Monday morning. Most people hate it, but not me.
I think there’s something exhilarating about the start of a new week. New challenges, new opportunities … you’re probably rolling your eyes at me right now. I know, I know—I’m one of those people lucky enough to have a job that they love. What can I say? I fell in love with words when I was young, and that love kept on growing and growing until I became a reporter.
Ever heard of Gossip Central? Of course you have; I bet you don’t miss a single column. Well, I’m the gal (or, well, one of the gals) behind the keyboard. I know the byline under each column says a certain Vicky Durner wrote the piece, but that’s just part of the show. It’s a pen name, you see? A nom-de-plum if you want to be fancy about it. Because I, Penny Wright, am the one cranking out these columns. Okay, I’m not the only one working under the name Vicky Durner, but I sure as hell am the most prolific.
I’m only twenty-one and, now fresh out of Yale, I want to prove to the world how good I really am. That’s why I work so hard, and that’s why I’m this cheery on a Monday morning.
I know the name Gossip Central might have you rolling your eyes again, but don’t get too hung up on the name: there’s serious journalism in these pieces. Gossip is fun (I’m not above a good afternoon of it), but I also care about this city where I grew up, and I hope that shows in what I write.
“You’re early,” one of the new interns yawns, stretching out his arms as I walk inside the main floor of the New York Daily Journal office. “I’ve heard the boss wants to see you,” he adds, attacking the cup of coffee in front of him with lazy movements. There are bags under his eyes and, judging by the way he’s slumping over his desk now, I’m betting he was on call the whole night, doing edits and re-edits on articles that are supposed to be buried deep in the newspaper. I remember my days as an unpaid intern during the summers, and I can sum them up with two words only: not fun.
“Thank you, Hank,” I reply with a smile, reading the name from the ID card hanging from his breast pocket. He throws me a half-asleep smile, and then he’s back to his laptop, his fingers lazily banging at the keyboard.
I stroll toward the Editor-in-Chief’s office, the one at the end of the main room, and make my way through the dozens of still-empty desks filling the whole place. I rap my knuckles against the door, and a heartbeat after that I hear a familiar voice replying.
“Come in!” I hear my mother say, and I push the door open and step inside. Yep, you’ve heard it right; my mother, Rhoda Wright, is the ‘boss’ around here. But don’t think I’m working here just because she’s my mother. In fact, that’s one of the reasons behind the fact that I work so hard: I don’t want to live under her shadow.
She’s sitting behind her massive desk now, a monstrosity made out of oak that dominates the whole room, and goes up to her feet the moment I get in.
“G’morning,” I greet her, “I heard you wanted to see me and I --,” I trail off as I see a woman sitting in front of her desk, forgetting what I was about to say. She turns around on her seat to face me, and I can’t help but be surprised as I realize that the woman right in front of me is the Mayor of New York City herself.
“Penny, this is Laurel Trask, the mayor,” my mother introduces her (as if someone like Laurel Trask needed an introduction), and the mayor gets up from her seat with a polite smile and offers me her hand. I take it in mine, still surprised, and shake it.
“It’s an honor,” I say, and I mean it. It takes a tough woman to get to mayor in this city, and Laurel Trask is all that, and some more. No wonder, though; it seems that there’s a do-or-die quality in her family. She is, after all, the sister of the former mayor, Parker ‘Pleasure’ Trask, now a senator (and right on his way to the presidency).
I was still months away from graduating when Parker Trask entered on a collision course with the Governor, and I still hate the fact that I wasn’t yet a journalist when that battle for New York began. Can you imagine how exciting those times must've been for a journalist? I can.
“Likewise,” Laurel replies, shaking my hand firmly and yet softly. She’s still young, probably in her mid-thirties, and she looks as beautiful as any catwalk model. I guess the Trask family seems to be on good terms with the genetics of beauty. “It’s also an honor to meet the daughter of the woman who turned the New York Daily Journal into what it is today. Your mother tells me you show great promise.”
“Thank you, you’re very kind,” I respond with a smile as my mother waves us both to the seats in front of her desk. “So, to what do we owe your visit?”
“Well, Laurel here has read your latest article about Magnus and his antics at the Nailers’ last game.”
“I did, and from that piece alone I can see you’ll make a name for yourself if you keep at it, Penny,” she adds, crossing her legs and staring at me.
“Thank you, but I still don’t understand what --”
“You see, Penny,” Laurel cuts me short, reaching for me and placing one of her delicate hands on top of mine, “some men are more dangerous than what they seem to be, and Magnus is one of these men. While the public loves him, he’s like a disease that has settled deep inside the bones of New York, and it’s my job to stop him before he rots this whole city.”
I nod, looking straight into her eyes and seeing a pleasant fierceness burning there. She doesn’t like Magnus, that much I can see. But, then again, how can anyone like someone as self-centered as Magnus? He’s a disgrace to this city.
“We can’t have him profiting off our city while he steps on our morals and values,” she continues, and I find myself nodding at every word she says. “As it is, I want to ban him from doing any construction business in the city going forward.”
“Even the Equinox Tower?”
“Even the Equinox Tower, Penny.”
“Well, that’s not going to be easy,” I whisper, more to myself than to Laurel. The Equinox Tower is supposed to be the tallest building in the world, and Magnus managed to secure the contract for it—a $120 billion dollar contract. Yeah, $120 billion dollars, feel free to reread it. Aside from the legal implications, the city has also fallen in love with this playboy wannabe, and so taking him out is going to be an uphill struggle.
“No, it’s not going to be easy. And that’s exactly why I’m here. His last stunt at the Nailers’ stadium has caused a few of my fundraisers and people whose money I need to start questioning him and his methods, and now is the right time for us to make our move. If we manage to bar him from building the Equinox Tower, his business is going to be crippled … and he’ll have no choice but to fade away into nothingness.”
“Where do I fit into all this?” I ask Laurel, but it’s my mother who answers.
“Well, I rely on my fundraisers and high net worth individuals for the money to become governor,” Laurel says. “And we’re relying on you to show the world what they already know.”
“You’re the key to all this, Penny. You’re probably the best reporter I have, and we need you to do some digging on him. If we find something juicy enough, the public will turn against him and it’ll be a walk in the park for the city to pull his eligibility for all future contracts.”
“He has slept with a lot of women, so maybe this won’t be hard. Maybe a sexual harassment suit? That’d be enough to get the ball in our court. You’ll probably have to find a way into his personal life, and I know you probably don’t want to, but --” I don’t let Laurel finish her sentence, determination welling up to the surface and turning into sound as it climbs up my throat.
“Yes,” I simply say, looking from Laurel to my mother, “I’ll do it.” If they need my help to bury Magnus, they’ve come to the right person.
Now, there are two things you probably need to know about me, and I’m going to tell you what they are. The first one is, I hate Magnus with a passion. The second is that he’s my stepfather.
Yes, you read that right: Magnus Davion is my stepfather.
My father died when I was only three, and it took my mother long enough to find love again. I was over the moon when she told me she’d be remarrying. I was eighteen at the time, and I barely knew the kind of man she had decided to tango with. You see, even though their marriage didn’t last for long, he still managed to hurt her badly. The bastard cheated on her at every opportunity he had, making her life a living hell. He was lucky I was away for college at the time; I’d have kicked him in the balls so hard that he’d still be whimpering now.
So, yeah, if I’m offered a chance to make Magnus Davion feel all of the pain he caused my family and New York, there’s only one possible answer: a resounding yes.
“We’ll get him,” I tell both Laurel and my mother, a deep certainty making my heart pulse steadily.
I’m coming for you, Magnus.
Magnus