s right—doubled. We’ve made our content more dynamic, more engaging, and the numbers don’t lie. It’s a testament to the kind of innovative thinking that’s going to keep us on top. Which brings me to the next step we need to take to ensure that growth continues."

The discomfort in the room was palpable. Not wanting to draw attention to myself, I didn’t dare turn my head to look at Chase, but Jill and I exchanged a curious glance from across the table.

“It’s about more than just the numbers, right?” Nobody nodded in agreement. “It’s about credibility and transparency. People are scrutinizing us more closely than ever, which means we need to focus our efforts on content that matters to our consumers.”

Consumers. Like we were selling a product.

Silas cleared his throat, running his hand over his tie. “This is why, effective immediately, leadership will be more involved in selecting the content we cover to ensure our stories reflect the concerns of the community.”

Xander let out a small chuckle across the table, and if he was trying to be subtle, it didn’t work. Silas, narrowing his eyes, turned to him immediately. He crossed his arms against his chest, saying, “Let’s start with you, Mr. Pierce.”

“Start with me… how?”

“I’d like to go around the table and have everyone pitch some story ideas. Whatcha workin’ on, huh? Got anything up your sleeve?” It was obvious in his aggressive tone and cocky stance he knew exactly what Xander had been investigating.

Though Xander’s jaw clenched, he casually folded his hands on the table in front of him as he said, “Well, the new four-way stop on Poplar Road is causing quite a stir. Looks like it might be causing more accidents than it’s preventing. Our consumers are going to eat that story right up.”

The staredown that followed sent a shiver down my spine. Beside me, Chase whispered, “I hope they have a duel,” and I quietly shushed him.

Silas’s back stiffened. “That the only story you’re working on?”

“I’ve also got some pothole repairs to follow up on—pretty exciting stuff.”

“Maybe I should be talking to your hybrid partner instead,” Silas said, turning to Jillian. “Surely there’s more to report on than traffic lights and potholes? Tell me you have more.”

Jillian, pushing her half-eaten donut away, sat up straighter. "Yes, um,” she started, glancing at Xander, who stared at the table, “we’re actually working on a feature about a local dentist's office that’s making special accommodations for kids with sensory needs. I think it could resonate with a lot of families."

Silas gave her a curt nod before glancing down at his printed agenda. "I like it. Devonte, what have you got?"

Devonte leaned back in his chair. "Well, baseball season is in full swing. I’m also, uh,” he took a beat to scratch one of his sideburns, breaking eye contact with Silas. I couldn't blame him—our CEO was like a vulture at the end of the table, waiting to swoop down on the first sign of weakness. “I’m going to be highlighting a local swimmer who’s been breaking lots of records. Should be an inspiring piece.”

"Good, good," Silas said, his tone still clipped as he continued around the table. He zeroed in on Byron, who was using a napkin to dabjelly from his donut off his sweater vest. "Byron, what about you?

Byron blinked a few times, startled to be called on so abruptly. "Oh, uh, just the usual," he stammered. “A lot of babies were born. Obviously. Oh and… my church is having a bake sale?”

Silas nodded. "That’s all fine, but let’s mix it up a little, shall we? I’d like for you to talk to John Weston about the new income-based apartment complex going up. Let’s highlight his tremendous generosity and commitment to making Woodvale an affordable place for more families. Can you handle that?

Byron glanced at Graham with a nervous nod before answering. "Y-yes, I can handle it. Of course."

"Good," Silas said with a smug grin. "Glad to hear it." He turned his gaze briefly toward Xander, giving him a knowing smirk that made it all too clear what this was really about. He wanted the coverage about the apartment complex to be safe and sanitized.

Silas continued around the table, the meeting dragging on as people outlined their upcoming stories. Finally, it was Chase’s turn.

He took a deep breath, leaning forward slightly to see Silas better. "Meghan and I are following up on tornado relief efforts, mostly. We’re also going to be talking to the Humane Society about the feral cats plaguing the old mill.” He didn’t mention a word about Fannie or Evelyn, and for a moment, I was relieved. The last thing I wanted was to stumble through an explanation of why two old friends from the 1800s were worth anyone’s time. But that feeling quickly dissipated when Silas’s gaze shifted toward me.

"Meghan," he said, a hint of condescension creeping into his tone. "That ‘witch’ story you mentioned a couple weeks ago—is that for your historical column?" I didn’t like the way he emphasized the word “witch” or the subtle way he smirked when he said it.

I cast a quick glance in Chase’s direction before answering. "No, actually. It’s going to be a feature. We’re planning a deep dive into her life, her friendships, and the role she played in the town's early history."

