Bloodshade

by Isadora Brown

  - - -

  The Golden Tower was located in the heart of Perry in the business district. It stuck out because, unlike the steel buildings surrounding it, it was gold. The Segerstrom building was built for the Segerstrom Corporation, run by a self-made billionaire who was smarter than every single person who walked in and out of the building combined. He was also arrogant as hell and liked things his way. At least, that was what people said about him. The truth of the matter was, no one had met him before. He was a recluse. It was highly doubtful he would show up even though it was his building.

  I stepped into the short line reserved for journalists and flashed my badge. They barely looked at me, waving me into the security check point.

  I placed my clutch on the conveyor belt and walked through the metal detector. I smiled at the security guard and was about to grab my clutch when someone grabbed my arm.

  "How fitting," a low voice said. Every hair on my body stood straight up. I felt my stomach tumble with knots. "To see you here. I thought I would get to read your obituary in your paper. Unfortunately not."

  "Mmm," I said. I knew it wasn't the wittiest thing I had ever said but I wasn't sure what to say, especially since we were in front of people and Juan Ramiro was holding them up.

  He tugged me to the side and muttered something in Spanish to the guard.

  "I'm going to have to check you for weapons," he said and stuck his leg between mine, forcing them apart. "If I could confiscate your mouth, I would."

  He began to pat me down. I wanted to puke. I hated the fact that he was touching me. I hated that I couldn't do anything about it. A couple of people who had already gone through the checkpoint started whispering. Ramiro knew what he was doing. He was trying to make me look like a criminal, to feel like one.

  "Tienes suerte, nina," he said in my ear.

  I clenched my teeth together to keep myself from shuddering. I refused to let him get to me.

  When he stepped back, I loosed a breath between my teeth, trying to keep it subtle. I shifted my eyes, trying to figure out what to do next. From the corner of my eye, I saw Mayor Guzman in a beautiful, off-white gown, laughing with a couple of children from the Perry Orphanage right across the street.

  Rage slammed into me like a bus and I nearly fell over. I tried to collect myself, but it was difficult to do so as she threw her head back and squeezed her eyes shut in amusement at whatever the little boy was saying to her. I wanted to run up to her and claw those eyes out, to tell the children to run away before she could sink her claws into them. Instead, I took a deep breath and grabbed a flute of champagne passing by on a tray carried by a smiling waiter. I downed it and placed the empty glass on another tray. I didn't drink, but I needed the kick. I needed to calm myself down or I was going to say something.

  I forced myself to step away from Ramiro and the entrance of the building, and decided to explore. I had never been in here before. I never had a reason to be. The high ceiling had paintings on them. I would imagine they were the same sort of designs as the Sistine Chapel in Italy. My uncle had promised to take me when I graduated college, but he had died before then and the money he had saved went to his funeral and paying off his debt.

  The inside walls of the building that weren't filled with windows were the same gold that was on the outside. A couple of older men in tuxedoes were admiring it.

  I glanced over at Guzman, but she had left the children. I couldn't find her in the crowd. I glanced at the podium. She was surely supposed to say something so I knew she couldn't have just left.

  I saw the journalist Michelle had given the pass to and I quickly made for the buffet table. The last thing I needed was being caught by my peers. They would no doubt turn me in because they would probably assume I was trying to out-scoop them.

  And I wasn't.

  I just needed…

  Do you even know why you're here? a voice in my head asked.

  I grabbed a cube of cheese and popped it in my mouth to keep from responding.

  "Is something troubling you, Lara Tucker?" a slithery voice asked from beside me. "You have a scowl marring your face. Could it be that you are still upset over what happened yesterday?"

  I turned to look at Guzman. She had two people behind her, all looking at me with wide eyes. All hanging onto every word she said like it was gospel. How could these people be so ignorant? What needed to be done in order to get them to see?

