"The truth?" Harold came toward me with the printout of my article as if it was a weapon of some sort. "You call this the truth? This is a death wish!"
"I'll never apologise for saying the truth," I retorted angrily even if my voice trembled.
In essence, the atmosphere was electric enough; one could literally feel the tension and choke on it. Mobiles rang, type-writers clicked and all around there were people editing their files and documents but the real drama was on.
Harold threw a file paper on my desk and almost whispering the words he had screamed just this morning. "Did you have any concept what sort of scenario you've just triggered? Ethan Blackwell doesn't play fair about it. But now you have ensured that the whole of this paper is in his sights."
I was still trying to make a comment about what he said when the double doors to the newsroom flew open, and banged against the walls. Eyes widened and lips parted collectively as people in the room drew in their breath at the same time.
There he was. Ethan Blackwell.
He entered the room like the predator he was, wearing an expensive business suit, his eyes hissed with resentment. His polished shoes were the only sound heard in the large expanse of the newsroom.
I stood, willing my knees not to buckle. He was even more intimidating in person than I remembered.
"Madison Russo," he said, his tone a deep productive rumble.
The anxious feeling grew in my chest but, despite the adrenaline, I had to control myself. "Mr. Blackwell."
He stood in front of my desk leaning over me. As usual, he was taking up all the space; physically present but emotionally and mentally unbearable.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" he asked, in a calm tone, too calm. And it scared me but I couldn't back out now.
I met his gaze, refusing to back down. " I just brought your evil deeds to light."
He gave a sarcastic smile. "You really believe this is all about telling the truth?" No. It is more directly about you writing the lies. Fabrications. Baseless allegations that will be costly to you."
"Everything in that article is backed by evidence," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
He leaned in closer, as he stared deep into my eyes. "Evidence that won't hold up when I'm through with you. Do you know how easy it is to bury someone like you, Ms. Russo?"
The threat hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. My palms were clammy, but I clenched them into fists at my sides. "You can try, Mr. Blackwell, but I won't be silenced."
His expression darkened. "You'll regret this. That's a promise."
Not a word more was said than he went out, and the door banged to after him.
Again there was whispering in the newsroom and I dismissed it. My hands shook as got back on the chair.
A shadow loomed over my desk. It was Harold, my editor looking uncomfortable, his tie slightly loosed.
"Madison," he started with his deep voice.
I knew what was coming.
"I have just been speaking with the board," he went on to say. "They're not happy. I have been informed that Blackwell's team is consulting its lawyer and, as you can imagine, that we cannot afford to do that here".
I rose slowly; the noise of the chair against the tiled floor was loud. "So you're.. you're firing me?"
"It's not personal," Harold muttered, avoiding eye contact with me. "Madison, you're a good journalist, but this ... this is beyond us. We can't stand behind you on this one."
I immediately flared up with anger. "So you're giving up because the pressure is too much? Letting him have say in what we can and can't report?"
Harold sighed. "This is bigger than you, Madison. Bigger than me."
I grabbed my bag and turned toward the door, my pulse roaring in my ears. "You're making a mistake," I said, echoing Ethan's words.
He winced but didn't argue. "Please leave your badge on the desk on your way out."
---
The coming of cold air outside felt like I was being slapped. I strolled about the city harassed as different thoughts ran through my mind with most dominant being. As I had come to know, Ethan Blackwell was a monster, but that is where my fears ended and began.
I stopped by at my usual coffee shop to gain some clarity on what I intended to do which was to calm my head down. The barista gave me my drink with a small smile and I think she read the article stares.
"Rough day?" she asked.
"You have no idea," I said low, wrapping my fingers around the cup, which radiated warmth.
I went to a corner, and pulled out my laptop. I couldn't stop now. After all, Ethan was powerful, but I had facts, solid, obvious facts in front of me. If he wanted a fight, he'd get one.
My phone buzzed again. Jessica.
"You scared the living daylights out of me!" She exploded the second I answered the call without even a greeting.
"I was thinking about the truth," I replied, though my voice lacked conviction.
"Ethan Blackwell is dangerous," she said. "I know you're hell bent for a revenge but mind the consequences and he's coming for you."
"Good," I shot back. "Let him come. I have nothing to lose."
"That's where you're wrong," Jessica said, her tone softening. "You've worked too hard to throw it all away. Just... be careful, okay?"
I nodded, even though she couldn't see it. "I will."
---
Hours later, I found myself walking aimlessly through the city. The lights blurred as exhaustion set in, but my mind was too restless to stop.
When I finally returned to my tiny apartment, I collapsed onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. My phone buzzed again, a notification flashing across the screen:
"Ethan Blackwell announces impending legal action against a reckless journalist"
I closed my eyes, a mix of fear and resolve churning in my chest.
This was only the beginning.