Charitable Getting, Chapter Ten

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ETA 10/1/10: This is a FIRST DRAFT of Charitable Getting. Please see this post for the index to the second and most current draft.


CHAPTER TEN

Erin felt that she had used her three-and-a-half-day weekend very wisely, all things considered. She had gone last-minute shopping for Christmas, got her hair done, seen a film, spent Christmas day with her family, gone post-Christmas shopping, and made it home before the snow got really dire after falling all day on the 26th. Plus, she hadn't had a single phone call from work.

She was going to spend the Sunday resting, enjoying her Christmas loot, and possibly drinking a lot of mulled cider. At least, that was the plan until the phone rang at eight in the morning.

"Ohhh this had better not suck," she groaned into the phone, pulling it off its charging cord and rolling away from the bedside table.

"Erin, it's Cee," said the voice on the other end of the line. "It's going to suck."

Erin sighed. "What is it?"

"You know how there's a big storm in Illinois?"

"Yes?"

"You know how it hit the western part of the state worst?"

"Yes..."

"I'm kind of in it."

Erin groaned again. "You're snowed in? In rural Illinois?"

"For a given value of rural," Cee said.

"Is John with you?"

"Uh." Cee hesitated.

"Okay, that's a yes," Erin said. "So neither of you will be in to work tomorrow."

"Well, we were hoping maybe you, being his right-hand woman, would know where Sparks keeps the keys to his four-wheel drive," Cee said. "And that maybe someone could drive over and help get us out. Otherwise it might be a few days before the plow comes through."

"Where the hell are you?"

"Galena."

"Where the hell is that?"

"About ten miles from the Mississippi."

"Jesus Christ I hope the sex was good," Erin said. "Okay, I'm going to call you back in twenty minutes. Stay put."

"Hard to do anything else," Cee sighed.

Erin hung up and scrolled through her contacts list.

"Boss?" she said, when he answered. "How'd you like to go on an adventure?"

***

"How did I get roped into this?" Roxy asked, as the four-by-four bounced along the snow-covered backroads of western Illinois.

"How did you get roped into this? How did I get roped into this?" Naomi asked from behind her.

"You answered your phone when Sparks called you," Hanna said. "Same as I did. I don't know why Melinda's here."

Melinda, sitting next to Naomi in the seat in front of Hanna, sighed. "The things I do for love," she said.

"Come on, this is fun!" Sparks said, swerving across ice to avoid hitting a squirrel. The car skidded for a second before regaining traction. "I'm sorry Erin couldn't come."

"I'm sure she's not," Roxy murmured, gripping the arm of the front passenger seat as Sparks punched the gas.

"Here's what I want to know," Sparks said, peering through the still-falling snow, trying to determine where the edges of the road were. "Christmas, okay, someone tries to bomb the hell out of an airplane, and now we practically can't have carry-on luggage anymore. Half the country's been sucker-punched by a blizzard, and now we have to pretend the whole way home that John and Cee aren't sleeping together. Why is everyone pretending, by the way? They know I know, right?"

"I don't think they do," Hanna said.

"Maybe they just want to keep it private," Melinda suggested.

"I am such a good boss for respecting their wishes," Sparks decided. "Even if it means someone has to disinfect the copier room every few days."

"This is going to be the most awkward car ride ever," Hanna announced.

"I'm counting on you to do a lot of the digging," Sparks told her. "You're young and you have a lot to prove. So probably you can sleep on the way back, or pretend or something."

"Aaaand I've lost satellite," Roxy said, waving her GPS around as if it was going to help. "My god. How do people live like this? I didn't think there was anywhere in civilized society that didn't have cellphone coverage."

"It was a simpler time, before cellphones," Sparks said.

"Not for those of us who have fretters for parents," Hanna sighed.

"Or those of us who like to check our email at lunch," Roxy added.

"Or those of us who need realtime stock quotes -- " Naomi began.

"Okay! A simpler time for people who are not us," Sparks conceded. "If you don't have satellite, how are we going to know when we get where we're supposed to be going?"

"Prayer," Roxy told him.

"Does that work?"

"Well, it got me this internship," Hanna said from the backseat. "Not sure if that's a positive thing at the moment."

