Hey,
Here’s another part of the story, we’re on a newsroom day, so Lois is at the planet while Clark is off, finding a story to sell.
Thanks to Socomama and 90stvfangirl for their input and their work on this. You’ve been very helpful. Thanks to everyone for reading, leaving a like and special thanks to those who leave a comment. ❤️
TOCChapter sixty-fourClark and I split in front of the Planet, and I walk into the newsroom alone. The bullpen is already bustling when I come through the doors. Perry’s office light is on. Cat is at her desk with coffee, hunched over her latest lead.
Ralph’s look when I pass his desk tells me exactly what he thinks; I choose not to acknowledge it.
Cat materializes at my elbow after I put my bag into my desk.
“Morning, Lois.”
“Morning, Cat.”
She glances at my desk. “You’re early.”
“I’m usually early.”
“I know. It’s unsettling.”
I look at her. “You’re here before me, that’s unsettling.”
“Yes, and I’m equally concerned.”
I laugh, and she grins.
She reaches over and steals my pen.
“Hey.”
“You have others.”
“I was using that one.”
“You’re a reporter. Improvise.”
She turns toward the conference room, still holding the pen.
“You coming?”
“In a minute.”
Cat raises an eyebrow. “You say that like Perry’s going to wait.”
“He might.”
“He won’t.”
“You’re right, he won’t.” I grab my notebook and snatch back my pen.
The morning meeting starts at eight-thirty. Perry runs it briskly, folder open, pen moving as assignments fly around the table.
“City desk first. The waterfront development hearing is at ten. I want someone there before the developers start talking about jobs and revitalization. Get the neighborhood association’s response, find out who owns the parcels around the proposed site, and check whether the environmental report’s actually been filed.”
“On it.” Eduardo is already writing.
Perry turns a page. “The transit authority is raising fares next month. We need the numbers, but don’t give me a press release. Find out what the increase means for commuters. Talk to the drivers, the union, and someone who can explain where the money is going.”
Dianne nods, her pen moves faster.
He pauses at the sports section. “Ralph, the Metros feature is yours. The team says the new manager has turned the season around, so find out whether that’s true or just a good quote. I want the clubhouse mood, the players who aren’t getting along with him, and the numbers to back up whatever conclusion you reach. Deadline is Monday morning.”
Ralph nods, looking pleased. “Got it.”
He makes another note, then looks at me.
“Lois. Where are you with your story?”
“I want to double-check my facts. Otherwise I’m just tightening the last few sections.” I meet his eyes. “You’ll have it this afternoon.”
Perry reads me correctly. “Come to my office when it’s done.”
He closes the meeting.
The room empties. Ralph doesn’t. He hangs back until it’s just the two of us, which tells me everything about the timing he’s after.
“Lois. The stringer. King, is it?” His eyes flick toward Perry’s office. “Funny how quickly a man finds work around here when a woman starts cutting back.”
I stop and face him.
He spreads his hands, all innocence. “Just connecting the dots, like a reporter should do, Lane. Somebody should tell you the truth.”
He takes my silence as reason to go on.
“Claude used to say you fall apart without someone telling you what to do. High-maintenance. Said you were good when somebody pointed you in the right direction, but not much use when you had to find it yourself.”
I wait for it to sting. It doesn’t. “Interesting you’d quote him on work ethic. Wasn’t he the one who
needed my notes to write his own byline?”
“Just repeating what I heard.”
“I think you have work to do. Sports desk, wasn’t it? Perry mentioned needing you there.”
***
About an hour later I walk into Perry’s office and close the door.
I put the story on his desk.
He reads it. I watch his expression shift as he moves through the pages. He sets it down.
“You’re pointing at Stagg a few times.”
“I can’t prove him. Yet. But he’s connected to this. That building is his.”
“So.”
“It points at the shell company he bought.” I tap the paper. “Anyone who knows how to read this will follow the trail. Whatever’s in that building, he’ll have to explain it… temperature control, live subjects. It reads like a covert facility. Possibly a lab.”
Perry looks at the story again. He picks up his pen and makes two small edits, neither of which changes what the story is actually saying.
He lays the pen beside the pages. “It runs tomorrow. Front page, below the fold. But without the Stagg connection.”
“But Perry…”
“No. Listen to me.” He taps the page. “What you’ve got points to Stagg Industries. It does not point to Simon Stagg. Not yet. The shell companies could have been bought by one of his men. Could have been used without his knowledge. You put his name in that headline, and you’re not exposing him… you’re handing him a reason to come after you.”
I open my mouth, but Perry keeps going.
“And Hargrove stays in. He’s the one who made the political side of this possible, and the paper trail supports that. But we say what the documents say: influence, approvals, access. We don’t call him corrupt. Not until we can prove it.”
“So we bury the part that matters.”
“We publish the part we can stand behind.” Perry’s voice is quiet. “You’ve got enough to make people ask questions. You don’t have enough to put either man in a courtroom. If Stagg is as guilty as it looks, he’ll only get more careful, and you’ll be the one standing in the light.”
“Perry, this is bigger than one company.”
“I know it is. That’s why we do it right.” He slides the edited pages back across the desk. “Front page, below the fold. Stagg Industries, the shell companies, the permits, and Congressman Hargrove’s fingerprints where the record puts them. No accusations we can’t support.”
