CHAPTER 12
A WEEK LATER, AFTER SCORES OF MEETINGS WITH NETWORK EXECUTIVES, Sidney had her project green-lit for summer.
She sat at her desk and edited a clip from the opening episode.
Over the past seven days, the pilot episode was polished and pitched to the suits who made programming decisions, and to sales managers who decided on potential advertisers.
In house, there was a general sense of excitement about the documentary and for the real-time format.
Sidney had screened and outlined the guts of the first few installments, and as those began to air, she would work to put together new episodes from revelations she hoped to discover as she dug into Grace Sebold, Julian Crist, their pasts, and the events at Sugar Beach.
The anticipation over what she might turn up was the genesis of the buzz within the network, and the source of angst Sidney felt in her stomach.
As she sat at her desk, she reminded herself again, as her heart rate began to rise and the voice in the back of her head whispered its doubts, she didn’t have to show the audience who killed Julian Crist. She just needed to present coherently the possibility that it wasn’t Grace Sebold.
The edit suggestions Sidney was working on came from Ray Sandberg, who didn’t have a creative bone in his body, but who felt the need to tweak the pilot before he wrote a check.
Before Sidney could disagree with Ray’s suggestions, Graham Cromwell had given Sidney a discouraging headshake during the meeting that told her everything she needed to know.
Say yes to the edits in order to get the documentary off the ground.
Graham’s subtle gesture was a reminder that Sidney was not creating a documentary to be optioned for distribution, but was instead kowtowing to network executives to get her project approved.
If she could hurdle this initial obstacle, Graham promised she’d have more creative control going forward.
And so, with a broad smile, Sidney had spent the morning with the administrators, sales managers, and general bureaucrats of the network’s news division, listening to the suggested edits to the pilot episode of The Girl of Sugar Beach.
And now, after these final tweaks, the documentary’s maiden episode was slated to air in the beginning of June.
The summary she had screened in the media room a week before had enough content for four one-hour episodes.
Sidney’s goal over the next couple of weeks was to find enough material, and new and relevant evidence, for the next four installments.
And then, somehow, create a conclusion that would span the final two episodes and turn up enough proof to show that Grace Sebold is not as guilty as the world believes.
It was a tall task, and not for the first time, Sidney considered that she had bitten off more than she could chew.
And there lay the dilemma of trying to break into an industry: When your pitch is so strong that people like Dante Campbell start to believe in you, along with their confidence comes the pressure to deliver.
Today, after a year of reviewing Grace Sebold’s case and reading the hundreds of letters she and Ellie Reiser had written to her, after researching, interviewing, and creating the rough cuts of the opening episodes, and after her official pitch, Sidney was no longer chasing this project.
The documentary was a go. Now she was chasing relevance.
Now it was time to deliver. Her first deadline felt like a tightening noose around her neck, which was why, when she looked up from her computer to see Luke Barrington strolling into her office, she let out a long sigh.
“What do you need, Luke?”
“It looks like you need more than I do. You need a story, and I’m not sure you have one.” The Bear’s voice echoed off the walls of her office.
“Thanks for your concern. I’ll manage.”
“Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Have a story?”
“Yes, Luke. I have a story. And work to do, so . . .”
“You know,” Luke said.
Sidney heard his deep, fake voice begin, as if he were imparting some piece of wisdom to his audience.
“This thing of yours. This crusade to help victims of wrongful conviction . . . it’s noble. It’s quite a niche, but is it sustainable?”
“Is it what?”
“Sustainable. Can you make a career out of it? You see, my career is the news. Politics, which has forever been and will forever be.”
“I guess you’re covered then. But I don’t like politics.”
“I’m not worried about my career.”
Sidney smiled. “Don’t worry about mine, either, Luke. I might be just a feeble woman, but I can manage just fine. And I don’t like being harassed.”
He offered a condescending laugh. “I’m not harassing you. I’m trying to help you. Are there actually that many wrongfully convicted people out there? Are you going to save them all? One after another?”
“Right now, I’m only worried about one of them. And I’m under deadline, Luke, so give me some privacy.”
“Where does it come from? This crusade of yours?”
“It comes from three successful documentaries. I know you’re not going to acknowledge anyone’s success besides your own, but my interest comes from the fact that I’ve done this three other times with great success.”
Luke puckered his lower lip and tilted his head to the side like a dog that heard a high-pitched whistle. “I’d classify the success as moderate more than great, but that’s neither here nor there. And I was only asking to discover your influence. Many people ask me mine.”
Sidney went back to her edits without taking the bait.
“You seem like you’re busy, I’ll let you get back to work.”
“Perfect,” Sidney said.
“If you need any advice, let me know.”
This caused Sidney to smile. “Luke, you’ve never made a documentary series in your life, even though you slapped your name on the one I created for the network last year. Why would I ask you for advice?”
Now Luke smiled. “Not on how to make your documentary, sweetheart. But perhaps you’d like advice on how to find an audience. I’m quite versed at that.”
Sidney rolled her eyes and went back to her computer as the Bear mercifully left her office. Even after he was gone, she could hear his plangent voice reverberating in the hollows of her office.
“Where does it come from? This crusade of yours?”
She went back to her editing, but forgot what she was attempting to accomplish in the current clip.
“Damn it,” she said as she pushed the laptop aside.
She glanced to the edge of her desk, where a lone envelope rested.
She had been avoiding it since it arrived two days before.
Finally she reached for it and tore it open, pulling out the letter, which was creased sharply in thirds.
When she unfolded the page, a small square of tissue paper rested inside, also folded neatly.
Sidney paused at the discovery, examining the pouch before carefully pulling apart the tissue. When she did, several crescent-shaped fingernail clippings fell onto her desk. She dropped the tissue and let out a long, defeated breath.
“For Christ’s sake.”