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NEW YORK, NY—New York Times Headquarters
Brandy Scott settled behind a glass desk inside of her well-appointed office at the New York Times headquarters. She wasn’t senior enough to have an office facing the New York skyline, but she had a helluva view of the Hudson River overlooking New Jersey. The Statue of Liberty’s torch burned prismatically, paying homage to her freedom of speech, the Amendment to the Constitution she valued most. She’d been a stellar political editor with the newspaper giant for several years and the office, albeit a small one, applauded her profit-making articles.
Her desktop computer was powered on. She struck a key to bring it back to life and stared at the first draft of a story that promised to cut into political programming. BREAKING NEWS. The editor had returned from reporter, Joshua Cooperman’s cubicle, having grilled him for confirmation on a source’s account of the marital separation of New York mayor, Bob Rodin, and his wife. Apparently—Johanna Rodin—had text pictures of her recent bob-job (rumored to had been paid for on the taxpayer’s dime) to New York Giants, veteran running-back, Bryant Jackson, with the message: Wait ‘till you get a taste of these. She included a smiley face with the tongue out.
Brandy was elated about the article’s potential. A new piece to smear the mayor’s office, actively engaged in campaigning for the Democratic presidential nominee, James MacDonald, who the polls had in a dead heat with Republican nominee, Donna Lincoln. Despite the newspaper’s reputation of having a left-wing slant, she was a staunch republican that bent her articles to the right, as clandestinely as possible.
On her desk was a loving snapshot in a crystal frame of her with her beau on a trip to San Francisco at the Golden Gate Bridge. She glanced at the time on the computer screen, and then, realized that he was out of class and a call from her was warranted.
He answered on the second ring. “Good morning, Dr. Naim Butler. I so love the sound of that.”
“I reckon, I do also beautiful. How’re you this morning?” he asked with a bright grin on his face. “I’m great. How was your first day in front of a classroom?”
“Still can’t believe it. And it’s hardly a classroom. It’s a damn lecture hall with over a hundred seats. There are twenty-eight students enrolled in the class.”
“Twenty-eight lucky brats,” she said, chuckling. “I miss you.”
“It’s been three days since we’ve seen each other. But who’s counting?”
“I am, so, dinner tonight to celebrate. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“What’re you doing here?” he said.
“Excuse me.”
“Pardon me, Brandy,” he said, adding, “Marco’s mother just barged into my office.”
“Oh my,” Brandy said, chuckling sarcastically. “So much for a bright day.”
“Trust me, that hasn’t changed one bite, babe. I’ll see you tonight, hun bun.”
He blew her a kiss through the phone before hanging up.
Brandy stared at a painting on her office wall, wishing Sinia crawled into a hole, and hibernated for the rest of her life. She didn’t hate the woman because she loved Marco and knew that he needed his mother. And she was confident that Naim was a faithful and didn’t romantically desire, Sinia Love. Nevertheless, she wished the woman went home to North Carolina and stayed there. Brandy e-mail alert chimed, snapping her out of her ferocious reverie. She grabbed her computer mouse and pulled up her e-mail inbox. She had one new e-mail with the subject line: Exclusive Photos Do Not Share.
Clicking the first of five attachments, a photograph slowly appeared onto the screen. She recoiled in distaste. Each image was more heinous and demented than the last. Her heart raced uncontrollably as she picked up her desk phone and called her superior. The woman answered, and without preamble, Brandy said, “I just forwarded you an exclusive e-mail. Justice Percy Weston has been savagely slain decapitated and castrated.
“Delightful,” Quinn Berkeley said cheerfully, looking forward to the story being the topic on that night’s dinner tables. Thanks to the Times.