"Nonsense. This is good team bonding," Sparks told her. "Someday, when you're a manager at your own company, you remember this and learn from it."

"What exactly am I learning?" Hanna whispered to Naomi.

"When to say no, I think," Naomi whispered back.

"Hey! I think I see it!" Sparks said, leaning forward over the wheel. "Nope, never mind, it's just a forest."

"Just a forest?" Roxy asked.

"You know, a nature preserve. Hey! I bet there's deer."

"If I die because you hit a deer, I am haunting you for the next thirty lives we spend together," Naomi announced.

"Should have brought your rifle," Roxy said to Naomi.

"Compound bow would be more fun," Melinda put in.

"Look!" Sparks crowed. "Elk!"

***

When they finally skidded to a halt in front of John's family's house, it was only because they'd been warned to look for an enormous red flag. The flag turned out to be a bedsheet, held down on the garage roof by rocks. The snow was in drifts easily six feet high; the car was handling all right, crunching it down as it went, but Sparks could see the problem immediately -- unless you were on top of the snow, you were pretty much screwed.

He blew the horn and then got out gingerly, sinking down into the snow up to his hips. Oh, cold. He snapped the chemical hand-warmer he'd picked up at a drugstore in Chicago and shoved it way down in his pocket. On the other side, Melinda was helping Naomi out, and Hanna was climbing out through the trunk, a snow shovel under each arm.

"DON'T COME TO US," Sparks shouted, as the front door of the house bumped against a solid drift of snow. "WE'LL COME TO YOU. Hanna!"

"Coming, boss!" Hanna said, shoving her way through the drifts. She was a little shorter, and in her white coat she looked like a classical bust in a bobble hat, poking out of the snow. She handed him a shovel and then looked at the snow thoughtfully. "Where do we start?"

"Like eating an elephant," Sparks told her. "One bite at a time. Let's get a space cleared. Melinda, Naomi, Roxy, you stay there and stamp out somewhere solid to put the car."

"Already on it!" Melinda said cheerily. She'd brought a bag with her that Sparks hadn't asked too many questions about; now she took a couple of expensive-looking snowshoes out of it and began strapping them on. "Naomi, honey, you follow in my footsteps and stamp. Roxy, have you got something to clear the snow around the wheels with?"

Sparks bent industriously to shoveling with Hanna, while the others cleared a space in front of the car. "So, did you have a good Christmas?" he asked.

"It was great," she said. "My grandparents came in from out of town."

"Good loot?"

"Yeah, gift cards mostly. What about you?"

"I was supposed to go to Michigan," he said, stopping briefly to knock caked-on snow off the shovel. "My folks are out there. I don't mind staying here, though. Chicago's beautiful in winter."

"You think Chicago's beautiful all the time," she said, then looked horrified at her presumption. Sparks laughed.

"You know, ever since that thing with the cake, you've stopped hiding behind someone every time I walk in the room," he observed. "Courage suits you, Hanna."

"Thanks," she said, turning bright red. Possibly embarrassment; possibly just the exertion of shoveling. His shovel hit something hard, and he crowed.

"We've achieved sidewalk!" he called. There was a cheer from inside the house. "Anyway, I do think Chicago is beautiful all the time. I love it," he continued.

"It shows," Hanna told him.

"Good. It should. You shouldn't live somewhere you don't love," he told her. "Not unless you're planning to turn it into something you can love. When I got to Chicago I was horrified by some of what I saw, but I decided that instead of getting used to it I was going to try to fix it."

"Seems to be working okay," Hanna said.

"Yeah. I guess I like fixing things. So, you know, bad things still happen, but I'm trying to fix them, and that means I get to love it," Sparks said.

"You should write a book," Hanna told him.

"You know, I think I might, one day," Sparks replied. They worked on in silence until they reached the front door. "Hey, McGill Family! Don't open the door yet!" he shouted.

"Sparks, I could kiss you!" John shouted back.

"That's harassment!" Sparks said, clearing the last little bits of the snow away from the front step. "Okay, open up!"

The door swung wide and a blast of warm air emerged, along with Cee, who burst into his arms and hugged him.

"I love being a superhero," he said to Hanna, over her shoulder. Cee let him go and, bizarrely, thrust her hand into his face.

