Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ulysses
“Hey.” I offered my best smile as I found Finn leaning against my door the next afternoon. He looked as tired as I felt, after an evening when we’d had no answers and no recourse except to distract each other in bed. “You waiting long?”
He shook his head. “Cody let me in. Even offered to let me hang at his place until you came home. I didn’t want to intrude.”
I unlocked my door. “If Cody offered, then I doubt he saw it as an imposition. I’ve never seen him with anyone. Well, except his Aunt Genessa. That woman’s a hoot.”
“Can’t say I’ve ever met her.” Finn stepped into my condo.
I flipped on the light, closed the door, then locked it. “You okay? You look tired. I don’t think you slept much last night.”
He shrugged. “I was restless. Sorry if I woke you.”
“You didn’t. And you had to be at work early this morning. Long day?”
“I confronted Marlon.”
“Oh.” I put my messenger bag on the island and removed my coat. “Can I take your jacket?”
“Uh, sure.” He removed it. Finally, he met my gaze. “Marlon said some things about you.”
“Oh.” I hung our coats in the front hall closet. “Do I want to know?”
“A bunch of shit—about what happened in Vancouver.” He scratched his chin. “I don’t know if he was pulling shit out of his ass or if there’s more going on than what you’ve told me.”
“Oh.” I moved toward the fridge. “Would you like a drink? You look exhausted, and I don’t want to give you caffeine if that’ll knock your schedule off.”
“Diet cola’s fine. That amount of caffeine will be okay. I don’t want to nod off.”
“If you’re tired, feel free to crash. What do you want for dinner?” Because I’m just going to act like nothing’s wrong. Fucking Marlon. In truth, I didn’t know what Finn was trying to say—but pushing felt like the wrong move. Better to let him come to me.
“I’m easy. Whatever’s quickest.”
“Usually pizza. Although I can run to the taco place. That takes, like, five minutes.”
“I don’t want to go out.”
“Right. I’ll go—”
“I don’t want you going out.”
“Okay. So, pizza?”
He nodded. Then rubbed his face.
I yanked out my phone and, since I knew what we both wanted, ordered two large pies. Leftovers were a good thing—he could take them for lunch tomorrow. “Thirty minutes.”
“Huh? Oh, thanks.”
“Are you okay?”
He held my gaze—those stunning blue eyes assessing me. “I need you to tell me exactly what happened in Vancouver.”
I opened the fridge, grabbed two diet colas, and closed the door. I handed him one, then gestured toward the living room.
He toed off his boots, then headed to the couch.
I removed my shoes and followed him.
Night had fallen, and all the city lights twinkled in the distance.
A train whistle sounded—likely the commuter train bringing weary workers home from Vancouver after a long workday.
I cracked my can open and then sat on the couch.
Near Finn—but not touching. Not because I didn’t want to—because I certainly did.
No, that wasn’t it. He was holding himself apart, and I had to respect that.
Obviously, Marlon had said something and Finn was trying to work things out in his mind. A man conflicted.
That, I understood.
I sighed. Then sipped. Finally, I considered. “It’s both a long and short story.”
Finn cocked his head.
“Well, I graduated from the University of British Columbia with a journalism degree almost twenty years ago.”
“Okay.” Said with some obvious trepidation.
“I have a point.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“I got a job reporting for a local radio station. And I enjoyed it enough—but I wanted more of a challenge. So I took the plunge and went back to school to do a Master’s degree.”
“Well, that’s cool.” Although he was still eyeing me.
“I thought having the letters after my name would open more doors. That didn’t exactly happen.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. But I was determined and I kept pursuing all avenues. Newspaper and magazines—along with television, obviously—were still the main ways of reporting. Internet journalism’s much bigger now. But I thought the way to legitimacy was through legacy media.”
“Right.” He rubbed his forehead.
“Eventually I landed a job at the Sun.”
“Okay. That’s good, right?”
“Yes. But I worried it might not’ve been for the right reasons.”
“Ah. Because of your skin color rather than your writing abilities?”
“Precisely.” I rose and walked over to the window. “Stupid, right? I was a damn good journalist. Impeccable credentials. Several writing awards. Little stuff, but it all added up, you know?
“I do. Guys like Marlon, who get in because of nepotism? They should be working twice as hard to prove they earned their spot and it’s not just because of who they know.”
