This is a short story about a politician trying to get a reporter to stop a story by any means. Whilst there is reluctance, what is offered is freely given.
A special thanks to RF-Fast for helping to proofread and ensuring the story is in good shape.
To double cross a double cross?
"You can't do this." The young woman demanded, and I sat back and felt amusement.
Jessica Rachel Honeycutt, 27, was married shortly after she left university. Studied politics and passed with OK grades, but made a run for a political post when she was 22 and shocked everyone when she was elected.
I might have inadvertently helped, as I'd published a story about her opponent that she'd leapt upon to her advantage. She came from a conservative family who were wealthy, but not rich. Certainly not rich enough to explain her meteoric rise.
Her husband's family was connected to businesses with dubious practices, which her political influence could help or protect. Four election wins in five years, perfectly timed for her to progress to a higher office each time
As a wordsmith, I could appreciate the skill of the speeches she read, even if I disagreed with the content. But they weren't her words. You knew that after seeing her in an unscripted interview. When she hit on the first question she struggled with, it would cause her to launch into a rant over the biases of the press.
No, she must have had powerful backers, and I was desperate to find out who.
Returning to the moment, I replied to her objection.
"I already have. Just because I've not published yet..."
"But it will ruin my career."
"So? It will advance mine." I replied, and enjoyed the look of venom on her face.
She jumped up and for a moment I thought she'd slap me, and I was disappointed she didn't. Not that I would have enjoyed the pain, but my office was wired with microphones and hidden cameras. It wasn't surprising given how many people came to see me in person, after I hinted about my upcoming stories. They'd come to stop me and often reveal even more without meaning to do so. It didn't always work, but it was worth it, just in case.
Ms Honeycutt was a young and upcoming political hot potato. Someone big had found a pretty young graduate with a cut throat attitude and no morals, then backed her career. So far, I've not found out who, but I'd get there, eventually. Especially if I published a story that could wreck her further political aspirations. In that case, I could feel the vibrations in my web of information to see what had turned up.
I'd no interest one way or another if I fucked her over or not. I was interested in bigger fish.
She paused with her back to me, and I saw her hand in her purse from the many reflections in the room. I saw her fiddle with her phone, then turned back.
"But all the people I've helped?"
"I showed you the figures. By my maths, the votes you've cast have cost each of your constituents hundreds or thousands each. Ironically, at the same time while earning your contributors millions. That's why it's a good story."
She glared at me and made an overly dramatic feint at crying. Turning away, she took a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed her eyes to cover her, placing her phone on a shelf. I was pretty sure she was recording this, and I turned to one camera and shook my head.
I was fairly sure even this was stage managed by someone. Her outfit was subtle, but easy to spot if you were looking for it. She wore black patent leather high heels. They were a little taller than her usual public persona. Her hair and makeup were a little overdone, and the grey button up dress was a nice touch. Knee-length, but figure hugging. The neckline emphasised a bust she didn't have, but drew your eyes to it. It wasn't overtly sexual, but hinted that way.
This wasn't a new ploy, and was one of the reasons I'd bugged my office. If Kimberley was so proficient at setting her phone like that, I prayed I'd get the chance to listen to what she'd recorded. Who knew who else she'd recorded?
She looked at me harder.
"So, what's it going to take?"
"Sorry?"
"You heard me. But I doubt money is of much interest to you." She looked around the room and projected pity at the paucity of my office furniture.
I'd have laughed that she was so naΓ―ve in such matters. Tycoons sold their wealth with opulence. Others sold themselves as down to earth by going the other way. If I wanted to, at 50, I could retire tomorrow to any sunny beach and live out my years with umbrella cocktails and pretty girls on my arm. But I loved the cutthroat nature of journalism. Skewering one politician after another was too sweet. With no political leaning myself, whoever was corrupt was a fine target for me. It's just I'd not expected Ms Honeycutt to be added to my list so quickly.
"I have influence," she threatened.
"So, do I. Only mine is the kind to encourage people to do the right thing. What your party is means nothing to me. How you do it, nada. Doing what your voters want rings my bell."
"But power..."
I shook my head and pointed to the wall behind me. I'd won dozens of awards and earned professional acclaim.
"Power is just an opportunity to abuse it." I tossed her a page I'd written but not included in my spoiler.
Normally you'd expect to keep a political scandal under your hat until you published it, to avoid someone scooping you. However, this was a different sort of story and I wanted to see what cages were rattled when they found out.