Chapter Twenty-Nine

Shao Lan openly wept when she found out Ronald committed suicide. She felt responsible for killing his dreams. She told anyone who sat in the chair across from her desk; they’d never measure up to the superior skills of her best investigative reporter. It was a message that helped define who she wanted out on the streets, looking for the most insurmountable leads.

News media was a cutthroat business in the digital age. It was almost impossible to get information out in public first. It took a lot of groundwork and a lot of luck. Most of the recruits who took seats in the reporter pool never lasted more than six months. Many of the newsworthy articles were generated through independents. Shao felt her time as an editor was close to the end. The news company had a new parent company. The parent company didn’t know anything about how the real news got out to the public. Their focus before purchasing controlling stocks in media was how to make better crackers. A lot of the new faces she had to see as bosses didn’t understand the first thing about editing or deadlines.

If Shao didn’t supply the board of executives with sales that satisfied their growth margins, she’d have a replacement. A lot of the reporters who’d been with her the longest already found other venues. A lot of them went to social media platforms or television copy writers. They still called Shao when they thought she had something worthy of a ten-minute news spot.

Freelance journalists were the wave of the future. According to the latest statistical analysis she received from the CFO of the parent company, they paid less for freelance than any in-house reporters. They sat Shao down eight months after taking over the company.

With her job on the line, she had to terminate the rest of the in-house reporters. Freelancers didn’t take up valuable desk space. That kept their overhead down. When Shao agreed to stay on as editor, they allowed her to work from home. They closed the office doors within a year of taking over the company. Now it was Shao who stayed up late at night, combing through the constant stream of hopeful news stories for the, now, web-based news outlet. Gone was the print version of the media. The print was dead. If she wanted to keep her head up, she had to get fast leads, and hope the parent company liked what she handed the webmasters every day for internet publications.

Then one freelancer stood out above the rest. The detailed information was extraordinary. There were volumes of data, copies of PDF files that led to vetted sources that kept the new media free of liability lawsuits. Shao verified every story with secondary fact checkers.

The first story came in the form of a web link. There was a long, stream of consciousness written piece about human trafficking. It was impossibly detailed. There were photographs, copies of waybills, manifests from cargo shipping containers. There were lists of people involved who sat in high chairs in foreign and domestic governments.

It was a story impossible to ignore. Shao opened the week with the headline. Soon the Associated Press wanted in on it. Other 24-hour news networks wanted the story. No one took no for an answer. It was Shao who had to show up on television, cross-examined by celebrity news anchors that once had Shao’s distinct pleasure of being on the front lines of something important. They gave it up to sit in an air-conditioned newsroom, with makeup artists, and cushioned seats. But Shao didn’t want the limelight.

She defended her freelancer who wanted to remain anonymous. The story was more important than a face or a name who prided the story. It took strength and integrity. Today everyone had an ego or something to prove. Shao only thought of one other person who was as humble as her anonymous freelance investigative reporter. And that man was long dead. Shao felt if she encouraged the freelancer, let the stories flow, she’d redeem Ronald’s death. It made her feel better thinking that if Ronald were alive still, he’d believe the noble crusader was right to remain protected.

Shao opened the email to the next big story. The covert attack on the garment trade in the Middle-East, people were losing their lives for pennies on the pound. There were lists of names and lots of photographs and video coverage. If that wasn’t enough, Shao clinked on the link that gave her a view of sweatshops where underage workers toiled over textiles. The link was a direct live feed into the CCTV security footage for the facility.

Shao immediately picked up the phone and called her boss with the news. She’d secured her job. Someone out there cared around the world and the corruption that ran amuck. It was one news story at a time, but Shao felt she had a secure job as long as she fed the media the truth.