  "I think you and I remember things differently," I said slowly. My voice was tight. I was trying to control myself. Really, I was. But it was getting hard to do so when she looked at me like that, with sparkles of amusement in her dark eyes. Like my life was a joke to her. Like me almost dying was funny. Like she looked forward to trying it again just to see what she could get away with.

  "You do that a lot lately," she said, shaking her head in faux sympathy. "First, you think someone killed your uncle, and now…? I'm not sure what you believe happened yesterday. The only thing I am aware of is that you are a pitiful creature who makes up these grandiose stories in order to help yourself feel better. I feel sorry for you, Ms. Tucker, that you need to cope in such a way."

  "I do not make things up," I insisted through clenched teeth. Trying to keep my voice down. She was making it difficult to do.

  "No?" She raised her brow. "Where is your proof otherwise? You have none. And you will never have any because there is none. Because your stories are based on falsehoods and lies. I love my uncle as much as the next woman, but if he died, it was because of his own actions. I'm sure yours died the same way."

  I noticed we were drawing a crowd. Guzman didn't seem to care. She kept going, knowing I couldn't do anything about it.

  "Your uncle was an ignorant fool who died tragically because he made a mistake," Guzman concluded. "Personally, I believe it was karma for trying to slander my uncle's name. Your uncle was as delusional as you are. At least he can finally rid himself of his demons in the afterlife."

  "You tried to kill me," I said. My voice was hollow, but judging from the gasps, I could tell people heard me. "Twice. Yesterday, and last week."

  "Is this woman bothering you, Mayor?" a handsome man with blond hair dressed in a sharp suit asked.

  Guzman never took her eyes off of me. "No, Asher," she said, shaking her head once. "Ms. Tucker was just leaving. It's unfortunate that a once-promising journalist would spew such lies at an event about victims of domestic abuse."

  I knew when I was being dismissed. I didn't care. I huffed as I walked out. Part of my skirt was in one hand to ensure I didn't trip. I was so angry, I was shaking.

  And yet, there was something inside of me that twisted my gut. It felt like dread. It felt like somehow, Guzman had still come out of this looking like a victim while I looked like an inconsolable rage machine looking to blame someone for Richard's death.

  I wasn't like this. I didn't lose control. How could I have let someone like her bait me?

  I stepped into the cold night, my body seizing up at the contrast in temperature.

  "What did I just do?"

  Chapter 14

  When I walked into my office the next day, I could feel there was something off. The high I had been feeling at confronting Guzman in front of her peers had gone out the window.

  Something had happened, and it wasn't good.

  I dropped my bag next to my desk and went to close my door. Were people offended that I told it like it was? Everyone here knew she was a liar, a corrupt, vindictive piece of trash who had no business being in charge of this city. I had so many articles on my hard drive, all typed up and ready to go when I finally found the evidence that would bring her down. These were articles my peers saw for themselves. The majority of them were on my side. They believed me.

  And yet, the looks I got as I walked in were nothing short of dead men walking.

  Like I had a target on my back.

  Before I could even boot up my laptop, Michelle pushed the door to my office open and slammed it shu
t.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing here?" she demanded, hands on hips. Her eyes sculpted my face.

  I could feel her internally criticize the makeup from last night I hadn't bothered to wipe away. I rolled my shoulders back and somehow managed to hold her gaze.

  "I work here," I said as though it was obvious.

  "Not anymore."

  I blinked. I tilted my head to the side. I completely forgot about my laptop until it chimed when it got to the login screen.

  "Um, what?" I asked, tentatively at first. I wanted to stand, to stretch my legs, but I didn't want her to take it as me being aggressive and passionate. Instead, I stretched my legs out under my desk and pressed my lips together in order to force myself to pause. I didn't want to say anything I would later regret.

  "I'm sorry, Lara." Michelle placed one hand on her head, fiddling with her bangs. There did seem to be a glimmer of concern in her eyes, like she did mean what she said, but there was a hardness there as well. "I can't have you writing for my paper anymore."

  I dropped my hands to my lap, my hands slapping my thighs. I blinked again. "I don't understand," I said.