"GUESS WHAT," she said. "We're engaged!"

Sparks stared at the ring. He was vaguely conscious, in the background, of John covering his face with both hands. Naomi, who'd been sculpting snow into a stairway up to the street, rushed past him to hug Cee. Roxy punched John in the shoulder. Melinda laughed so hard it looked like she might fall down.

"Uh, so, by the way, boss," John said, "Cee and I are dating."

"I know," Sparks said. He stared at the ring for a little while longer (it really was delightfully shiny) and then picked John up bodily in a hug. When he set him down, John was stammering and blushing. A crowd of people, all vaguely resembling John in one way or another, stood back behind the happy couple, looking a little frightened.

"Hi!" Sparks announced, over the sound of Naomi cooing at Cee's ring. "I'm Bo Sparks, Cee and John work for me. You must be the McGills! I look like I might bite, but I don't, I just have great teeth. This is Hanna my intern, Roxy my IT Manager, Naomi my Finance Director, and her girlfriend Melinda, who has snowshoes."

"Oh," said an older-looking woman, standing behind John. "I'm John's mother, Vivian."

They regarded each other for a minute.

"Cookie?" she offered, holding up a tray of cookies and steaming mugs of cocoa.

"We are going to get along really well, I can tell these things," he told her. "SparkVISION rescue team, everyone inside! Shoes off at the door!"

***

"So, let me see if I understand this," Ian said, leaning back in his chair on Monday. "Yesterday morning you call Erin and tell her you and John are snowed in at his parents' house."

Cee nodded.

"And Erin sends Sparks with our IT Manager, our Finance Director, her girlfriend, and our favorite intern, to dig you out."

"Yep," Cee said.

"And the first thing you tell them is that you're engaged to John."

"Have you seen my ring?" Cee asked, flashing it at him.

"I'm really sorry to do this to you, Cee," Ian said, and then he pointed at her and laughed.

"Laugh it up," she retorted, as Ian threw his head back and thumped his cast on the desk's surface. "Someday it'll be your turn."

"Oh my god," Ian howled. "Listen, Cee, really. Everyone knows you're doing it now. Just...please stop doing it in the copier room."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Cee said, and tipped her chin imperiously as she went to fax a document. Ian kept laughing as he logged onto his computer, checked the morning mail, and opened his daily bookmarks.

About halfway through his charitable-giving-news reading, he leaned forward and sucked in a breath. Cee, returning to her desk, glanced over at him.

"What?" she asked.

"Did you see Non Prophet on Thursday?" Ian said faintly.

"Oh, the two dollar thing? Yeah, what about it?"

"The Robert Fence foundation matched it this morning. The Tribune article came up in my newsfeed."

"What?" Cee asked.

"The Robert Fence Foundation is announcing that it will donate a hundred and forty thousand dollars to Nations In Need this holiday season, inspired by the Two For Non challenge put forth on the popular blog nonprophetblog.nfp," Ian read aloud. "In addition, for every charitable-gift receipt sent in by donors in the amount of two dollars, a matching amount will be given to the charity listed on the receipt, up to an additional hundred and sixty thousand dollars. An official press release for The Robert Fence Foundation, issued this morning, congratulates nonprophetblog.nfp on its original and impassioned plea, and wishes to express its support for this grassroots movement with whatever resources are at its disposal."

"Oh my god," Naomi said, rushing in. "Did you see? I just saw it in the financial-news alerts."

"That's genius," Cee said. "I bet Non Prophet's over the moon."

"They didn't email him about it," Ian said.

"How do you know?"

"Well, I assume he would have posted if they had. I wonder if -- " Ian stopped again.

"What now?" Cee asked.

"While the exact identity of Non Prophet is not known," he read slowly, "the anonymous blogger is rumored to be affiliated with SparkVISION, a local Chicago organization. SparkVISION facilitates events and manages public relations for a number of local and national charities."

"Ohh, no," Cee said.

"CEE!" Sparks called from his office. "I THINK WE HAVE A PR ISSUE."

Cee and Ian exchanged panicked looks.

"I'll calm him down, you get John and Roxy working on a press release," Cee said.

Ian hastily printed the article and ran down the hallway, skidding to a stop in front of the Creative desk. Anna was just taking her hat off.

