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17. Abuse
“Recompense injury with justice, and recompense kindness with kindness.” — Confucius
The atmosphere in Mark’s office was decidedly different to the last time she’d been here with Gerry. This time there was no shouting and no one was openly questioning her capability.
Mark was quietly pleased. Gerry was loudly triumphant. As though the whole idea had been his in the first place, and this wasn’t a desperate last minute grab to make up for the original interview falling over.
Darcy felt nauseous, uneasy. It had to be the jet lag. Or the fear of letting slip information she couldn’t talk about without calling her judgment and morals into question; without damaging her reputation, and putting the paper in the firing line.
Though the temptation to announce she’d not only had extensive discussions with Will Parker, she’d punched him, was extreme.
It had to be because she’d hardly slept since leaving for Shanghai five days ago. There was no other reason to feel ambivalent about delivering Will Parker’s comeuppance. He’d deceived and betrayed her personally, and compromised and threatened her professionally. She was a journalist, they were the facts. And there was no point thinking about how Will Parker made her feel as a woman. It was, to quote him, “irrelevant”.
The images they’d extracted from the film Darcy shot were slightly grainy and dark even when the graphics department finished with them. They were less than professional standard, they were gotcha paparazzi style, and if Mark agreed to run them, they were next morning’s most talked about scandal.
They showed Robert in profile on his knees cowering in front of a scowling, menacing Will, who looked like a gangster, a thug and a criminal, not the CEO of a multibillion dollar corporation hoping to expand his business back home.
“How the mighty come unstuck,” said Gerry. “This one,” he pointed to the shot on the proof sheet showing Will with one hand raised in a fist. “With this one,” he pointed to the second shot, Will taking the camera out of Robert’s hands. He laughed, his lunch wobbling in his paunch. “Let’s see how well this goes down for Parker with the Avalon board.”
“It’s good, Darce,” said Mark. “Not what we expected, but it’ll do. You’re sure Parker doesn’t know you have these?”
“He was busy with Robert. He didn’t know I was there.” At least not then. But afterwards, she was all he knew, all he focused on. All she’d wanted. “He thinks he handled it.”
“Poor rich bastard is going to get a gloriously rude shock,” said Gerry. “This is a deal killer.”
“Not entirely deserved,” said Mark. “It’s gutter journalism. Tabloid muck. I don’t like the fact we’re going to run this and run it big. Front page Business Section above the fold and lead photo story online.”
“Mark, this is bigger. This is lead story, front page of the whole paper,” said Gerry.
Mark pushed back in his chair, it pinged under his motion. Darcy heard crystal beads pelting glass. She looked away, not trusting her expression as a m
emory of the scene in the lift invaded her consciousness.
“Darcy crashed a private, invitation only event. The only reason these shots exist is because she caused them,” said Mark.
“So, it’s good investigative journalism,” said Gerry, shooting her a look that said she’d risen in his estimation.
“We’re supposed to report the news, not make it. If there was a scandal going on here I’d agree with you. This is a man whose right to privacy has been compromised.”
“Rich bastards void their right to privacy.”
“At his own charity function? It’s a stretch of the public interest test.”
“It’s fair game.” Gerry shrugged. “This is a captain of industry verbally assaulting a member of the press.”
“Who I understand isn’t interested in pressing a complaint. That’s what you said, Darce?” said Mark. “I don’t get it.”
Darcy nodded. It was a mystery to her too. Robert had backed away from complaining or going legal, saying he had no issue with Will Parker. There was something Robert wasn’t saying.
It was her turn to shrug. “Robert insists he’s okay so long as his name doesn’t appear in the story.”
“Write it tight, Darce. A picture tells, etcetera,” said Gerry.
Mark sat upright again. He was studying her. “You kosher with this?”
“Of course.”
“It’s a sly crack. I want you to be sure about it.”
