Scandal:The Complete Series(48)
His eyes sparkle with some new life. Whatever it is that is causing such a transformation, I’m grateful for it. “You do get overexcited sometimes,” I say with a wink as I remember a dropped birthday cake.
“Well, I knocked some papers off the desk and as I picked them up, I noticed your name on one of them. Signed by a Detective Esposito. It seemed to me he was asking for permission to have you followed. It was an official police document, right there, on your boss’s desk.”
This horrific situation is getting weirder by the second. Why would Esposito want me followed and why would Mark need to know about it? The more I think about it, the more it looks like there’s a conspiracy which I cannot even begin to fathom. “Thank you for letting me know,” I tell Jim, squeezing his hand and getting lightheaded.
Jim eyes me with a mysterious grin on his lips. “You don’t seem too surprised. This worries me even more. What’s happening?”
I shake my head. “You have no idea, Jim. The world makes no sense the past few days. Everyone seems like they want something. They’ve been trying to use me and now they’re trying to use you. I’m ashamed to be part of this.”
“Surely they don’t think we have anything to offer them regarding this tragedy. It pisses me off. We’ve lost,” he says angrily and then can’t finish. He shakes his head as tears well in his exhausted eyes.
“You know how the media can be,” I say, resting my hand on his. “Don’t give it a second thought. It’s too ugly for words.”
Jim rubs his temples as if to chase away a sudden headache. “You’re too innocent for all this, Ella. Don’t let it change that thing I love about you.”
“There’s no innocence left these days. The internet has made us all participants in the ad-driven deceptions of the new journalism. Edward Murrow would turn over in his grave.”
He smiles. “How does a young lady your age know anything about Ed Murrow? That’s before your time. Hell, it’s before my time.”
“Journalism professors still believe in the golden age of the press,” I say. “Guess some of it rubbed off on me.”
He brushes a strand of my hair behind my ear. It would feel strange if he had not done it with such paternal affection. “I’ve always believed in you, Ella. Maddy did, too. We thought the world of you. You’ll do great things,” he says and then stands up. “I need to take a walk.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I know anything,” I say.
Jim squeezes my shoulder as he walks past me slowly. “My door is always open to you, sweetheart.”
I sit at the table alone. A loud truck clangs past me on the street. A clenching pain presses down on my heart making it hard to breathe. Jim’s sadness mixes with my own and even my anger struggles to thrive. My shoulders ache now too. My whole body hurts like shattered glass stabs against every nerve in my devastated body.
Pushing myself from the table, I decide to fight through this sinking feeling of unbearable misery. I rush back inside and storm into Mark’s office.
“I need to know what you have on Esposito,” I demand loudly.
Mark glances at me, furrowing his brow. “Leave it alone, Ella.”
“You won’t even deny it, Mark? You owe me an explanation at least.”
Mark sits back, exasperated. “You are a pain in my ass,” he says and exhales deeply. “I don’t have anything on Esposito. Certain nefarious people have something on me. They forced me to get you involved.”
There’s an alarming buzz in my head as my pulse quickens. I did not expect this particular answer. “Is Rick one of them?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they have something on him. All I know is your involvement in the investigation was a setup. I’m sorry, Ella. I thought someone was trying to protect themselves. I didn’t realize the risk.”
“So I’m at risk,” I conclude.
“You might be, yeah,” he says. “Be smart.”
“I quit,” I tell my editor-in-chief who only a week ago promised me a raise and a promotion, feeding my dream of making a living as a writer.
“You can take a leave of absence. You don’t have to quit. Esposito freed you from the investigation. We both want what’s best for you.”
Mark’s words can’t reach me anymore. Nothing in this place can. Not the promise of a career, not the chance to help bring the person who killed Madison to justice and certainly not the desperate expression on Mark’s face.
I go by a row of mostly empty cubicles that will someday all be filled with busy reporters if Mark has his way, to the tiny nook where my spiraling descent into uncertainty began when the news of the terrible death of Madison reached me days ago.