It was a glum and uncaffeinated Wes who arrived late at the office to some critical glances that he seriously did not need. TheSpearexpected early-morning starts from their staff, reflecting the rise-and-grind hustle attitude of their distant tech owner.
When they moved last year, theSpearimplemented a first-come-first-served desk booking system to promote collaboration by forcing staff from different departments to mix. It had been an abject failure, and a week of cutthroat intrigue and backroom deals had resulted in each department staking out its own unofficial territory. Luckily, his editor, Rebecca, had survived the mechanisms of a socialist arts collective in university, thus ensuring her Lifestyle team eventually reigned supreme over the floor’s most coveted area, a small quiet alcove in the corner away from copy machine socializing and kitchen smells.
The only downside was its location next to the investigative team, which daily forced Wes to face the fact that his career had stagnated. He passed Tyler Dawlish, who was stroking his beard and laughing at his own jokes while sitting at the desk Wes desperately wanted to be his again.
“What a cock-up.” Tyler’s voice drifted over like burned popcorn. “I told JJ it was incredibly poor journalism. Who doesn’t confirm news of that caliber? That guy should be fired. TheHeraldis a joke.”
JJ, who was Jason Jackson to people like Wes, was theSpear’s investigative editor. A few months ago, Jason had rejected Wes’s application for the latest spot on the I-team, all the more galling since Wes had already been there as part of a six-month secondment. They gave the permanent role to Tyler, moving him from Opinions and returning Wes to Lifestyle. Rebecca had welcomed him back with open relief and a pile of assignments she’d been saving for what she called his magic touch. Her appreciation had cooled the burn of rejection, at least a bit.
Wes tuned out Tyler’s blustering as Rebecca appeared in front of his desk, blocking the sun coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“Can you believe it?” Rebecca pulled back her long sandy-brown hair.
“Believe what?”
“Didn’t you hear what theHeralddid?”
“No.” Wes hated feeling caught unawares, having internalized the idea that because he could know everything thanks to his phone and the internet, he should. It wasn’t healthy, but omniscience—or the appearance of it—was a big advantage at theSpear. He couldn’t afford to look like he was slacking if he wanted another chance at the I-team.
“TheHeraldscrewed up. Like the mother of all screwups.” She almost vibrated with excitement. “They ran Dot Voline’s obituary last night.”
“The author? I thought she was already dead.”
“Me too, but she is very muchnotdead as of today. Which, you will note, is after her obit ran.” She sipped her huge bubble tea with gusto.
“Whoa.” That must have been what Tyler had been talking about. Since theHerald’s owner considered the digital-onlySpeara trashy upstart compared to the hundred-year-oldHerald, it was pleasant to see them humbled.
“I’ve never worked obits, but you’d think the first rule is to make sure your subject’s fully passed beyond this mortal coil,” Rebecca agreed.
“Their editor’s run that section for ages,” Wes said. “My motherreads it religiously.” All the while commenting on how she could have achieved more than the deceased, be they politician, entrepreneur, or athlete, had she not dedicated her life to her family.
“No, he died, and a woman took over a month or so ago.” Her forehead scrunched. “Natasha Barbell? Something like that.”
Wes looked up in surprise. “Nadine Barbault?”
“You know her?”
“We went to journalism school together, but she’s on the politics team.” He turned to his laptop. No, there she was on theHerald’s staff directory page: Nadine Barbault, Obituary Editor. An unexpected change, given how well she’d been doing, but probably the result of some long-game career plan. She was devious like that.
The sounds of the office drifted away as Wes basked in the keen enjoyment of his schadenfreude. A mortification of this magnitude could not have happened to a more deserving person. Nadine’s blunder was a devastating defeat in their ongoing, never-declared battle for supremacy that had started the tenth day of JORN 102, Introduction to Journalism, when they’d tied for the highest mark in the class on their first assignment.
Her latest crime had been last year, when she scooped his story on unregistered lobbyists during his I-team secondment. Getting scooped was a risk for any journalist, but Jason had not been impressed to see the story Wes had been working on emblazoned on theHerald’s front page under Nadine’s byline. It wasn’t the reason he’d been sent back to Lifestyle but Jason might have fought harder for his transfer if Wes had been the first to break that huge story.
“It’s a big drop from politics to the dead beat,” Rebecca said. “Then to mess that up?”
Wes shook his head and shut his laptop. It hurt him to admit, but in fairness, Nadine was undeniably fantastic at her job. “It must have been a glitch in the system. Remember when Radio France Internationale posted a bunch of obits because of a web upgrade?”
“My baser self prefers to believe she blew it. Trust but verify.” Rebecca made a motion as if reading the phrase from a marquee, causing her cup to slip alarmingly in her hand. “You know, we should do a story on Dot Voline to capitalize on this. Maybe get a comment from her about the experience.”
“I’m on it,” said Wes immediately, happy for any chance to one-up Nadine.
“Great. I also want to talk to you about some things before the morning meeting.”
Wes had been waiting for this moment, so he put thoughts of Nadine aside. “Good, because I have a story for you.”
She looked suspicious. “You know I’m always open to that.”
He didn’t bother to correct her. “New research says skin-lightening products are more carcinogenic than formerly believed.”