"Wow," he said. "You look awful."

"You do too," she retorted. "By the way, Cee and John are engaged."

"I know, I LOLed," Ian said.

"Okay, fine, whatever, your bad news first," Anna ordered.

"The Robert Fence Foundation is matching charitable donations that Non Prophet is raising on his blog," Ian said.

"How is that bad news?"

"The Trib article about it says that Non Prophet works for SparkVISION."

"Hoshit," Anna said.

"Your turn."

"Trent Byron told me he's skimming funds from Union Arms to pay for my steaks."

"Hoshit," Ian said. "Did you -- "

"Sarah knows," Anna told him.

"What'd she say?"

"That I should wait until I could talk to her today to find out what to do."

"If you just made me an accessory after the fact, I am going to hurt you," Ian said, waving his cast at her.

"Okay, kids," Sarah announced, rounding the corner. "You, lefty, go back to your desk," she told Ian. "You have more important things to worry about right now. You, Miss Thing, sit down and for the love of Grandmother don't tell anyone else. Trent Byron can wait. A scandal at SparkVISION can't."

Ian bit his lip, thrust the article printout at Anna, and ran back to his desk. Cee was apparently in Sparks's office with him; he could hear, faintly, Sparks either giving dictation or having a fit.

He sat down and stared at his open browser window.

"Worst Monday ever," he announced to the empty lobby.

***

Sparks, in his infinite wisdom, decided that the Tribune article merited a war council, and also brunch.

There was a decent bagel shop near their offices, which in the middle of the morning could be counted on not to be too busy. Most of the staff had, at one time or another, bought breakfast there as an apology for being late, and (as with everyone, it seemed) they knew Sparks by name.

Sarah was content to leave the publicity to those who enjoyed it; she would have been happy just to tag along and get some free food, but if they were worrying about Non Prophet then that left her to worry about Union Arms. Which was why she found herself pulling Naomi out of line, back into a corner near the door, for an impromptu conference of their own.

"What's going on?" Naomi looked longingly at the menu.

"Who do you know at Union Arms?" Sarah asked softly.

"Why?" Naomi replied. "I mean, I know a few people. I think a guy I went to school with works there."

"I need someone to do a little prying."

"Is that ethical? We're on their shit list."

"Well, it's not illegal," Sarah said. "I have reason to believe someone at Union Arms is cooking the books. Do you know anyone who could find out?"

Naomi seemed to consider it. "Okay, I want a poppy seed bagel with cream cheese and lox. Be right back."

"Where's she going?" Sparks asked. "Naomi!"

"I've got her order," Sarah said, lunging forward and blocking him before he could leave the line too. "She's doing me a favor."

"Do the interns get fed?" Jess asked Sparks, who considered the matter. Sarah shot her a grateful look.

"Yes, but they have to share a coffee," he decided, falling back into line. "That's fair."

"Fair but not hygienic," Jess reminded him.

"I'm sure they're not contagious."

Sarah could hear Ian, up ahead, explaining his cast to the server: "...tell people it was a meteor strike, because that's funnier, but really I just fell over while moving furniture. Egg bagel and honey-nut cream cheese, please?"

"I don't think I can eat," Anna said from behind her.

"Did you eat at all this weekend?" Sarah asked.

"I nibbled."

"Eat, it's good for you," Sarah told her, and stepped up to the counter. "Two poppy seed with cream cheese and lox, and a..." she shuddered and pointed at Anna, "...sausage and egg bagelwich for her. Turkey sausage. Two coffees and a bottle of water."

"Do they have croissanwiches?" Sparks asked, leaning over her shoulder.

"Are you paying?" the server asked.

"Yes I am," Sparks gave her a wide grin. "Did you congratulate my PA? She ordered a cheese bagel and veggie spread. She's engaged."

"Yes, sir, so she told me. Do you want egg and cheese, egg and sausage, turkey and swiss, ham and swiss, chicken and cheddar?"

"Can I have cream cheese and pork sausage? And tea."

Sarah bit her tongue.

"All done!" Naomi said cheerfully, joining them as they waited for their bagels and Sparks swiped the company credit card. "Sarah, I spoke to a guy about the stuff, he's doing a thing."

