Shards of Betrayal, page 7
Her expression didn’t falter, though her voice softened. “I’ll admit, I was young and ambitious—too ambitious, perhaps. But I’ve grown. My time at the other paper has taught me a lot about the industry.”
Sam’s gaze went to me—barely—but didn’t stay. “Your recent story has certainly made headlines. Though I can’t say I agreed with your way of telling it.”
She didn’t miss a beat. “My style might be considered ... provocative. But it’s effective. People read my stories, talk about them. Isn’t that what journalism is all about? Engaging the public?”
“Journalism,” Sam said, “is about informing the public. Engagement is secondary to integrity.”
“I couldn’t agree more. That’s why I want to come back—to bring the Chronicle stories that inform, engage and make an impact.”
Sam kept his face even, but I caught the tightness around his mouth. He wasn’t buying it. Not for a second.
“Selena, you’ve always had talent. But talent isn’t everything. Working here requires trust—trust that you’re committed to the Chronicle’s standards and values. That was an issue before. How do I know it won’t be again?”
She leaned forward. “Because I know what’s at stake now. I’ve learned from my mistakes. Let me prove myself. Give me a trial run. If I don’t meet your expectations, you can send me packing.”
He studied her, clearly deliberating. He’d received orders from upstairs, no doubt. The question was whether he would follow them. The room felt too quiet. Even the newsroom’s hum beyond the glass faded.
Finally, he nodded once. “One chance.”
They briefly discussed her starting date. Then Selena rose, smile polished sharp. “I won’t let you down.” She brushed past me as if I wasn’t there, a ghost she could walk through—or a corpse she could walk over. I was invisible now that I was no longer useful.
“She’ll never name her source,” I said.
“I know. But management thought it was better to bring her in than to let her run wild.”
“You mean they actually thought it was safer to let the snake into the hen house than—”
“Have you set up the Duval interview yet?” Sam was already reaching for another file, voice clipped, eyes locked on the page. “Mamie’s getting harder to pin down. If you’ve got a date, I need it. If not, I’ll send someone else.”
I hesitated. Not because of Mamie. Because of him.
“It’s set,” I said. “Friday. Late afternoon.”
“Good.” He didn’t look up. “This is one interview we don’t want to mess up.”
I felt the sting of that little barb. Maybe he didn’t mean it the way it came out. But maybe he did. The difference was that before he wouldn’t have said it—and if he had, I would’ve known what he meant by it.
He moved on to the next folder like we’d never had a conversation, like none of it—not Selena, not the key, not the blowup—had ever happened.
I left his office without a word, sat at my desk and thought things over.
Selena Troy, back in the fold.
Not for her redemption. Not for her skill.
Just to keep the poison where we could see it.
And Sam?
He was shutting doors now. One file at a time.
Just to keep the poison where we could see it.
And maybe—just maybe—to see if I’d take the bite.
CHAPTER 15
After Selena’s article broke and my follow-up soon after, Seth banned all reporters from his set and erected a wall of secrecy around it. I tried to keep investigating, hanging around the warehouse, talking to actors and crew members as they left after a day’s shoot, but they veered away when they saw me, and Seth refused my calls.
It looked like an airtight ship all right. But a determined rat will always manage to chew its way in and Selena managed to slip through.
That very next week, she handed in another story—this one more damning than the last.
The newsroom buzzed as I walked in, typewriters clacking beneath the murmur of conversation. Heads turned my way, expressions ranging from curious to uneasy. Eyes darted toward the stack of freshly printed Chronicles on the corner desk.
Selena Troy’s byline was front and center.
‘Sabotage or Sabotaged Dreams? Trouble on the Set of Soul Redemption.’
I snatched up a copy, pulse quickening.
Crew members describe tense working conditions under director Seth Carter, whose mercurial leadership style has allegedly turned collaboration into chaos. Sources close to the production claim Carter’s temper has flared on multiple occasions, resulting in public dressing-downs of cast and crew alike. One witness described a scene in which Carter’s tirade left an actor in tears. “He wants perfection,” the source said, “but he’s destroying people to get it.”
