Page 2 of Small Sacrifices

There's a deep sigh, and then Officer McNaulty extends her hand towards him. "Show me your driver's license, then. Just this once."

Once the officer has turned the license this way and that way, making sure that all the holographic bits do indeed sparkle, she gives him a stern look. "This was a one-time thing. Understand?"

Reid nods so enthusiastically that a curl falls behind his glasses, and he has to fish it out again. "Of course. Thank you so much!" Then he hesitates. Is he supposed to say something else, do something else?

The sound of a throat being cleared rips him out of his thoughts. He realizes he's been staring at empty air. The look the security officer throws his way is almost one of concern. "You may want to get to your office. If there's damage control to do, normal working hours don't exist anymore."

"Yes, thank you," Reid says. His voice is breathless with relief. An instruction! Instructions are always good. He gives her what he hopes looks like a thankful smile before he walks past her.

Officer McNaulty scoffs after him. "Don't let it happen again!"

Reid silently vows it won't. His determination grows stronger with every step he takes. The corridors are bustling. People are hurrying between rooms, some with their laptops in hand, some carrying large coffee orders.

It gets even worse when Reid enters the open-plan office he works in. The space has never been quiet in the short while Reid has known it, but today it's particularly bad. The hum of conversation is so loud that Reid wants to turn right back around. How is he even supposed to hear himself think in these conditions?

There are people everywhere, cruelly lit up by ever-efficient LED panels in the dropped ceiling. They're huddled in little groups around low desks, leaning against gray walls, talking, laughing, and drinking coffee. Yet despite the laughter, the atmosphere is so brittle that Reid feels weird moving in it.

Not that he has much choice as soon as Marisol spots him and waves him over. Reid takes a deep breath. It'll be fine. Even if he doesn't know the other woman standing at her desk, he knows Marisol. They're desk neighbors, and she took him under her wing as soon as she laid eyes on him.

It's not so nice when Marisol's first words after introducing their colleague as "Monique from city planning" are: "Can you believe this shit? As if the governor could ever be bought by Agrifarm! I mean, who even are they? Knowingly exposing children to pesticides,my ass."

Suddenly, Reid has to fight to keep standing on weak knees. It's not that he doesn't appreciate the sentiment, but…Agrifarm.That pesticide conglomerate? So far as missing pieces go, that's not a good one. And it's still only one.

"I'm sorry, what happened?" he asks, his voice hushed.

Marisol reels back. "How the hell do you not know? It was all across the news yesterday!"

It doesn't satisfy her to hear that Reid generally doesn't look at the news on weekends. She looks aghast, one of her manicured eyebrows raised high enough to disappear into the springy curls covering her forehead. Next to her, Monique scoffs.

"And you work in the Department of Public Relations?How?"

That earns her a tut and an elbow to the ribs from Marisol, but she doesn't seem apologetic. Reid feels his stomach turn sour. He's just trying to protect his peace and curtail his anxiety. But clearly, that's led him to be unprepared for work today. The judgment makes his ears burn.

"TheNew York Timespublished a hit piece," Marisol says just as Mr. Wright slams open the door to the office and every conversation around them suddenly ceases. They watch the man make large strides across the room without looking at anyone and then close the door to his adjoining personal office with only slightly less force. People immediately start talking again.

"You know how the governor is from Chesterton? The children at the elementary school there keep getting sick, and have been for a while now. Really nasty stuff. So they did tests that showed pesticides in the soil." With an uncomfortable look at Mr. Wright’s door, Marisol shifts in her office chair. It creaks."Turns out that land was donated by Agrifarm, and the governor was the one who decided they should build a school on it. I bet he regrets that now."

Reid doesn't need her to complete the sentence. Pesticides in the soil on land donated by a manufacturer of pesticides can have only one conclusion. All of a sudden, he feels lightheaded.

"Has the governor responded yet?"

Before Marisol can answer, Mr. Wright rips open his office door. "Listen up, people!" His voice booms so loudly Reid can feel it vibrate in his chest. "I'll say it one time only: Keep your mouths shut. If anyone asks, Governor Mackenzie isn't ready to give a statement without having a full understanding of the situation. That's the only thing you tell anyone. You don't defend him, you don't apologize, you don't say jack if you wanna keep your job. Hear me?"

There are nods and murmurs all around the room. Mr. Wright frowns, nods once, and then seals himself in his office again. All around him, Reid can see his colleagues jump at the sound of the door being slammed. In a rare turn of events, he himself is too distracted to startle. His thoughts are circling wildly, but he keeps returning to one point.

They're in the PR department. And that order doesn't sound like it's part of a complete strategy. This is going to be an interesting day.

Chapter 2: Late-night research

The persistent hum around the office tells Reid that he isn't the only one unhappy with the lack of information. Such a crucial issue, and they get nothing?

It takes a while for people to lose hope, but eventually, everyone goes back to their own desks. Presumably to covertly google the subject and find out what they're not being told by the people whoshouldbe talking to them about it. Just like Reid is doing.

The article in theNew York Timesis devastating to read, with its descriptions of sick children and accusations of corruption. It is not, however, a hit piece. Which only makes it worse. With every measured word he reads, Reid's stomach twists further until it feels all tangled up and painful.

There are things he doesn't understand, like the fact that the pesticides in the ground don't seem to have affected the childrenuntil the school redid the playground. How does that happen? But most of what is said is immediately supported by not just anecdotes, but both scientific testing and small newspaper articles chronicling the parents' earliest complaints.

Yes, Governor Mackenzie championed the building of an elementary school in his hometown when he was still a senator. And yes, that school was built on land donated to the community by Agrifarm, the warehouses previously built on the parcel long torn down. Warehouses once used to store pesticides. And then, when children got sick, and the parents tried to get help, they were gaslit.

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