"A good thing?" Sarah asked.

"Well, all the thing he can do. He'll get back to me."

"Ess, bublele," Sarah said with a grin.

"No more talk of things," Sparks said, collecting his horrifying croissanwich and guiding them to where the interns were pushing tables together under Hanna's watchful eye.

"So," Sparks said, formally opening the meeting by unwrapping his sandwich. "Cee and John are engaged."

Everyone applauded. Both parties looked mortified.

"Great, we'll celebrate later. Roxy owes me ten dollars. I'll find you some bridal magazines," Sparks told John. "But right now we have other issues. Anna wrote a very nice press release for the website saying that SparkVISION has no knowledge of Non Prophet's actions and does not employ him or her knowingly. Sarah says the lawyers cleared it, so Roxy tossed it up on the webpage. We're all here, which means the phones, if they are ringing for comment on the article, are rightfully going to voicemail. Is everyone clear on our policy regarding things like this?"

Hanna raised her hand.

"Yes, Hanna?"

"Tell reporters No Comment or put them through to Erin," she said. Erin sighed deeply around a mouthful of bagel.

"That's right. You can also say that you believe Non Prophet to be an upstanding member of our professional community, but you have no knowledge of his identity," Sparks said. "Now. One more thing. I'm not going to ask if anyone at this table is Non Prophet, because I want plausible deniability. But if someone is, if someone is, I'd appreciate being notified if you're planning to confirm your identity to the public. I think we all care about SparkVISION enough to make sure it isn't burned by this."

"Would it be such a burn?" Ian asked.

"It would be an issue of trust," Sparks said. "At least, if I were our clients, I'd think that way. Wouldn't you?"

"He's been in hot water before, for things he's said," Zoe said. "If I were him, I'd be pretty nervous right now."

"Well, I'd like to know who he is," Jess said.

"Why?" John asked.

"Because I like to know things like that," Jess said. "Why, is it you?"

"HEY," Sparks interrupted. "I don't want to know!"

"I'm not, thanks," John replied, rolling his eyes. "I bet it's Sarah."

"If I were Non Prophet, I wouldn't pose as a man," Sarah said. "The writing sounds more like Erin."

"Not it!" Erin cried.

"Silence!" Sparks boomed. Everyone at their table, as well as everyone else in the dining area, immediately stopped talking. Sparks looked around, then pointed at the strangers sitting beyond their table. "You can talk."

"Point taken, boss," Erin said.

"Good. I hope all of them were. Now we'll give the office a little time for the phones to settle down, and then go back," Sparks declared. He took a bite of his horrible sandwich and rolled his eyes in pleasure.

"That's disgusting," Naomi observed.

"The cream cheese takes the heat out of the sausage," Sparks told her. "You can really taste the pork."

***

When they arrived back at the offices of SparkVISION, there was a young woman waiting for them in the lobby, in front of the locked doors.

"Can we help you?" Cee asked, swiping her security card in front of the entryway doors.

"I'm looking for Bo Sparks," the woman replied hesitantly.

"That's me," Sparks said, holding the door open so the others could file through. "Courier delivery?"

"Yes, Mr. Sparks. I'm supposed to wait for a reply."

"Well, come in and sit down and warm up. Ian, get her a coffee?"

"No problem," Ian said. Cee was last into the lobby, but the crowd didn't clear; everyone but Ian just stood there, awkward, looking at the courier or at each other or pointedly not at either. Cee felt John touch her elbow reassuringly as Ian returned with a cup of coffee.

"This way," Sparks said, holding his office door for her. He followed her in and closed the door.

"Omens of doom, anyone?" Cee asked lightly, going to her desk. There were eight messages on her voicemail.

"I've got six," Ian said, when he saw her staring at her phone.

"This is ridiculous," Jess announced. "Interns, off you go, Sarah must have filing for you to do."

"They know where it is," Sarah said, while the interns dawdled towards the file room. "I'm not budging."

"Me neither," Zoe said, dropping next to Anna on the sofa. John silently perched on the arm. Roxy went to the window, probably for better phone reception as she checked her mail. Erin paced. Naomi and Sarah were consulting about something, in whispers, but Cee couldn't quite hear what.

