Page 16 of Making It Live!

"Charcoal.The navy was last night."

"Charcoal it is.Coffee's on your desk.Brad wants you at five for hair and makeup."He paused."And Bruce has been walking the halls like a man about to be audited."

"Bruce always looks like that."

"More than usual.I'd swear he's about to strangle himself with his tie."

I set my bag down and turned to look at him."Is there something I should know?"

Harry shrugged with the carefully calibrated innocence of someone who was not entirely innocent."Just an observation.You pay me to observe."

"I pay you to assist."

"Assisting includes observing."He hung the garment bag on the rack."Five o'clock.Hair and makeup with Brad."

He left.I sat at my desk and read the lineup one more time, made two further notes on the pharmaceutical package, then changed into the charcoal jacket — structured, sharp, a faintly lighter thread in the weave that caught the studio lights as depth rather than pattern.After hair and makeup I did my own final check in the mirror.Everything in place, everything where it should be.

At 6:40, I walked to the studio.

The set was the same as every night — the anchor desk gleaming under a cathedral of lights, the cameras locked on their exact marks, the floor crew moving through their pre-show choreography with the practiced ease of people who'd done it a thousand times.Marla was already in her chair, adjusting her earpiece with one hand and scrolling her phone with the other.She looked up as I approached.

"Nelson," she said."You look like you're about to run a country."

"Small one, maybe."I sat, positioned my water glass exactly seven inches from the edge of the desk, and reached for my earpiece.

I glanced at the glass wall of the control room.Not something I usually did — the control room was background, machinery, not my concern until something went wrong.But Harry's comment about Bruce had snagged somewhere at the back of my mind, and I found my eyes drifting toward the blue-lit glow behind the glass.

Someone was sitting in the EP chair.

It had been empty since Greg Fletcher's departure.Various producers had rotated through on a temporary basis, none lasting more than a night or two before retreating to their regular posts.But this person wasn't one of the rotation.I could tell from the posture alone — whoever it was sat in that chair like they intended to stay.And there was something about the shape of them: lean, straight-backed, auburn hair catching the control room light—

I looked away.The floor director was coming over for the final check, and I had a broadcast to run.

"Mic check, Nelson," the audio tech said, and I leaned forward and spoke my test line — "Good evening, I'm Nelson Mackenzie" — flat and colorless, saving the real voice for when the cameras went live.

The earpiece crackled.I adjusted it.

"Two minutes," the floor director called.

I straightened my jacket and fixed on Camera Two.One breath, held, released slowly through the nose.The ritual.The same ritual before every broadcast for years — the thing that took Nelson the person and put him away somewhere safe, and brought Nelson the anchor to the surface: steady, unbreakable, cold.

The countdown began.Ten.Nine.Eight.

The theme music rolled.The graphic spun.The red light on Camera Two ignited.

"Good evening.I'm Nelson Mackenzie with Marla St.John, and this is Beacon News Tonight."

I delivered the opening flawlessly, because I always delivered the opening flawlessly.The Senate confirmation hearings.The committee chairman's opening statement.The key moments from today's testimony.Copy, pivot, toss to package.Seamless.

The package ran and I took a sip of water.Normal.Everything perfectly normal.

The package ended.I turned back to Camera Two.

And then a voice came through my earpiece.

"Nelson, we're going to skip the planned toss and go straight to the analyst.Camera One for the two-shot."

The voice was cool.Professional.Measured.The voice of someone who knew exactly what they were doing in a control room, who'd made a fast editorial call and communicated it with clean precision.