Page 104 of A Ticking Time Boss

“You,” I tell him, “are the worst man I’ve ever known.”

He looks at me with eyes that are bottomless. They’re as wise and ancient as they’d been when I was a kid, when I’d thought he knew everything. I wonder when he learned that trick. “I’ve been in prison, Carter,” he says, “and I know there are men far worse than me.”

“I’m sure,” I say, “but none are my father. Don’t contact me again.”

“Carter…” he says, but I’m already reaching for the door. The New York air is cold and fresh, and I take deep breaths as I walk.

Audrey had always wanted to find the man who swindled her father. It makes me laugh, humorless and mad, to think I’ve found him for her. But if I tell her the truth, it might make me lose her altogether.

TWENTY-TWO

“Look at it,” Carter says, spreading out the newspaper on the kitchen table. “You’re right there on the front page.”

I push the pitcher of orange juice far out of reach. Nothing is allowed to spill on this Sunday edition. “Wow. Just… oh my God. I’ll remember this moment forever.”

Carter rests his head atop mine and we both stare down at the front page. “Your first lead article in the Globe.”

The headline is printed in bold, serif letters, and below it is a picture of the bodega. The photographer had gotten down on his knees to get a shot of the construction cranes behind it. They’re not related, but it paints a stark picture, especially with the accompanying headline. City does nothing to stop illegal evictions of businesses.

And beneath it: Written by Audrey Ford.

“It’s a great piece,” Carter says. “I read it last night before it went to print.”

“Booker’s additions made it stronger.”

“They did. She knows what she’s doing.”

I lean back against him. He hasn’t put on a shirt from his shower and his skin is warm. “No wonder she pushed it two weeks. Johnson’s source from within the construction company really came through.”

“It’s a stronger piece for it,” Carter says. “I also expect I’ll get a call from the CEO of that construction company in about fifteen minutes.”

My hand tightens around his wrist. “I didn’t think about that.”

He chuckles. “I don’t mind. I’ve gotten a few calls since Acture bought the Globe, actually. Most are fun to fend off.”

“Aren’t people… angry?”

“Most who bother calling are,” he says matter-of-factly. “When they thank us it’s usually by email. But I like to remind those who are upset—and their lawyers—about the First Amendment.”

I look up at him. From this angle, the tips of his eyelashes look almost golden. “Do they enjoy that?”

“No,” he says, grinning. “But I do. Now, you and I have to go buy a dozen of these.”

I nod, looking back down at the paper. “My parents will want one, and my grandparents too. I need to send a picture to my best friend. God, the longer I look at it, the crazier it seems.”

“You’ve worked hard for it.”

“Yes, but still… And I know I have a long way left to go. Booker said my writing style was solid, but too melodramatic.” I shake my head. “She’s probably right, too.”

“So you’ll continue to refine. That’s life.” He kisses the top of my head. “What solo investigative piece will be your next?”

I dig my teeth into my lower lip. “Maybe it’s a long shot, but I was thinking of finally doing that piece on con artists.”

“Oh,” Carter says. “Do you mean… trying to find the man who swindled your dad?”

His concern, the tentative note in his voice, makes me smile. The memory doesn’t hurt me anymore. It angers me instead, on my parents’ behalf, and all the others who were affected. “Yes,” I say, “but I realize that’s a long shot. I’ll keep trying, though. But the personal connection would be an in-road to a larger piece on con artists in the state, or across the country. Their methods, their victims, that sort of thing.”

“Right.” Carter slides his hands off my waist and heads to the coffee machine. “A refill?”

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