The Family Trade Read Free

This goes to the top.”
    “But Sandy needs to know. It’ll mess with his page plan—”
    “Yeah, but someone has to call Legal before we run with this. It’s the biggest scoop we’ve had all year. Want to come with me? I think you earned at least half the credit…”
    * * *
    They shared the elevator up to executive row in silence. It was walled in mirrors, reflecting their contrasts: Paulette, a short blonde with disorderly curls and a bright red blouse, and Miriam, a slim five-foot-eight, dressed entirely in black. The business research wonk and the journalist, on their way to see the editorial director. Some Mondays are better than others, thought Miriam. She smiled tightly at Paulette in the mirror and Paulie grinned back: a worried expression, slightly apprehensive.
    The Industry Weatherman was mostly owned by a tech venture capital firm who operated out of the top floors of the building, their offices intermingled with those of the magazine’s directors. Two floors up, the corridors featured a better grade of carpet and the walls were genuine partitions covered in oak veneer, rather than fabric-padded cubicles. That was the only difference she could see—that and the fact that some of the occupants were assholes like the people she wrote glowing profiles of for a living. I’ve never met a tech VC who a shark would bite, Miriam thought grumpily. Professional courtesy among killers. The current incumbent of the revolving door office labelled EDITORIAL DIRECTOR—officially a vice president—was an often-absent executive by the name of Joe Dixon. Miriam led Paulette to the office and paused for a moment, then knocked on the door, half-hoping to find he wasn’t there.
    “Come in.” The door opened in her face, and it was Joe himself, not his secretary. He was over six feet, with expensively waved black hair, wearing his suit jacket over an open-necked dress shirt. He oozed corporate polish: If he’d been ten years older, he could have made a credible movie career as a captain of industry. As it was, Miriam always found herself wondering how he’d climbed into the boardroom so young. He was in his mid-thirties, not much older than she was. “Hi.” He took in Miriam and Paulette standing just behind her and smiled. “What can I do for you?”
    Miriam smiled back. “May we have a moment?’ she asked.
    “Sure, come in.” Joe retreated behind his desk. “Have a chair, both of you.” He nodded at Paulette. “Miriam, we haven’t been introduced.”
    “Oh, yes. Joe Dixon, Paulette Milan. Paulie is one of our heavy hitters in industrial research. She’s been working with me on a story and I figured we’d better bring it to you first before taking it to the weekly production meeting. It’s a bit, uh, sensitive.”
    “ ‘Sensitive.’” Joe leaned back in his chair and looked straight at her. “Is it big?”
    “Could be,” Miriam said noncommittally. Big? It’s the biggest I’ve ever worked on! A big story in her line of work might make or break a career; this one might send people to jail. “It has complexities to it that made me think you’d want advance warning before it breaks.”
    “Tell me about it,” said Joe.
    “Okay. Paulie, you want to start with your end?” She passed Paulette the file.
    “Yeah.” Paulie grimaced as she opened the file and launched into her explanation. “In a nutshell, they’re laundries for dirty money. There’s enough of a pattern to it that if I was a DA in California I’d be picking up the phone to the local FBI office.”
    “That’s why I figured you’d want to know,” Miriam explained. “This is a big deal, Joe. I think we’ve got enough to pin a money-laundering rap on a couple of really big corporations and make it stick. But last November you were talking to some folks at Proteome, and I figured you might want to refer this to Legal and make sure you’re fire-walled before this hits the fan.”
    “Well. That’s very interesting.” Joe