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‘Which is what?’
‘We own it, Charlie. We make investigations our bedrock, the thing that sets us apart from everyone else. The Chronicle: We Own The Truth.’
Alex waited, watching Charlie turn it over in his mind, trying out the script Alex had just given him, seeing how it sounded coming out of his mouth. He would sound like a visionary – a man with a plan. And most important: Alex knew that Alicia would approve.
‘Charlie, you’re the managing director of Avery Media Group. You’re the future here.’
He saw Charlie nod, stand up a little bit straighter in his Tom Ford suit. Why should Nicholas call all the shots, that was what he was thinking.
‘You saw the energy in there,’ said Alex, pressing his advantage. ‘Without stories, real stories, we’re nothing. Not serious players anyway. You didn’t see people light up like that when Jen-Z from GirlFriday launched her new fragrance, did you?
Charlie laughed. ‘Jen-Z has her own fragrance?’
Alex raised his eyebrows. ‘Charlie, we put it on the front page.’
‘God, did we?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
Charlie nodded decisively.
‘Leave it with me,’ he said. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
Lara was sitting alone in the investigations room when Alex found her. Situated in the basement, the room was almost dark, lit only by the screen in front of her. Alex pulled up a chair beside her.
‘So what do you think?’
The front page splash was laid out on Lara’s screen.
Billionaire Murders Three:
Suspect Charged.
‘It’s good,’ she said. ‘As good as I could make it, anyway.’
Alex reached out in the dark and held her hand.
‘Lara, it’s perfect. Sandrine would be so proud.’
She’d filed the story for the online edition three hours earlier, but had only just put the finishing touches to the version for the print edition. The words had come easily, the whole tragic story pouring out step-by-step. Easy because she had lived it. Easy to describe because she had been there. But at the same time, Lara couldn’t remember having felt so much pressure to get a story right. It couldn’t just be good. It had to be great. This wasn’t just the story of her life, it was the story of her best friend’s death.
For the first time for a long time, Lara felt as if she had done something right.
‘I’ve just spoken to Fox,’ said Alex. ‘They’re going to charge Sachs within the hour, so we can name him before the first edition goes off stone.’
Other media outlets had already started to pick up on the story – man arrested in connection with banker murder – but no one had named Sachs. No one knew what had really happened.
‘We’ll run the version with names and images. Legal have signed off on it. Properly this time.’
Alex squeezed her hand again.
‘Now we’ve got him, Lar,’ he said. ‘We’ve got the bastard.’
Darius had the biggest office in the building, even larger than the Chairman’s office on the top floor. He beckoned Lara in with two fingers.
‘Sit.’
It always amazed Lara how much the décor of an office reflected the personality of the owner – and how little they seemed to be aware of it. Nicholas’ office was elegant but cold with fake Hepplewhite chairs and a sideboard filled with unused crystal decanters, while Charlie’s had slouchy sofas and a huge Warhol print – inevitably from his dollar-sign period. Darius had gone for a portrait by Rankin and endless framed awards and snaps of Darius shaking hands with the likes of Bono and George Bush Jr. No surprise that it was all ‘me, me, me’ in Darius’ playroom.
