Page 87 of Cold Comeback
An hour later, Thatcher sat in the conference room under the harsh lights, looking like he was facing a firing squad. Blake had positioned the cameras for maximum dramatic effect. Rachel clutched her clipboard to her chest.
"Just be natural," Blake said.
Blake nervously adjusted camera angles, hands shaking slightly from too much caffeine. "Okay, let's start simple. Tell us about growth. About learning from mistakes."
Thatcher gave careful, media-trained responses that revealed nothing.
Blake pushed harder, and his voice signaled desperation. "What would you say to your father right now about the man you've become?"
Thatcher's facade cracked slightly.
"I'd tell him to go fuck himself."
Stunned silence. The cameras kept rolling.
Blake's quiet "Oh shit" was audible.
"I'm not performing redemption for anyone anymore," Thatcher continued, standing up. "Find your ending somewhere else."
He walked out, leaving the crew looking defeated.
Blake slumped in his chair. Rachel fought back tears.
"What do we tell the network?" she asked.
"My wife's going to kill me," Blake muttered.
For a moment, they were just two people facing professional catastrophe. Rachel straightened, and Blake turned to me with renewed hope.
"You've got the gravitas, Captain," Blake said. "End our film with something inspiring about second chances and leadership."
Rachel added, "We're drowning here. Please."
The weight of their desperation settled on my shoulders. I wanted to help them. They had families, bills to pay, and careers hanging in the balance.
But Thatcher was my guy, and my team was my responsibility.
"I need time to prepare," I said. "One more day."
Blake breathed out. "Of course. Whatever you need."
As they reset their equipment, I heard Blake talking to Rachel in what he thought was a private moment.
"I used to want to tell real stories," he said quietly. "Now I need to keep my job."
I found Thatcher in the parking lot, sitting in his car with the engine running but going nowhere. I knocked on the passenger window, and he unlocked the doors.
"You okay?" I asked, sliding into the seat beside him.
"They wanted me to perform gratitude for my own humiliation." His voice was raw. "Smile and thank them for the opportunity to prove I'd learned my lesson."
"I heard."
"I saw Blake's face when I walked out. He looked terrified."
I nodded. "They're people too. Desperate people, but still people."
"Doesn't make it right." Thatcher gripped the steering wheel. "I won't be their redemption story. I don't need fixing."
