Page 29 of Love in Training
“Let’s do this, ‘Mrs. R.’”
“Very well.” She gestures at my phone. “Record anything you like.”
I pull up the voice-activated software I use for this type of interview, then ask her to state the date and her full name.
“It’s Sunday, March fourteenth. My first name is Margaret, but I go by Mimi. My husband is Colin Vanderpool.”
CHAPTER
NINE
I steponto the street outside the Fillmore an hour and a half later, phone gripped tight in my hand. As soon as I’ve ordered my Uber, I dial Randall.
“Is a zombie horde descending on downtown Denver?” he asks.
“Biggest story all year—if my brain doesn’t get eaten before I can write it.”
“Figured you must have a good reason to call me at my kid’s soccer game on a Sunday.”
I grimace. Then my ride, a red Subaru, pulls up to the curb, so I don’t waste any more words. “Can we meet first thing tomorrow before the staff meeting?”
“I... yes?” Randall pauses as I greet my driver and check her photo. “But I was planning to?—”
“You’re going to want to make the time.”
Suspicion creeps into his voice. “Look, Caprice, if this is about covering PetExpo, I know it’s not your typical thing?—”
“It isn’t about pets,” I say, buckling my seatbelt. “I need a little guidance.”
He doesn’t reply right away, and I can guess the look on his face. He makes this sound when he purses his lips, like a fish drowning in oxygen.
I glance at the driver and lower my voice. “I followed up on that lead you sent—the one you must’ve known I wouldn’t want?”
“Did you now?” he says, voice pitching with interest.
“Yeah. Don’t get proud.”
He chuckles. “All right. And something came of it?”
“You could say that.” My heart starts racing again, the way it did the whole last hour in that Fillmore hotel room. “Did you know who she really was when you sent her to me, Randall?”
“No. Why?” His tone is curious. “Anybody I should have recognized?”
I let out a long, low breath. “I want to talk about that raise you’re giving me. Your office, nine a.m.”
By the time my Uber drops me in front of my building, I’ve collected myself some. Still jittery, but maybe less freaked out and a little more excited. Unmatched was initially a hot story due to its scandalous nature alone. But now that I know who founded it, there’s no way I cannotwrite more about this. Colin Vanderpool is the longtime CEO of Denver-based Green Industries, one of the biggest energy companies west of the Mississippi. He’s also a major local philanthropist. He and his wife give enough money to arts and charitable organizations to have their names on half the museums and hospitals in the state. They’re basically Colorado royalty.
It makes sense now that I felt so targeted after the initial articles. Mimi suggested her husband probably hired someone to scare me off. And of course, it worked. I backed off the topic—hell, I considered leaving journalism. But now I knowwho he is. I’m not foolish enough to think that guarantees my safety, especially against a person with so much influence. In some ways, it’s scarier. But this whole experience has helped me remember that exposing abuses of power is one of the reasons journalism is so important.
If I don’t break this story, someone else will. And after all I’ve been through, after looking over my shoulder and losing sleep the last six months, I’ll be damned if I don’t at least get my rent money out of it.
My phone rings as I enter my building, but I bite my lip and send it to voicemail when I see my mom’s name pop up. I’ll call her back later. I just need to get home, change out of these stupid heels, and go for a run to try and figure out my next move.
But as the elevator door opens on my floor, I am greeted by a too-familiar shrieking sound, and my pulse immediately spikes. I forgot about the goddamn dog.
“Fuck,” I mutter when I see my neighbor Darius, a broad six-foot-four half-Samoan man, pounding on my door in his pajamas amid the howling.
“Dar—hey, I’m home,” I say, rushing down the hall.