It went on like that—an unrelenting takedown of Seth’s professionalism. I didn’t like her tone—the veneer of concern posing as reporting—but for a split second, I wondered if she’d spotted something I hadn’t. Seth had spoken of a crew as close as family. Selena painted a picture of a cruel, abusive director. It didn’t jibe with the Seth Carter I knew, but apparently, she had sources that I—
“Good morning.” Selena slid up beside me. “What do you think? Engaging, isn’t it?”
Engaging? No. “Unauthorized.”
She pretended surprise. “Unauthorized? You mean without Seth’s blessing?” She shrugged. “Since when do we care about that? Anyway, Sam thought it was fantastic. Said it’s exactly what the paper needs—timely, provocative and relatable.”
“Sam knew?” The words came out sharper than I intended. But even as I asked, I knew the answer. Nothing in our newsroom made it into print without Sam’s say-so.
Her smile widened and I hated the satisfaction in it. “Knew? He approved it. Practically rolled out the red carpet. You didn’t know?”
I stood there, dry-mouthed. That he’d approved this piece of garbage was bad enough. But that he hadn’t warned me? That—
“Lanie?” Selena tilted her head. “You look a little green.”
I forced myself to breathe. Relatable. She said Sam had called it “relatable.” The Chronicle had always prided itself on depth and honesty, on nuance, neutrality and integrity. Not this.
Selena’s eyes glittered. “Oh, come on. Don’t be so stiff about it. You know as well as I do—stories like this keep the lights on. People don’t want dull facts. They want drama, conflict and a little dirt with their morning coffee.”
“Dirt? Is that what you’re calling it now?”
“Truth has many layers, doesn’t it? I peel them back, give the public a glimpse. What they do with it—that’s not my problem.”
I tossed the paper onto the pile and turned my back on her to walk away.
“Loosen up, Lanie. Maybe then you’ll finally make the front page.”
That stung. Her stupidity. Her arrogance. Her conceit. I whirled around, ready to give her a piece of my mind, but Sam’s voice stopped me. It cut through the newsroom. “Lanie. In here. Now.”
The din of typewriters and thump of the wire service printers fell away as Sam’s office door closed behind me. He gestured for me to sit, but I remained standing, arms crossed.
“I assume you’ve read Selena’s piece,” he said.
“I have. And I assume you know how damaging it is to Seth’s production.”
Sam sighed. “It’s not ideal, no. But it is compelling. The higher-ups see it as proof she’s worth the risk.”
“The risk?” The word tasted like ice. “She’s quoting anonymous sources, spinning half-truths, undermining the work we’re supposed to be doing.”
“She’s doing what management wants her to.”
“And what’s that?”
“Bring attention to the paper.”
“Oh, is that our job now?”
“It is, in part and you know it.” A beat. “If you have an issue with her reporting, write something to counter it.”
I felt pressure building behind my ribs. I wanted to ask: Is this how it’s going to be now? Because I turned down your key? But the words didn’t come. “You’re telling me to compete with her? To stoop to her level?”
He met my gaze. “I’m telling you to prove why you’re the best.”
The ground tilted beneath me. “You could’ve told me.”
Sam hesitated, just for a beat, but it was enough. “It’s not my job to hold your hand.” He paused. “I didn’t think I had to.”
The tightness in my chest spread, curling hot and sharp around my ribs. I knew he was under pressure—could see it in the way his shoulders hunched, the weariness in his eyes. But knowing didn’t make it sting any less.
Again, I had to wonder: Was this about that damn key? Was that why he felt so distant? I started to ask but caught myself. What was the point? Hurt pride would make him deny it. And the mere suggestion would make him angrier than he already was.
“She’s tearing Seth apart.”
“It’s not our job to protect him.”