There was a loud thud from inside Sparks's office. Nobody looked at his door. When it opened, everyone was nonchalantly staring at the gong.

"I won't shoot the messenger," Sparks said to the courier, who looked relieved. "You can tell Mr. Byron that there is no reply, but our lawyers will be in touch before the end of the week."

She nodded and hurried out. Cee watched her fiddle with the zipper of her coat as she waited for the elevator.

"Boss?" Erin said gently.

"Union Arms is going to screw us, and then they're going to sue us," Sparks said, looking dolefully at a letter in his hand.

"He's a poet, in his own way," John whispered to Cee.

"Trent Byron has notified us that they intend to make a press release on Wednesday alleging that SparkVISION engages in false business practices and deceives its clients," Sparks continued, still looking at the letter. "They will also be serving us with legal papers, suing us for the full amount paid plus damages, unless we offer them a full re-branding strategy by Wednesday at noon."

"That's not possible," Anna said. "We'd be bullshitting."

"I could do a new logo by then if I pull overtime," Zoe offered.

"No," Sparks said. "I won't be their sketchy excuse for declining donations."

"But -- " Cee began, because surely one failed re-branding was better than the publicity nightmare they were facing. She stopped when Sparks held up a hand.

"True character is what we show when things suck," he said. "Not when things rock. I stand by my recommendation, and people will see our integrity in that."

Cee fiddled with her stapler. The others looked pensive.

"We'll go to the mats on this," Sparks said. "Anyone who disagrees is welcome to resign. You'll get a good severance package."

"Uh," Ian said, holding up his hand. Everyone glared at him. "What -- no, I'm not resigning!" he added hastily. "I -- need to ask. Can you hold off on talking to the lawyers for like, a day?"

Sparks gave him a sharp look. "Why?"

Ian glanced at Sarah, and Cee saw them share a rare, perfect moment of administrative telepathy.

"We have an idea," Sarah said.

"We?" Sparks asked.

"Can you help me out?" Ian asked Sarah.

She smiled sweetly. "I thought you'd never ask. I don't think we need a day. Come on."

"Where are you -- where are they going?" Sparks demanded, as Sarah grabbed Anna and dragged her down the hallway. Ian followed with a quick begging look at Cee, who got up and moved to his computer. "Sarah!" Sparks called.

"Tell you later!" Sarah called.

***



Date: Monday, 12/28/09
Subject: Trent Byron Steals From Children.

I have so much to tell you and so much good news to share that it hurts to be making this post. There will be time (there will be time!) to revel in the news of the Robert Fence Foundation's generous matching Two For Non gift, but I'm afraid that will have to wait on a little whistleblowing.

When I wrote a post about the ethical dilemmas of the internet at the start of this month, I never thought that by the end of it the theory would be practice for me. At the time I stood by the decision to out the dishonest, which is good: it makes me look like less of a hypocrite now.

Trent Byron, the Executive Director of Union Arms, has no known sockpuppets and is not an "astroturfer". But what I'm about to say feels like the same kind of accusation:

Trent Byron is a thief.

As I write this I am en route to a meeting with a state prosecutor to assist in the swearing-out of a statement against Trent Byron and the presentation of evidence that he has been cooking Union Arms's books. Union Arms, I am reliably informed, is in effect a bankrupt organization today.

It's easy to libel someone frivolously, and Byron might sue me for that, but after today I don't think it will be considered libel and anyway he'd have to catch me first. I'd like to see him try.

When you read about this in various legitimate news outlets tomorrow, please don't immediately condemn the employees of Union Arms. It's one of the oldest charities in America and a venerable helper of the disenfranchised. To the best of our knowledge, Byron acted alone, and his employees are victims too.

As his credit-card records will undoubtedly show, Byron stole this money from Union Arms fundraisers and their beneficiaries and spent it on expensive meals, lavish clothing, and high-end status symbol trinkets. He is a swindler, a liar, and a fraud.

I hope you will tell your friends and neighbors and colleagues:

Trent Byron is a thief.

He stole money intended to provide food, shelter, and services to orphaned and abused children and adult survivors of domestic violence.

