The Family Trade Read Free Page A

smiled back at her. “Is that your file on this story?”
    “Yeah,” said Paulette.
    “Would you mind leaving it with me?” he asked. He cleared his throat. “I’m kind of embarrassed,” he said, shrugging a small-boy shrug. The defensive set of his shoulders backed his words. “Look, I’m going to have to read this myself. Obviously, the scope for mistakes is—” he shrugged.
    Suddenly Miriam had a sinking feeling: It’s going to be bad. She racked her brains for clues. Is he going to try to bury us?
    Joe shook his head. “Look, I’d like to start by saying that this isn’t about anything you’ve done,” he added hurriedly. “It’s just that we’ve got an investment to protect and I need to work out how to do so.”
    “Before we break the story.” Miriam forced another, broader, smile. “It was all in the public record,” she added. “If we don’t break it, one of our competitors will.”
    “Oh, I don’t know,” Joe said smoothly. “Listen, I’ll get back to you in an hour or so. If you leave this with me for now, I just need to go and talk to someone in Legal so we can sort out how to respond. Then I’ll let you know how we’re going to handle it.”
    “Oh, okay then,” said Paulette acceptingly.
    Miriam let her expression freeze in a fixed grin. Oh shit, she thought as she stood up. “Thanks for giving us your time,” she said.
    “Let yourselves out,” Joe said tersely, already turning the first page.
    Out in the corridor, Paulette turned to Miriam. “Didn’t that go well ?” she insisted.
    Miriam took a deep breath. “Paulie.”
    “Yeah?”
    Her knees felt weak. “Something’s wrong.”
    “What?” Paulette looked concerned.
    “Elevator.” She hit the “call” button and waited in silence, trying to still the butterflies in her stomach. It arrived, and she waited for the doors to close behind them before she continued. “I may just have made a bad mistake.”
    “ ‘Mistake?’” Paulette looked puzzled. “You don’t think—”
    “He didn’t say anything about publishing,” Miriam said slowly. “Not one word. What were the other names on that list of small investors? The ones you didn’t check?”
    “The list? He’s got—” Paulette frowned.
    “Was Somerville Investments one of them?”
    “Somerville? Could be. Why? Who are they?”
    “Because that’s—” Miriam pointed a finger at the roof and circled. She watched Paulette’s eyes grow round.
    “I’m thinking about magazine returns from the newsstand side of the business, Paulie. Don’t you know we’ve got low returns by industry standards? And people buy magazines for cash.”
    “Oh.”
    “I’m sorry, Paulie.”
    When they got back to Miriam’s cubicle, a uniformed security guard and a suit from Human Resources were already waiting for them.
    “Paulette Milan? Miriam Beckstein?” said the man from HR. He checked a notepad carefully.
    “Yes?” Miriam asked cautiously. “What’s up?”
    “Would you please follow me? Both of you?”
    He turned and headed for the stairwell down to the main entrance. Miriam glanced around and saw the security guard pull a brief expression of discomfort. “Go on, ma’am.”
    “Go on,” echoed Paulette from her left shoulder, her face white.
    This can’t be happening, Miriam thought woodenly. She felt her feet carrying her toward the staircase and down, toward the glass doors at the front.
    “Cards, please,” said the man from Human Resources. He held out his hand impatiently. Miriam passed him her card reluctantly: Paulette followed suit.
    He cleared his throat and looked them over superciliously. “I’ve been told to tell you that The Industry Weatherman won’t be pressing charges,” he said. “We’ll clear your cubicles and forward your personal items and your final paycheck to your addresses of record. But you’re no longer allowed on the premises.” The security guard took up a position behind him, blocking the staircase. “Please