“It’s not our job to destroy him, either. And for what? A few more headlines? A little more buzz?”
“She’s got management on her side. Right now, her work is setting the tone. If you don’t like it, change it.”
I could’ve said a lot of things, but I left it at one word: “Understood.”
His eyes lingered on me, softer now. I sensed that he wanted to say something more. But whatever it was, I was in no mood to hear it.
I walked out. The newsroom’s chatter rushed back in a wave, as if nothing had changed. But something in me had shifted and I felt it in every step.
I’d barely reached my desk when my telephone rang, sharp and insistent. I stared at it hard, still seething. Right on time, I thought. Right. On. Time. I closed my eyes for a second, took a deep breath, then snatched up the receiver. “Hello, Seth.”
“Lanie, what the hell is going on?”
“I assume you’ve seen Selena’s latest masterpiece.”
“I’ve seen it. Everyone’s seen it. Now my crew’s looking at me like I’m some kind of tyrant, dragging them through hell for the sake of my ‘ambition.’”
“But they know you. They must know she’s—”
“It doesn’t matter. And it’s not just them. It’s my investors. The people in the industry. The folks I work with now and hoped to work with later.” His words grew sharper. “Don’t you get it? Y’all put my picture in the paper. I can’t even walk down the street without somebody saying something. People believe this shit. And you know why? Because it’s in your paper. The so-called Times of Harlem. The paper of record. And I can’t even defend myself because I don’t know who’s feeding her this garbage.”
This was my chance. I took it. “You want me to find out?”
A pause. “You can do that?”
“Maybe.”
“How?”
“Let me back on set. I can’t do anything as long as I’m locked out. You want this fixed? Let me in.”
Silence. Tension crackled through the line. “Then what? If I did, what would you do?”
“Talk to your people. Figure out who’s talking and what’s really going on. If you want the truth out there, you need to let me do my job.”
“They’re not going to trust you.”
“They will if you talk to them, let ‘em know I’m not there to just write another hit piece.”
More silence, then a sigh. “Fine. You’re in. I’ll make sure everyone knows they can talk to you.”
“One more thing.”
“Yeah? What is it?” Cautious again.
“I’ll need you to stay out of my way. No hovering. No interruptions.”
A bitter laugh. “Don’t worry. I’ve got enough to deal with without babysitting a reporter.”
I didn’t believe him, but pretended to. “Good.”
“But Lanie.” He stopped, a beat of quiet before the next words hit. “If you find out who’s talking, I need to know. If someone’s trying to take this film down from the inside—”
“I’ll let you know if I find anything concrete. But understand something—I’m not your spy. If people think I’m a tattletale, they won’t talk and this’ll be over before it starts.”
The line crackled with tension.
“You think I don’t know that?” he shot back. “Just do what you have to do. But fix this. Because if this film goes under, it’s not just my name. It’s the actors and crew—their livelihoods.”
He disconnected.
I stood there, staring at the receiver, before setting it down.
Sam had betrayed me. Selena was running wild. And now Seth was asking me to be something I wasn’t—a fixer, a gatekeeper.
His advocate.
It’s not your job to protect him.
But what else could I do?
For the first time, I wasn’t sure where my loyalty belonged. With the story? Or the people behind it? For the first time, I’d have to make a choice.
CHAPTER 16
Seth’s office wasn’t built to hold four people, especially not four people who didn’t want to be there. Seth sat behind his desk, shoulders hunched, hands clenched. Grace perched on the couch, a little apart from him and to his left. Her back was straight, hands clasped on her lap. Clay had given me his desk chair. So I was parked there, uncomfortably aware of the tension in the room. As for Clay, he leaned against the doorframe opposite Grace, jaw set.
Seth was noticeably thinner, his clothes hanging off his large frame and his eyes were dark and sunken. He now looked at us like we’d all let him down. “The investors are on my back. Calling every damn day, asking what the hell’s going on.”