“But Perry!”
“No. That’s my last word on this. You’ve already made enough people nervous. Don’t give them a name to aim at.”
He sets the pen down and looks at me. The topic is closed.
“I’m going to make a call,” he tells me. “To Henderson. About that building… whatever they’re keeping in that basement, they can’t be given the chance to make anything disappear.”
I look at him.
“Your story gives them something to act on tomorrow.” His voice makes clear, he’s not going to argue about this with me. “But a call from me gives them a reason to act on it today.”
“Perry…”
“I know what I’m doing, Lois.” His voice is entirely certain. “Now go, file your story.”
I’m at the door when he speaks again.
“And Lois.” I turn. He’s not looking at the story anymore; he’s looking at me, and there’s something in his expression I can’t quite place, like he’s weighing which warning will actually stick. “Keep a low profile on this one. Let the byline do the work. No standing in front of that building, no showing up somewhere you don’t need to be seen.” A pause. “That’s my last word on this.”
For a second, I only stare at him.
It is ridiculous. I know it is. Perry is running the story. He is protecting me. He is right about what we can prove.
But the hot pressure rises anyway, sudden and humiliating, tightening my throat before I can stop it.
“Fine.”
The word comes out thinner than I mean it to.
Perry’s expression changes.
I gather the pages too quickly. “Fine. Do it your way.”
“Lois…”
“I said fine.”
I am already at the door before he can say anything else.
I make it as far as the copy desk before my eyes start to burn.
It is not the story. It is not even Perry. It is the sudden, stupid certainty that I am about to cry in the middle of the newsroom, and I hate it.
I stop beside Cat’s desk, pretending to look at something on the edge of it.
Cat looks up. One glance is enough.
“Bathroom,” she murmurs.
“I’m fine.”
“Of course you are.” She stands, picks up her coffee, and steers me gently by the elbow. “Come with me anyway.”
Ralph, passing with a stack of copy, catches the edge of it. “Trouble in paradise, Lane?”
Cat does not turn around. “Go bother someone who is willing to tolerate you, Ralph.”
He smirks. “What? I’m asking a legitimate question. Perry cuts her story, and suddenly she’s ready to cry? Can’t stand not getting everything your way?”
“Ralph,” Cat shoots him a sharp glare, still moving, “if you had half the sense of a houseplant, you’d know that sometimes it’s better to keep your mouth shut.”
I make it into the bathroom before the first tear falls.
Cat is right behind me. Otherwise, it is empty.
“Tell me.” Her expression is serious now.
“It’s nothing.” The word breaks apart almost before it leaves my mouth. “I know Perry’s right. I know he is. But with them messing with my hormones…”
I press a hand against my stomach, furious at myself for doing it, furious that even that small gesture makes the tears come faster.
“…I can’t control myself anymore.”
Cat comes closer.
“Lois.”
“I’m being ridiculous.”
“You’re pregnant with three babies who appear to be running your nervous system like a newsroom on a tight deadline.” Her voice is dry, but her eyes are not. “You’re allowed to be emotional.”
I laugh and wipe at my face.
“Perry is right,” I admit. “That’s the worst part. He’s right, and I still want to scream at him.”
“Then scream at me for a minute,” Cat offers. “I can take it.”
That almost makes me smile, but the tears keep coming.
For a moment, I just breathe.
“I hate that everyone can see it.”
“Ralph sees what he wants to see.” Cat hands me a paper towel from the dispenser. “The rest of us see a woman who has been carrying too much for too long.”
I look at her in the mirror.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to him,” she adds. “And you don’t have to explain yourself to me, either. But if you want to, I’m here.”
“Thank you, Cat.”
By the time we leave the bathroom, my eyes are still red, but I can speak again without my voice breaking.
Cat nods toward the door. “For the record, if Ralph says one more word, I’m telling him you cried because his cologne violated several international conventions.”
Despite everything, I almost laugh out loud.
At my desk, I reach into my bag for the crackers Clark packed this morning.
Cat goes back to her story, but I catch the corner of her mouth curl up.
A few minutes later, she appears with a cup of tea and sets it down beside my keyboard.
I look at it, then at her. “I didn’t…”
“You didn’t have to ask,” Cat says, perching on the edge of my desk. “That’s rather the point.”
I wrap my hands around the cup. The warmth reaches something in me that the crackers alone could not.
“Where’s Charlie today?” she asks.
“Out finding a story to sell to the Planet.” I take a careful sip of tea. “I assume he’ll be back to bring me lunch, if he doesn’t find something first.”
Cat smiles. “He’s an interesting guy, your Mr. King. Cooks like a chef, writes better than Ralph, and has eyes only for you, Lois.”
“He does not have eyes only for me.”
“Lois.” Cat’s tone is gentle, but entirely unconvinced. “I have seen the man look at you when you are not looking at him. It is not subtle.”
I focus very hard on my tea.
“And,” she continues, “he packed you crackers.”
I look down at the open packet beside my keyboard.
“He’s a good man.”
Cat studies me for a moment, something softer behind the amusement.
“He is,” she repeats, and then she adds with a genuine smile. “And he’s very lucky.”
Before I can decide whether to argue, she slides off the edge of my desk and heads back to hers.
The tea steams beside my keyboard. The story waits on my screen.
The newsroom keeps moving around me.
T. B. C.