  "What don't you understand? You're fired." She crossed her arms over her chest, her bangs forgotten. "I have no other choice, Lara. You forced me into a tight spot. You confronted the mayor and called her a criminal in front of everyone."

  "She is," I said and stood up. I couldn't help myself.

  "Where's your proof?" Michelle asked. "You guys both get attacked together and then—"

  "You don't actually believe that bullshit, do you?" I asked, wrinkling my brow, keeping one hand on the surface of my desk as though I needed the tether to remind me not to lose my shit. "I told you what actually happened."

  "I don't know what to believe anymore," Michelle said, turning away. She threw her hand up. "You haven't given me anything, Lara. Tell me"—she spun around so she faced me—"what would you do if you were in my position? Your best journalist confronts the mayor in front of everyone with some pretty terrible things, and yet, she has nothing to back it up. If you wouldn't be able to write an article and publish it in our paper, why the hell would you confront the most powerful woman in the city?"

  I wanted to argue, but I couldn't. Michelle was right. If I couldn't even publish an article, why did I confront Guzman?

  "I was just tired of seeing her smiling," I said slowly. I wasn't thinking about my words before they started to come out, but after hearing myself talk, at least I was comfortable with them. At least I knew I meant them. "I'm tired of her pretending. I'm tired of her telling this city that everything is fine, that we're fine, when it's all bullshit. Because we aren't fine. Her uncle is laundering money and—"

  Michelle held up one hand while she pinched the bridge of her nose with her other hand. I started to fiddle with my cross. This wasn't going the way I thought it would. It wasn't as though this was the first time Michelle and I had an argument like this, but it was the first time Michelle actually fired me. I still couldn't tell if she was kidding, but I didn't like the vibe I was getting from her.

  "I honestly, I don't want to hear it anymore, Lara," she said. She dropped both hands. "I can't protect you anymore. You can say you're frustrated because of this and that and the other, but the truth of the matter is, you're selfish, you're stubborn, and you're prideful. Why not just wait until you actually have the evidence? You looked completely out of sorts there. You looked crazy and unprofessional. You gave this paper a bad name—and this kills me to even tell you because you are the reason this paper flourished in the first place. You think it's easy selling papers these days? It's not. Every week, my ass is on the line. You've always delivered. You are the one who wrote about the Big Bad Wolf and how people needed to hear his whole story before judging him. And yet, you judge Guzman without giving our audience anything to sink their teeth into. You have nothing."

  "She tried to have me killed," I pointed out. "Why is that so easily dismissed? There is a bloodstain underneath your feet right now. A police report has been filed—"

  "They haven't even talked to Guzman," Michelle said. "Don't you get that? The thugs that miraculously wound up dead that seemingly belonged to Guzman didn't kill you. And the police haven't asked Guzman, which means—"

  "Estrada is doing a shitty detective job," I snapped.

  "No, actually, it must mean that there's little proof to support your claim," Michelle snapped back. "You're not always right about things, you know. Just because you have an opinion on something doesn't actually make it a fact."

  "I'm not saying I'm right—"

  "Then what are you saying?" Michelle pushed. "What makes you think you know more than everyone else? Because your grandfather disappeared? Because your uncle died?" She clenched her teeth and looked away. "Look, I know this is going to be a difficult pill for you to swallow but you need to hear it and I'm tired of pussyfooting around it. Your uncle died because of a construction accident. Move on. Stop making it more than that. You're doing his death a disservice. You're keeping yourself rooted in the past with blinders on. You will never be able to move forward if you can't see past this."

