sitting on his desk were jammed with items: his baseball autographed by the Yankees, his Pulitzer and his framed photos. One of Chuck with his wife was already on the desk.
Kate was overcome with sadness, seeing him standing there alone, his life in those boxes. How long had it been since they’d talked, a year? She was angry at him for leaving Newslead after his blowout with previous spineless management. The fact he was dealing with his wife’s illness at the same time had only complicated things. She rapped lightly on the door and he turned to her. This time his smile was from the heart.
“I’m glad you’re back,” she said. “It’s been too long.”
“The time got away from us. Look, when I left I had a helluva lot going on and, well—”
“It’s all history now. It’s okay. How’s Audrey doing?”
“Still cancer-free. Thanks for asking.”
“Good, I’m glad.” Kate let a moment pass. She didn’t have much time. “We need to talk about what just happened back there.”
He ran a hand over his face.
“Shut the door.”
Kate closed it.
“Chuck, let me go first. I don’t want to scare you but this place is a mess. The cuts have taken a toll. The new management’s dysfunctional. Morale here sucks. The quality of our work is slipping. The place is fueled by nepotism and cronyism.”
“I know.”
“As for Sloane. Oh. My. God. Chuck, I can’t work with him. The guy’s a freaking liar. It’s a risk to have him in our newsroom and his name on Newslead stories.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“Nothing leaves this room.”
“Okay.”
“I need you to work with him.”
“What? Why? I don’t get this. The guy should be fired.”
“I can’t do much about him. Not yet. It’s complicated.”
“Do you know what he did on this story? Shirking his duty?”
Chuck nodded.
“Word got to me. Before I came back, I called some people, did some due diligence. Listen, he’s Reeka’s hire and Reeka has pull with senior management. You know that. I can’t touch Sloane. Not yet. She wanted him on this story alone. I pushed back to get you on it because I think it requires two people, even with our smaller stable of reporters. Truth is, I need you to watch over him, to keep him from hurting us.”
“I can’t do that!”
“Kate, I need you to do this, and break stories. We’re under tremendous pressure. You know the song. We’re losing subscribers. We’re getting beat on stories. We’re rushing down the river to irrelevance. From what I’ve learned, Sloane’s not a reporter, at least not the caliber we need to work here, and he’ll fail. Kate, I’m counting on you to prove your strength, like you did in Dallas, and like you did on your sister’s story. I need you to help me fix Newslead.”
Kate weighed the stakes as Chuck glanced at the time.
“Because it’s you, I’ll do it,” she said. “But tell me, if you knew things were bad here, why did you come back?”
“The same reason you’ve stayed.” Chuck glanced at the framed photo of his wife, then at Kate. “We’ve each given everything to this organization and we don’t give up on the things we love and believe in.”
Before Kate could react, a knock sounded at the door. Kate opened it to Sloane and Reeka, who thrust her phone at Chuck.
“The New York Times is now reporting that Flight Forty-nine Ninety encountered severe clear-air turbulence and the pilot disabled the plane’s safety features to deal with it and, in doing so, overreacted.”
Adjusting his glasses, Chuck read the piece.
“See,” Sloane said. “It was turbulence, just as I’d first reported. Looks like pilot error, not mechanical, just like my story said.”
“They’re using unnamed sources,” Chuck said.
“It’s the Times, Chuck,” Reeka said. “I think everybody’s just been killed on this story.”
“We still don’t have officially sourced confirmation,” Chuck said. “Nobody does. Not yet. Sloane, did you check the FAA records and search court records?”
“Working on it.”
“Good. Now, excuse us, if you’d give Kate and me a minute.”
Reeka and Sloane left. Chuck loosened his tie more, then unknotted it and whipped it off.
“Dammit, Reeka’s right. The Times just kicked our asses. We’ve got to get on top of this story.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“We’re going to need more than that, Kate.”
Ten
Manhattan, New York
Kate grabbed a strong coffee and ensconced herself at her desk, still reeling from the New York Times piece while grappling with Chuck’s expectations.
It didn’t help that she could sense Sloane gloating.
Kate shoved it all aside and knuckled down. She started with the key official organizations—texting, emailing and calling for reaction to the Times story and a chance to advance it.
“We don’t comment on speculative press articles. We’ll release a preliminary report in the coming days,” Paul Murther, the spokesperson with the NTSB, told her.
EastCloud responded by sending Kate an updated news release which was light on actual news. The airline had noted what everyone already knew—that nearly all of Flight 4990’s passengers who had been taken to hospital had been released and that EastCloud continued to cooperate with investigators.
Kate called Richlon, the plane’s manufacturer.
“I can confirm that we are participating in the NTSB investigation. Other than that, we have no further comment,” Molly Raskin, Richlon’s deputy of public affairs, said from its Burbank, California, headquarters.
The FAA declined to comment, and so did most of the other agencies and groups she’d contacted. While waiting for responses Kate, in keeping with Chuck’s request to be watchful of Sloane’s work, reviewed news photos for the plane’s registration information, known as the N-Number, then used that number to access FAA records on the specific aircraft’s history.
No problems had emerged on that individual plane.
Kate then consulted federal