To the Robert Fence Foundation, I am so very grateful that it seems wicked to ask for more, but please, in your generosity and service, I have to ask you for this. You offered a hundred and sixty thousand dollars above and beyond what the readers of this blog are willing to give. Please, set aside that money for Union Arms. You'll see. They're going to need it.

I'm so sorry.

Comments Closed

***

The office of the District Attorney for Cook County was a cold and cheerless place, and the seats were hard. Tanya had spent time there before as a cub reporter, and she pitied anyone who had to be there to transact real business. The SparkVISION staff sitting on the chairs looked miserable; the receptionist was slumped forward, texting on his phone, and the two women next to him were huddled in their coats, talking quietly. When the receptionist finally shut down his phone and looked up, he saw her and an ugly, perhaps deserved dislike crossed his face.

"You followed us, I guess," he said wearily. The women looked up as well.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" one of them asked -- Tanya was sure she was the legal secretary, Sarah something.

"Yes, I followed you," she said, sitting down across from them. "I saw you get into the cab. I thought it might be a story."

"You were staking us out," Sarah said.

"Yes."

"You want a story?" the other one, Naomi, demanded. "I'll give you -- "

She stopped when Sarah laid a hand on her arm and shook her head.

"Let's get some coffee," Sarah said. "Ian?"

"I'll wait for Anna," Ian said. "It's Montray, isn't it?"

"Tanya," Tanya told him with a smile. He didn't match it. "What does half the staff of SparkVISION want with the District Attorney?"

"No comment," Ian grunted. Tanya's phone beeped, and she checked it. Ian rubbed his eyes tiredly.

Google Alert: New Post From: nonprophetblog.nfp.

"Fancy that," she said, sitting back and reading it. "Non Prophet just posted about swearing out a statement against Trent Byron."

"Did he?" Ian asked. Tanya leaned forward.

"I know one of your writers is in there, telling the DA what she knows," she said. "I know she was dating Byron. And given the vehemence of Non Prophet's little post, I'm pretty sure I know she's him."

"You don't know anything," Ian said.

"That's fine. But I will find out. If she's going to swear a statement against a company that's at odds with your company, she should have the courage to use her own name when she stirs up controversy for her side," Tanya continued. "Internet anonymity is one thing, but blogging isn't journalism. Non Prophet is a politician without a race to win. After this, the story's going to be huge."

"There's more at stake than a story."

"Yeah -- there's the truth," Tanya said. "That's kind of a thing with journalists."

"Non Prophet fascinates you," Ian said, leaning forward.

"Yes, he does. Now more than ever. Although I could be convinced to hold off publication, if the Tribune were promised an exclusive interview with the woman who brought down Union Arms."

Ian narrowed his eyes. "You know who Arthur Wellesley was?"

"He was the first Duke of Wellington," Tanya replied. "Blackmailed by John Stockdale."

"Stockdale threatened to name him when he published the memoirs of a courtesan who said Wellesley was her lover."

"Are you calling me a whore?" Tanya asked.

"Nope," Ian said. "I'm calling you John Stockdale."

"Stockdale won an important court battle for the rights of the free press."

"I don't know about that, but I know what Arthur Wellesley told him," Ian said. "Publish and be damned."

Before she could reply, the door to the DA's inner office opened. Two police detectives emerged, along with Anna, the DA, and a small man in a neat business suit that screamed accountant. Tanya started to stand as they were shaking hands, intent on cornering Anna and getting her story, but Ian moved quickly between them, and she wasn't about to shove a man in a cast while two cops were watching. Anna looked pale and frightened.

"I think you should go file a story, or whatever it is you do," Ian said. Behind her, Tanya could feel the presence of the other two looming.

"Maybe I will," she remarked, and was turning to leave when Ian caught her arm.

"Not that story," he warned her.

"Why not?" she asked, sensing something better in the wings. "Got another one?"

"No," Ian smiled -- not a nice smile. "But if you do you'll regret it."

"Was that a threat?"

"I just know more than you, that's all," Ian said. Anna brushed past them and Ian let Tanya go, following her. Tanya turned back to the DA.

"Any of you care to comment?" she asked, offering them her phone. One of the detectives took it, studied the text of the blog post, and shook his head.

"Not yet," he told her.

***

Chapter Eleven / Epilogue