Page 90 of Fake It For Glory

But it was too late for apologies or regrets. The damage had been done, and I was left grappling with the repercussions of his actions. My relationship with my father had taken an unexpected turn, and the future was uncertain. I couldn’t bring myself to be happy I finally had my father’s respect when I lost the respect of a man I loved. A man I loved but never got the chance to tell him how I felt.

“You have to talk to him,” Dalton said.

“What?”

“You need to talk to your dad,” he said. “Let him heap praise on you. It’s what you’ve been fighting for. You earned it. You deserve the accolades.”

As Dalton grabbed my hand and practically dragged me to my father’s office, I couldn’t help but feel a mounting sense of anger and frustration. He seemed utterly oblivious to the turmoil he had caused with that article, and now he was acting as if he had orchestrated some grand triumph.

When we entered my father’s office, I was met with a booming welcome. “Merida, my girl!” my father exclaimed, his tone far warmer than I had ever heard it. He ushered me inside and poured a drink, a gesture that was completely out of character for him.

“Have a seat, have a seat,” he said, gesturing toward a chair across from his desk. “I want to hear all about it. How did you pull this off? How did you get someone as uptight as Loxley to spill his secrets? I mean, you published information that’s never been shared before, and with Loxley himself as your source!”

My anger flared at his words. He had no idea what had transpired, how this article had become a nightmare for Jensen and me. But my father seemed oblivious to my frustration as he continued to boast about my work.

“You hit every note perfectly,” he declared with pride. “I loved the drama, the high stakes of his AI launch, your own personal concerns about Lox, and even the more emotional parts, like him losing his dad.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Hearing him lay out my article in a cold manner made me want to vomit. My father, who had always dismissed my journalistic ambitions and pigeonholed me into writing silly fluff columns, was suddenly praising me for an article that had caused so much harm. It was infuriating and disheartening all at once.

I took a deep breath, struggling to find the right words to respond to him. A wave of nausea washed over me. This was spiraling out of control far too quickly, and I could feel the mounting anger and frustration welling up inside me.

“Merida, what’s wrong?” Dad asked. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“Dad,” I began with my voice trembling. I took a deep breath to steady myself. “You have to pull the article. Dalton was only supposed to read and edit it. He didn’t have my permission to publish, and things are more complicated now. I didn’t want to run the story.”

At first, my father seemed to think I was joking. He raised an eyebrow, a disbelieving look on his face, but when he realized I was serious, he shook his head. “Merida, we can’t pull this now,” he said firmly. “It’s made too big of a splash. You need to get on board. It’s already out there. You can’t just take it back.”

“I want it pulled,” I said with more authority. “I will write a retraction. It’s my article and you didn’t have the authority to publish it.”

“That’s not how this works,” he growled.

I felt a surge of anger and frustration. My father was so focused on the success of the article and the attention it had garnered that he couldn’t see the damage it had caused. It was as if he were blind to the turmoil it had unleashed in my life.

“Dad this article is ruining my life and Jensen’s. You have to pull it.”

He ignored me. “We’re going for celebratory steaks tonight. It’s something I do with all my top writers who make me money.”

I wanted to scream, to make him understand the gravity of the situation, but it was clear that he was not going to back down. In that moment, I felt utterly powerless, trapped in a situation that was spiraling out of control, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

“I can’t, Dad.”

“You can, and you will,” he ordered. “I have to talk to legal. We’ve been getting some calls about the piece. I’ll see you at dinner.”

I sat, frozen in place, as my father walked past me and out of the room. I wanted to scream, to throw something, but instead, I sat quietly.

“Merida, this is a good thing. Sometimes, you rock some boats and people don’t always like what you write, but it’s a story. It was all true, right?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t my truth to tell,” I whispered.