Page 99 of Blood Moon

“That’s exactly why I’m desperate to talk to him,” Beth exclaimed. “He must,mustcancel the broadcast of that Mellin episode.”

Richard sputtered. “That’s what you wanted to tell him? Then God bless his harpy of an assistant for not connecting you.”

“Explain, please.”

“Brady is maniacally pushing everyone to finish a video obituary for Mr. Longren, which will be tacked onto the end of that episode. Two sponsors have devoted their commercial time to it. As we speak, his long and illustrious career is being edited down to one hundred twenty seconds.”

Beth stopped pacing and dropped down onto the bed. “You cannot be serious.”

“Would I make that up?”

“Max would be horrified. He didn’t even want a funeral. Why is Brady doing this?”

“I suppose he wants to make himself look good.”

“Well, if that’s his goal, he’s going to fail miserably. Airing that episode will ruin him. The network execs and sponsors will hang him in effigy in Times Square.”

“Because of the tribute?”

“Because of the Mellin story itself.”

“What’s the matter with it?”

“Vital aspects of it are just plain untrue.”

“How do you know?”

Just in time, she stopped herself from naming John as her source. “The misrepresentations of the truth about that case that I’d come to suspect have been corroborated by individuals close to it. Trust me when I tell you that the story we produced is far from factual, and if it’s broadcast as is, Brady will never work again in this industry. He wanted top billing in the credits. Well, he’s got it. But he’ll rue the day. First, he’ll be a laughingstock, and then he’ll be a leper.”

Richard didn’t respond. Today of all days, she didn’t have the patience to deal with one of his sullen spells. “What, Richard? Talk to me.”

He cleared his throat. “I’ve, uh, heard through the grapevine that not only is Brady dedicating that episode to Mr. Longren, he’s giving him credit as executive producer. He had done the heavy lifting on it and would have signed off on it if he hadn’t suffered that medical emergency. Brady thought it only fair to give him top billing.”

“Oh my God,” she groaned. “This is a disaster. That episode is a falsehood. If it’s credited to Max, his reputation will be shredded. Posthumously, yes, but his legacy will be permanently tarnished.”

Unseeing, she stared at the Christmas cards dangling from the string tacked to the opposite wall, tapping her forehead with her thumb knuckle in the hope of dislodging from her mind a way to prevent this catastrophe. There was only one.

“Richard, I can’t let this happen. You have got to convince Brady to talk to me.”

“Me?” he screeched. “I hold no sway over Winston Brady. He probably doesn’t even know I exist.”

“Tell him it’s an emergency.”

“I—”

“Better yet, tell him his career is on the line. That should get his attention.”

“Beth—”

“Swear that I’m doing him an enormous favor for which he’ll thank me later.”

“Beth!”

“Plead, bargain, lie, whatever it takes. And don’t tarry. Go to his office right now.”

“Beth!”

“What?”

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