  "My uncle did not die from a construction accident," I said, though my voice was hesitant. It shook. "He—"

  "You've told me the story over and over again," Michelle said. There was no bite left in her tone. If anything, she sounded tired. Annoyed. Exasperated. "Guess what. Even experts aren't perfect. You say he knew too much about the job to have died there. Are you sure? Are you really sure? Did you see the building at Cosgrove Park? Are you sure he was as familiar with it as you think he is? Are you really sure? Because you are accusing the most powerful woman in Perry of murdering him. What sounds more plausible? Actually, let me ask you a different way. What would you do?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "If you're an editor. Come on, I've asked you this before. Would you believe you?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "I hope that you say no. I hope that you're bright enough to realize that I don't have the luxury of chance. I have backed you time and time again. But I can't do it anymore."

  I opened my mouth, ready to jump in, ready to say my piece, but she held up a hand.

  "The thing that's frustrating more than anything is the fact that I never once said you were wrong," she continued, locking eyes with me. "I never once said you were crazy. I believe you. I'm not a fool. I know that what you're saying is right. But because you let your pride get the better of you, I have no other choice but to fire you. And that's what pisses me off. You knew better but you didn't care. Because things didn't go your way. Which means you're no better than my four-year-old niece throwing a tantrum because she doesn't want to share her toys with her eight-year-old brother. That out there"—she pointed to the window—"what happened last night was you throwing a tantrum. Now, you have to learn—just like my niece—that there are consequences to your actions. And unfortunately for you, there are big ones."

  "You don't have to do this," I said.

  "Unfortunately, you're wrong again," Michelle said, "and I've already explained why. You're fired, Lara."

  "Is there anything I can do to change your mind?" I asked, standing up and pressing my hands down on the surface of the desk. "Please, Michelle. You owe me that much."

  "I don't owe you anything." She turned away from me. "That's where you're wrong, Lara. Don't you get it? You fucked up. You want to fix it? Now you care about fixing it?" She scoffed. "I bet you were one of those people who thought it's easier asking for forgiveness than for permission. And yeah, it's a cool bumper sticker and it's a cool saying and you get to be so cool because you're a rebel. But those people are assholes. You're an asshole. You want to fix something? Get some fucking evidence and write me an article I can print." She cleared her throat and locked eyes with me again. "Now, get your stuff and go. I want you gone by lunch time."

  "Michelle—"

  "I'm done, Lara. You're done. Don't make this harder than it nee
ds to be."

  She left before I could say anything, slamming the door behind her.

  I let out a breath. The tears built up in my eyes and I tried to blink them away. I was fired? How could she do this to me, after everything I did for this paper? Just because I wasn't afraid of the mayor. Just because I called her out on her bullshit. I wasn't afraid to confront her with the truth and now I was going to be punished for it?

  I didn't understand. I thought it was all bullshit.

  I tugged at the necklace until the small chain pinched the skin behind my neck. My vision blurred. I took in a deep breath through my nose trying not to let the phlegm slip out. My nose was already runny. My eyes burned. Symptoms of trying to keep the tears from falling. From keeping my emotions in check.

  I let out another breath and stared up at the ceiling. I would start packing when I had to. Right now, I needed a moment, maybe two.

  I glanced at the frames that hung on the walls of my office. The first article I ever wrote—a small, two-hundred-word column about the solar power trend and how skyscrapers seemed to be implementing it. I was so proud of that thing. Of course, reading it now was embarrassing and I blushed every time I did.

  But it was my first step into this world. It was my first bite, and I realized just how much I loved it. I was addicted.

  I started writing more. My eyes trickled over the various frames. Not everything I wrote was published because not everything I wrote was good or relevant or sold papers. But every word was one step closer to the one that was going to set my career on fire.

  I walked over to Michelle's office and rapped my knuckles on the door. From where I stood, I saw her pick up her head, roll her eyes, and wave me in. I slid inside, keeping the door as minimally open as possible before shutting it.

  "I'm not here to ask for my job back," I began.

  Michelle leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "Good," she said. "Because I'm not going to hear it. I would have no problem calling security on your ass, Lara. I would actually enjoy it." She paused and looked me up and down, probably noticing I didn't have a couple of boxes packed up and ready to head out. "So what are you doing here if it's not to ask for your job back?"