Silas didn’t even bother to hide his dismissiveness, waving a hand as if to shoo the idea away. "But that’s not news, right? I say we leave that to your editorial column to free up space for current events. Anyway," he said, looking up at the guys from the third floor who were huddled together at the end of the table, both of them dunking their donuts in their coffee, "let’s move on. Radio guys, give it to me."

His tone changed completely as he addressed the DJs, and the men all chuckled together at their idiotic inside jokes. I felt the heat rising to my cheeks. My fingers curled around the edge of the table as I fought to keep my expression neutral. Chase’s hand found my knee under the table, and all at once, the tension in my chest began to loosen.

A little.

I glanced across the table at Graham, who was staring down at the table with his brows furrowed, his knee bouncing restlessly. He looked like he was about to say something, his jaw set in anger, but he kept quiet as Silas wrapped things up.

"Alright, that’s all for today, everyone,” he said, shuffling the papers in front of him. "Oh, and one more thing—these meetings will be weekly from now on to ensure everyone is held accountable. Expect more frequent check-ins to keep things on track." His gaze swept across the table, landing on each of us like he was daring anyone to protest.

But besides the radio guys, who were evidently part of Silas’s boys’ club, we were all speechless.

**

The second we made it back to the newspaper offices, Xander, Byron, and I descended on Graham like a pack of wolves. That spineless little wiener.

Byron clenched two fistfuls of hair—what hair he had left, that is. “Hey boss, I don’t know if I’m cut out for this kind of story—”

“It’s my story,” Xander snapped. “He’s making Byron turn it into a fluff piece to keep me away. I’ve got some dirt on Weston, and he knows it.”

“Why’s he controlling what we cover if you’re the hybrid content coordinator?” I took a step closer to Graham, who had literally backed into a corner. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

“He’s driving our paper into the ground,” Xander added, crossing his arms, “and you’re just going to roll over and let him do it?”

Graham backed up even more, his shoulder nudging the doorframe as he held up his hands in a calming gesture. “Whoa, whoa, okay—everybody just take a breath. I get it, alright? I know it’s frustrating. But there’s only so much I can do right now.”

“Why?” I shot back, narrowing my eyes at him. “Why can’t you do anything?”

He let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of it all had finally settled in. “Look, I have to pick my battles, okay? Silas has got these new investors eating out of his hand. If I push back too hard right now, I risk getting our whole department shut down.” He glanced at the three of us, his eyes pleading for understanding. “I have too much to lose—we all do.”

Xander let out a frustrated huff and shook his head. "This is bullshit," he muttered again before sauntering off to his cubicle. Graham watched him go, then turned to Byron, who was chewing on his bottom lip.

"First of all—Byron, I have faith in you for this Weston piece," Graham said, his tone softening. "And I’m here for support if you need it. We’ll make sure it’s solid."

Byron's shoulders visibly relaxed, and he nodded quickly. "Thanks, boss. I appreciate it." He gave Graham a small, relieved smile before heading off, clearly grateful to have some of the pressure lifted.

I stayed rooted in place, my hands on my hips as I leveled a hard stare at Graham. "Don’t look at me like that," he said, his voice low and weary. "I’ll fix this."

"When?" I shot back.

He ran his hand through his hair and sighed again. "Soon. Just… give me time, alright?"

I wasn’t so sure. "In the meantime, you’re just going to let the guy kill every story that doesn’t fit his agenda?"

Graham’s jaw tightened, but he shook his head. "Look, I’m not even sure he’s wrong about the witch story, Meghan. The truth is… this paper rewrites the story on the Woodvale Witch once every decade or so. Hell, I even did a feature on her myself when I first started here. I love your enthusiasm, but it’s kind of a tired topic. I’m sorry. There’s nothing new to say.”

Oh, how I loved proving men wrong. “Actually,” I began, “I acquired an old journal that mentions her, and someone found some buried rocks in the woods with symbols on them that match the symbols in the journal.”

“Symbols?”

“Yeah, all these weird, jagged lines. Like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

“Could they be… sigils?”

I shrugged one shoulder. “I mean, yeah, I suppose.”

Graham crossed his arms, blinking at me in curiosity. “Huh. Then you need to contact Cadence at the Historical Society."

"Why?" I didn’t want to give up Fannie’s journal. At least, not yet.

"Because Evelyn’s personal effects were collected at the time of her execution,” Graham said, locking eyes with me to make sure I was paying attention, “and among them was a sigil decoder.”

My heart sped up the second the words left Graham’s mouth. I wasn’t aware such a thing existed. Could this actually give me the answers I’d been desperate for?

“You may be the first person in over a century to uncover something new about that witch, Meghan.”