Clay shrugged. “They’re skittish. Angels always are. You’d think they’d be used to a little chaos by now.”
“This isn’t chaos,” Seth shot back. “It’s sabotage. And Selena’s articles aren’t helping. Now we can’t control what she writes, but we can control how we respond. Our backers want confidence, not excuses.”
“So, what’s the plan?” Grace asked.
“First, we need to find out who’s talking to her.” Seth turned to me. “Lanie, you’ve got the green light to talk to anyone you need to. Cast, crew, everyone. I’ve told them to cooperate. Want to use my office for interviews?”
I considered it—for all of thirty seconds. Privacy might encourage some people to talk. But it might intimidate others into silence. Either way, I’d miss the subtle cues that came with watching people in their natural environment—the quick glances, the offhand comments, the little gestures they didn’t know they were making. Besides, it would disrupt production.
“Thanks, but I’ll talk to them on set. People are more themselves in familiar surroundings.”
Seth gave a sharp nod, then faced Grace and Clay. “We’re tightening the schedule. Grace, I need you need to work with Clay on the script.”
“Not likely.” She shot Clay a resentful look. “The first thing he’ll want to do is cut my lines.”
Clay ignored her and spoke directly to Seth. “She’ll never cooperate.”
Grace straightened up, her fingers drumming against the armrest. “Cooperate? You mean just give in and do as you say, right?” She turned to Seth, her expression sharp. “Why, if it weren’t for me—”
Seth raised a hand. “Enough. Both of you. This isn’t about your egos—it’s about keeping this film alive.”
They fell silent, both obviously unhappy. There were family tensions here I hadn’t known existed.
“Be flexible,” Seth continued. “Anything we can cut, we cut. Anything that makes us faster, we do it.”
Clay sighed. “I’ve already trimmed every scene to the bone.”
“Then trim it again. Or combine scenes. I don’t care. We’re running out of time.”
“Okay, okay—but everybody’s got to be willing to sacrifice.” Clay shot Grace a resentful glance.
She gave a cool shrug. “Fine. But don’t expect me to carry the weight.”
Poor Seth. Investors panicking, Selena stirring chaos and a wife and brother at odds.
Seth’s gaze lingered on Grace for a moment, softening. Sam used to look at me that way, in meetings. Now, he looked right through me.
Seth tapped his ear. “Looks like you’re missing an earring.”
Grace’s hand flew to her ears, fingertips brushing the lobes. One of her crystal earrings was missing.
“Hmm. I must’ve forgotten to put it on this morning,” she said. “This whole business has gotten me so turned around, I’ve been forgetting everything lately.”
That seemed so unlike her. Grace was the definition of a star who was cool, controlled, not easily ruffled. It was a small thing, her remark, but it showed me just how much the stress was affecting Seth’s people.
“Have there been anymore incidents?” I asked.
“No.” Seth shook his head. “It’s odd, but they’ve stopped.” He thought about it. “As a matter-of-fact, they stopped right after Selena’s first piece came out.”
“Really?” I reflected. “I agree. That’s odd.”
“Do you think the saboteur and the person behind the leaks are one and the same?” Grace asked.
“Maybe” I said. “Maybe not. Could be the same person. Could be the saboteur is simply happy letting Selena do his dirty work for now.”
Clay spoke up. “Either way, it doesn’t mean the sabotage is over. It could just as easily pick back up again.”
“And you still don’t want to take this to the police?” I asked.
Seth shifted uncomfortably. “No. The last thing we need is cops swarming the movie set.”
Clay grunted. “Swarming? No such luck. They’d either ignore us—or shut us down.”
“Neither of which would solve our problem. We’ve got enough trouble as it is.”
Grace and Clay both murmured their agreement.
Seth let out a long exhale and lightly slapped his desk, a sign that the meeting was over. “All right then,” he said and looked at me. “Lanie, it’s your show now. Do what you do best.”