“Exactly. I was put on the metro desk. I started out doing little human-interest stories. Slowly, I made a name for myself. I got a couple of big scoops and broke a scandal involving a city counselor.” I swallowed.
“Accolades came. I got recognition for the work I was doing. And I still did stories about my old neighborhood—”
“Which neighborhood?”
I didn’t turn to face him. “Downtown Eastside.”
“Ah.” He didn’t have to say more. The poorest urban neighborhood in Canada.
Extreme poverty butting up against extreme wealth.
Crossing Cambie Street heading westward was like entering a new universe.
Plenty of poverty existed in Canada—which was a travesty in and of itself.
Indigenous communities suffered the greatest inequality—both on and off reserve.
Another horrendous truth the country had truly to grapple with.
And if one wanted to find the most destitute in Vancouver, one went to the Downtown Eastside.
“I tried to separate myself from my past, you know? Even as I wrote stories about my old neighborhood. I wanted to prove I was—” I flailed my hand about.
“I get it.”
Since I didn’t want to say out loud the tumult in my mind, I just kept going. “One day I was approached by a guy from my old neighborhood. Someone I’d known. Someone I’d known to steer clear of.”
“Okay.”
I rubbed my face. “He had a really good scoop. A politician on the take. Lots of proof, too. He was willing to show me all of it.”
“Just like that?”
“My exact reaction. Everyone wants something. But I couldn’t figure out his angle. I didn’t have money to give him. He didn’t want his name in the papers, so fame wasn’t his aim either. He claimed he was doing it for the greater good. To better society.”
“Ulysses?”
I turned to face Finn. “Yeah?”
“Too good to be true?”
“Yeah.” Memories flashed through my mind.
How much dare I share? Do I really want him to lose all respect for me?
“I took all the evidence and wrote a three-part hit piece. I tore that politician to shreds. I had the documents, after all. Proof of all the wrongdoing she’d been up to.
Ironclad. Hell, I figured the prosecutors could use the roadmap I’d drawn to convict her of corruption and bribery. ”
“But it wasn’t true.”
“Nope.” My gut clenched. “None of it. Not a single word. Everything I’d been presented had been fabricated—by some damn smart people.” I rubbed my forehead again. “I thought I was so smart. That I’d never be taken in. I followed all the rules—and still got hoodwinked.”
“That’s…shitty. You had to write a retraction, right?”
I cleared my throat. “The very first thing I had to do was explain myself to my editor. Worst conversation ever. She eviscerated me. And rightly so. Then yes, she sent me to my desk to write the biggest mea culpa ever. No excuses. Unequivocal I fucked up and every word I wrote was a lie. I wasn’t given even an inch of print to give my side of the story.
No one was going to give a shit about me.
Nor should they have. This was about almost ruining someone’s life. ”
“You weren’t malicious. Hell, it sounds like you weren’t even sloppy.”
“Intentions don’t mean shit when you fuck up as badly as I did. I was looking for recognition. For someone to pat me on the back and acknowledge I was the best.”
“Obviously that didn’t happen.”
“Nope. Lawyers descended to sort out the mess. Cops even got involved because it looked like I’d intentionally attempted to cause damage.”
“Which you had.”
“From the outside? Yeah, that’s what it looked like. The paper wanted to cover their asses.”
Finn tilted his head. “They didn’t think to do that before shit went down?”
“My editor was the biggest check—and she took everything I showed her at face value—like I had. But she was responsible for a bunch of reporters. She trusted us to do our jobs. And I honestly thought I had.” I moved back to the couch and dropped. “I was blind.”
“Why?” His voice was quiet. “You seem like one of the most level-headed people I know. Cynical too—which is why I’d have thought you’d be more…questioning.”
“She really looked guilty. I mean, our lawyers struggled to find fault in the documents I’d been given. Someone went to a lot of trouble to make it all look legit.”
“To what end?”
“That was what was so confusing. She was just one member of council. She wasn’t known for being a troublemaker, and she certainly hadn’t done anything controversial.”
“And yet….? I’m sensing a but.”
“You’d be right. She was about to block a major development project in her neighborhood. Big money was involved. Look, all levels of government are pushing for an increase in housing supply and rules are being bent—if not broken. She was about to speak out.”
Finn scratched his nose. “Sounds extreme. To go to those lengths—”
“His secondary motive was to take me down.”
“Okay, that you’ve got to explain.”
“I told you that I knew the guy.”
“From your old neighborhood.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” He held my gaze. “Just spit it out.”