chapter thirty-four

meghan

Our ads department merged with WWTV’s when Silas bought us out. He crammed them all into an open-plan workspace near the news studio on the first floor. It was the place where deals were made, ad spots were sold, and contracts were typed. If there were any traceable receipts of Silas’s favoritism, it would be down there in the ads department.

As I made my way down the stairs the following morning, I silently prayed I’d be able to meet with Quentin, an ad salesman I had drinks with one time last summer. He was a decent guy, but he clearly had issues with me being taller than him, seeing as he mentioned it no less than three times on our one date. I didn’t feel like wasting my time with someone who might feel threatened by me wearing heels, so we left it at that. But since then, we’d been cordial, even friendly, and he still viewed all of my Instagram stories. Every last one.

That gave me some pull, didn’t it?

Unfortunately, when I walked into the drab ads office, Quentin was nowhere around. In fact, there was only one person working: Tiffany Brent, a middle-aged woman I’d had a few conversations with during my time working at the paper. “Are you looking for someone?” Tiffany asked, peering at me over her glasses as I hesitated at the front of the office.

“Is Quentin working today?”

“He works remote now, hon. We’re a skeleton crew nowadays. Is there something I can help you with?” Tiffany had kind eyes and a warm smile, but I didn’t know her well enough to ask any favors. Did I?

I imagined what Xander might do in this situation. He would come up with a sneaky way to get Tiffany to share the info on Weston’s account—maybe even lie. If the evidence Xander found was damning enough, his method for obtaining it often didn’t matter. He toed the line carefully to avoid legal repercussions, a skill he mastered up in Chicago.

But because I had very little experience in skirting that ethically gray area Xander lived in, I decided an honest, direct approach was my best bet. Even as I approached Tiffany’s desk, I doubted myself, but this was all I had.

“Actually, Tiffany, there might be something you can help me with.”

“Oh?” She folded her hands on her desk. “And what’s that?”

I looked her in the eyes, hoping that would help me gain her trust. “I’m looking into John Weston’s relationship with the network. Specifically, if there’s anything unusual about his ad account.”

There was a momentary pause and the subtlest, almost-imperceivable flicker of surprise in Tiffany’s eyes that let me know I was on the right track. “Unusual… how?”

“I just need to know if there’s anything that stands out in his contract.”

Tiffany stared up at me and blinked a few times. “And what’s this for?”

I had only a few seconds to decide how honest I wanted to be with her. I could dance around the truth, keep it vague—but something told me that Tiffany would see right through that. I took another step closer to her desk, lowering my voice just enough to signal the seriousness of the situation. “I’m working on a big story. An exposé, actually. I’m looking into Silas and how he’s been favoring certain clients while manipulating what we cover.”

Tiffany chewed on her bottom lip as she listened to me, rubbing her fingers along the lanyard around her neck. “That sounds… incredibly risky. John Weston has more power in this town than anyone,” she said. “More than Silas. More than the mayor, even.”

“Exactly,” I said, resting my hands on the corner of her desk. “And through Silas, he’s controlling the news.”

“He might be,” Tiffany said, glancing at the door to the hall like someone else could walk in, “but none of us would have a job if it weren’t for Weston. If we lose his ad account, we’re finished. The amount he’s paying us… it’s astronomical.”

Red flag after red flag. “I’m sure it is.” I inhaled, looking at the framed photo of three little girls in dress-up clothes on Tiffany’s desk. “But on the other hand, exposing Silas’s corruption might be the only way for all of us to keep our jobs. Anyone here can see that man is running this place into the ground, right?”

Tiffany didn’t speak. She stared at me, holding the diamond heart pendant of her necklace between her fingers and running it back and forth along the chain. Ha, I knew that move. And I knew what it meant, too—she was anxious.

“If I could peek at Weston’s contract it might give me some answers,” I said, glancing at the green filing cabinet along the wall.

“If I do share it with you, it can’t come back on me,” she warned. “I don’t want my name anywhere in that exposé.”

“It won’t be,” I said firmly. “Your name stays out of it. I won’t say how I got the information.”

She hesitated as if trying to read me. The tables had turned, and now Tiffany needed to feel like she could trust me.

“Listen,” I said, trying to level with her, “I know what it’s like to feel stuck between doing what’s safe and doing what’s right. But if we don’t stop Silas now, it’s only going to get worse—for all of us.”

After a few seconds, Tiffany nodded, wheeling her desk chair around with a reluctant sigh. She walked over to the green filing cabinet I’d just been eyeing and pulled a key out of a little white basket on top. I watched her bend over to unlock the bottom drawer, pulling out a thick manilla folder. “All of our contracts with Weston for the past fiscal year,” she said, coming back to her seat. “The one on top is what you need to see.”

She opened the folder and pulled out the contract on top—a few pages stapled together. My heart sped up as she flipped to the last page and flattened it against the desk. Her eyes scanned the paper until she found what she was looking for.

“Here,” she said, turning the paper around so I could see it. She pointed at a clause. “This is a new clause. And for the record, it’s not just Weston’s account. We’re adding this to many of our new clients’ contracts, even the new barber shop.”

I pulled the paper closer to me to read the clause in question: “Any unfavorable or critical coverage of Weston Properties may result in immediate withdrawal of advertising funds without notice."

Bingo.

My hands began to shake. This was it—I was holding actual, concrete evidence that Silas was handing Weston the power to manipulate the news. This proved that our loyalty was to our wealthiest ad clients, not the truth. Our reporting wasn’t just biased, it was being bought and sold.

And it had to be stopped.

“Can you make a copy of this for me?” I asked, trying to sound calmer than I was.

“You’re sure I won’t be implicated?”

“You have my word, Tiffany. I promise.”

Tiffany gave a small nod, got up from her chair, and walked to the copier in the corner. The copy she made was still warm when she handed it to me. I thanked her—honestly, I wanted to hug her—and hurried back upstairs to my cubicle, smoking gun in hand.