IT’S SEVEN P.M. AND ERICA is in her office, done for the day. Willpower got her through it—she put blinders on and forged forward. She’s been on the air six times to update the ISIL bombing story. The Pentagon released photos of the suspected ISIL technology nerve center before and after the American air strikes. It is obliterated. But Erica is quickly learning to question every claim.
When she was a local reporter up in New England, these big national and international stories were out of her purview. No longer. She feels a very real responsibility to her viewers—and to the nation and even to the world—to be skeptical. Like Ronald Reagan said: trust but verify. Sometimes government agencies make mistakes. And sometimes they willfully lie, usually to cover up those mistakes. Or for rank political reasons. Now she has the power to uncover the truth, a power the average citizen can only imagine, and she isn’t going to be hesitant about using it. And so in every appearance today she stressed the word suspected when describing the ISIL technology center. And she reiterated the fact that while ISIL has claimed responsibility for hacking the Staten Island ferry’s navigational system, no proof has been offered or discovered.
The development meeting on her show went well. Erica, Greg, Lesli, and several other associate producers were present. They went over writers’ résumés, decided on a 60/40 ratio of hard news to human interest and celebrity stories, and hired a designer, a brilliant young Italian woman who will be responsible not only for the set, but for the logo and all graphics—Erica wants a unified look, fresh and distinctive. The word brand, like teamwork, is so overused that it’s almost lost its meaning, but the fact is that’s what she’s creating. It’s a crowded marketplace and she wants to stand out.
Of course without meaningful reporting it will all be for naught—and delivering that is up to her. Then there’s the fact—which in her less modest moments she admits to herself—that she’s demonstrated star power. She wants to put it all together in one seamless package: tough, honest reporting, informative and entertaining stories, a great crisp look, and at the center of it all—Erica Sparks.
Erica straightens her desk. She’s eager to get down to Beth Israel to visit Mark. Just as she’s about to stand up, Greg appears in her doorway.
“It was a good meeting,” he says.
“What do you think of The Erica Sparks Effect as a name for the show?”
“I like it. It’s got energy and it promises results.” Greg puts his hands in his pockets, frowns. “Did you hear about Mark Benton down in IT?”
“I did, yes. Very upsetting.”
“Did you know him?”
“I’ve met him a couple of times, I asked his opinion on the cause of the ferry crash. He was helpful.” Erica has an urge to open up to Greg, to tell him everything that Mark has discovered and about their scheduled meeting at Starbucks. Then she hears Mark’s voice: Don’t tell anyone at GNN. Anyone.
“He’s one of the best. Hopefully he’ll be okay,” Greg says. He gestures toward a chair. Erica nods. Greg sits, leans forward, lowers his voice. “You seem a little preoccupied. How are things going with Jenny?”
Erica feels a moment of relief—he may have picked up on her being distracted, but he guessed the wrong cause. “Things are okay. The divorce was difficult for her. She has some anger towards me.”
“Divorce does that.”
“This is an important time in her life. I think it was the right decision not to bring her to New York with me, I’m just so busy, but I do doubt myself.” Erica feels that tug of guilt for neglecting to mention that bringing Jenny to New York was never an option. Thankfully the details of why it wasn’t are buried in those sealed court records. “I want her to know that I’m here for her, even if we’re not living together.”
“I can’t wait to meet her.”
Erica’s face lights up with a huge smile. “Oh, she’s wonderful, Greg, curious and funny and sweet—when she’s not being awful to her mom.” They laugh. “But she’s growing up. She’s not a little girl anymore. In fact, her birthday’s coming up in two weeks and her addled mother has no idea what to get her.”
“She’s turning . . .?”
“Nine. I’d like to take the day off and go up to Massachusetts and see her. Is that going to be possible?”
“Of course. You’re still officially a field reporter. I’ll find someone to cover for you. Of course if the ISIL story takes some dramatic turn . . .”
“Kids don’t really understand dramatic turns. It would mean a lot to Jenny if I showed up. And to me.”
Greg is quiet for a moment, then he rubs his palms together in a gesture she has come to recognize—his wheels are turning. “Say listen, just off the top of my head—why not bring Jenny down here? We can have a small party for her in the studio.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. She’s a little shy with new people. It might be too much attention.”
“We could make it very low-key. She’ll get to see where Mom works, what she does, how admired and popular she is.”
Erica considers Greg’s idea. After the toxicity of the divorce, she would love for Jenny to see her in action. She even admits to some vanity—she’s successful, something of a hot ticket, and she’d like Jenny to know that. And Jenny might get a kick out of a behind-the-scenes look at television news. Other people bring their kids to work all the time.
“You know what, I think I like the idea. I’ll ask Lesli if she could arrange the party.”
Greg sits back, runs his hand through his hair. “Any chance of dinner?”
Erica looks down at her desk, shuffles a few papers. “There’s nothing I’d like more. But I really want to spend the evening organizing my notes on the meeting.”
“All work and no play makes . . . The Erica Sparks Effect the most exciting show in cable news.”
“Here’s hoping.”
When Greg leaves, she quickly grabs her things and heads down to the elevators. She waits impatiently, her foot tapping. The car comes and she gets on, presses 1. The doors close and the elevator descends for several floors, then lurches, then shudders, then stops. Panic rises in a wave through her body, then the lights go out and she’s plunged into blackness. She’s trapped. Her throat closes. She wills herself to breathe. She freezes and listens—there’s no sound, no commotion, no raised voices, nothing she’d expect to hear if it was a full-building blackout or if there’d been an explosion or an attack. It’s just her. Alone in the dark. What if the elevator drops suddenly, all the way to the basement? She’ll die on impact. She feels her away along the wall to the control panel and gropes for the emergency button, which sticks out from the panel. She presses it. No alarm sounds. Nothing. Just blackness and silence, as silent as death.
Erica can’t control her panic, sweat breaks out all over her body, she screams, “Help!” She gropes her way to the closed doors and, using all her strength, tries to pry them open. They don’t give. “Help me!” Her voice just seems to be swallowed up by the dark. And then, suddenly, the elevator lurches and groans. The lights flicker on, and it begins to descend. Erica sighs in a great gush of relief, her panic ebbs.
When the doors open at the lobby, a suited security agent and an elevator maintenance man are standing there. Erica steps off, dazed and shaken.
“Are you all right?” the maintenance man asks.
“I think so, yes.”
The security agent says nothing, just stands there with a grim expression on his face.
The maintenance man puts an Out of Service pedestal sign in front of the open elevator door, then steps into the cab and turns off the power.
“Why did it happen?” Erica asks.
“We’re going to look into it. Could be mechanical. Or it could be a glitch in the software. These cars are all computerized.”
“Could it have been intentional?”
The maintenance man looks incredulous. “I guess so. But what kind of sicko would want to put someone through that?”
What kind of sicko?
Erica heads out into the welcome air. As she steps to the curb to hail a cab, she looks back at the GNN building and thinks, That is not a safe place.