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My dad shakes his head. “I want you to go into this with fresh eyes. You’ll be biased if you google the building, and then the owners. I don’t want that.”
I roll my eyes and speed up so I can keep pace with him. He’s right. I would totally do that.
“Just tell me who the investor is.”
He shakes his head again, and I sigh.
“You know how I feel about being independent. I thought you never wanted to sell the paper.” Why not let me take over instead?
“We’re not selling out, Cal, we’re looking at our options. An investor could be exciting. Try to look on the bright side.” He’s trying to be cheerful, but his eyes are shadowed. He sees it too—this is one step on the path to defeat. One step until we’re just a subsidiary of some giant company, or worse, totally wiped out of existence.
“I can run the paper. I can grow the business.” Even as I say the words, I know they’re a mistake. We’ve been over this before, and every time, his reaction grinds me down a little more. But I have to try.
“Cal, no.”
“Why not? And don’t tell me we can’t do more digital, because that’s exactly what an investor is going to push us to do.”
My dad’s mouth flattens into a stubborn line. “You don’t want to be like me, Cal.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I want more for you. There are so many careers you could have.”
“I’m not a kid, dad. I love doing this.” We stop at a crosswalk, and I give him a direct look.
“Don’t follow in the footsteps of an old man and this failing paper.” His shoulders sag slightly, and my ire is quenched by sympathy. I know my dad is lonely, but I try not to think about it. He’s stuck in his routines, no matter how much I try to shake him out of them. It’s probably the only good thing about being forced to move back home, even if I’m reminded every day of my teenage years.
“That’s not how I see you or this. I love this paper. I love this business. Think about all the loyal subscribers we have. We get hundreds of comments on every article. We have letters to the editor talking about real issues for the neighborhood. This paper matters. Let me do this.” My voice is fierce with emotion, and my stomach dips while I wait for his response. In the back of my mind is the ever-present doubt—he doesn’t want me to take over the paper because he doesn’t trust me.
“Let’s just see how the meeting goes,” he says with a sigh.
With any luck, this investor will take one look at us and kick us out. I don’t want to be part of a conglomerate.
We stop in front of a steel and glass tower. 555 57th. I recognize this address. I’ve been here before. I hand my ID to the security guard while I think. Then it hits me. 555 57th. Jonah.
My dad and I speak at the same time. “Kings Lane Capital.”
The awful realization makes my head spin. My breath comes out in a choked gasp as we walk to the elevator bank. “You didn’t. How could you? Jonah? Really?” He hates me, hates us. Nothing good will come of his involvement.
“What’s wrong with him?” We step into the waiting elevator and my father turns to me. He removed his ball cap for this, and I’m wearing a dress, but we still look woefully out of place. This is a world of sharks and we’re minnows. Or krill. Whatever is smaller than krill.
“Everything is wrong with him,” I argue. “He’s totally ruthless and has no moral code. This is not someone we want to be in business with.” I turn to face my father and cross my arms over my chest.
“He’ll offer us a fair price. He respects us and what we do. He wouldn’t have invited us here otherwise.”
“No.” I shake my head. This is about revenge. But I can’t say that. My dad will freak out about Jonah’s threats. “He does not respect us. Jonah Crown respects no one but himself.”
“Miss Thompson. How lovely to finally meet you.” Jonah’s voice rolls over me, drawing a shudder from inside me.
My stomach plummets like an elevator breaking free of its cables. I shut my eyes briefly. When I open them and turn around, Jonah is there, holding the elevator door, looking devastating in a gray suit and a blood-red tie. His expression is as bland as his tone is frosty.
“Nice to meet you as well.” I attempt a smile. It falls when he gives me a short nod and introduces himself to my father much more warmly. Interesting that he also doesn’t want to acknowledge that he met me last week. What are you hiding, Jonah Crown?
He leads us into a conference room that I’m sure is designed to intimidate. It’s right off the elevator bank, so we can’t see any of the interior office. There’s coffee, fruit, mini bagels, and tiny croissants. My father, who has never turned down free food in his life, fills a plate. I take some coffee and sit at the conference table, right in the middle and facing away from the floor-to-ceiling windows. The view makes me feel ill and a little too exposed. And with the way my stomach is knotted, I don’t think I can eat. I wish I were hungry, so I could have something to do with my hands instead of wiping my sweaty palms down my second-best dress. Jonah leans against the credenza, casual, at ease, like a men’s fashion model turned cutthroat billionaire. I bet he never wonders what to do with his hands.
When my father is seated next to me, Jonah smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Shall we get started?” He doesn’t sit but crosses his arms over his stomach. “I’d like to buy your paper.”
I knew it. This is the worst possible outcome. Going corporate is my nightmare. I can’t think of anything worse than a giant company polishing away our honesty, carefully managing our opinions, until we’re nothing but a mouthpiece for Jonah and his business partners.
