Detained

“Fuck off Mark, it’s not her call.”

Mark ignored Gerry. “Darcy, you understand what this story could do? Gerry’s right, this could be a deal killer for Parker. Are you sure it’s reasonable?”

Was she sure? Thirty hours ago, she’d let Will Parker molest her in a public place, pin her to a wall and tear her dress off, and she’d loved every minute of his anger, every second of his intensity. Was it reasonable? She had bruises on her hips from where he’d held her too tight. He had scratches on his chest from where she’s scored him. But Will had to know there’d be consequences. Had to know she wasn’t his to own, to command and control.

Thirty hours ago, she’d wanted Will Parker, the man, so badly she’d hardly recognised herself. But this was business. This is what she lived for, so now she just wanted his scalp.

“I’m sure.”

She felt the weight of Gerry’s heavy hand on her shoulder as he moved towards the door of Mark’s office. “Your old man’ll be proud of you.”

No, he wouldn’t. Brian would vote with Mark. Regard this as muck, as abuse of power. Regard his daughter as falling short of the ideal again. But this is what it had come to, this game between her and Will Parker. His abuse. Her power.

She stood to follow Gerry. “I’m very sure. From what I saw of Parker he is arrogant, aggressive and uncompromising. He’s guarding his privacy for some reason, and I think the public has the right to see what he’s really like.”

Because he was arrogant, aggressive and uncompromising. He was pugnacious and belligerent. And intelligent and funny and stimulating and inspiring, but those last four attributes were off the record, just as Will had instructed them to be.

Mark’s eyes had already returned to his screen. He was on to the next issue. “Clear it with the lawyers and if there’s no plane crash, whale story or footballer facing a sexual harassment charge, run it front page—above the fold.”

18. Tip

“What the superior man seeks is in himself; what the small man seeks is in others.” — Confucius

The morning’s radio and TV news shows led with the story of Australia’s most elusive entrepreneur unmasked as an abusive tyrant.

Darcy lay in bed listening to the early morning announcers bray their disgust at how a man as wealthy and accomplished as Will Parker could so abuse his power. Something should be done about it. It was disgraceful. It would hurt Australia’s reputation on the global stage. It was shocking and appalling. It was un-Australian.

Talkback callers agreed. Will Parker should be ashamed. He should be made to explain. He should be forced to make an apology. Why was he in China anyway? It must be a tax dodge. He was ripping off the Australian public. This is why there wasn’t enough investment in schools, because businessmen like Will Parker were evil capitalists. What was being done to compensate the poor man being abused? Was he all right? Who was Will Parker anyway? And what was the Prime Minister going to do about this?

She dragged herself out of bed and into the shower, standing under a torrent of hot water until her fingers pruned. She should’ve felt spring-loaded. This was every journalist’s dream. The big story that led the other news media; that created its own headlines. Maybe she was coming down with something.

She scarfed a bowl of cereal with milk just on the turn. She might’ve written the leading story of the day, but she still needed to get to the supermarket or she might starve to death. Who said journalism was glamorous?

In the office Gerry was holding court. Yes it was his idea Darcy went to interview Parker. Show the bastard it wasn’t dial-a-hack at the Herald and Gerry Ives was no one’s tame flack. She’d known Gerry would claim credit for the story if it took off, and race for distance, like a rat deserting a sinking ship, if it failed. Maybe this is why she felt flat.

She shook it off and accepted the congratulations of colleagues not snowed by Gerry’s bombast.

By lunchtime, Will Parker was the poster boy for everything wrong with extreme wealth and power. There were calls for him to be brought home and made to face the music. Exiled forever and stripped of his citizenship. The story was officially rampaging out of control.

“Way to go, Darce.” Col Furrows, Darcy’s workstation mate held up a hand for a high five. “Story is bloody everywhere. My cab driver told me Parker should be charged with assault and extracted.”

“Extracted?”

“I think he meant extradited.” Col had the paper in his hands. He studied the photo spread. “What was the guy doing anyway? This looks like a set-up.”

“It’s no set-up. That’s the photo stringer Robert Yee on his knees. Will had him hauled out of the ballroom by two security thugs then stood over him and shouted at him in Shanghainese.”

“No kidding? So you don’t actually know what was being said.”

“No, but you can imagine.”

“I can, but what did Robert say? He speaks the lingo, yeah?”

“I think he felt guilty about sneaking into the function and annoying Will.”

“I see you’re on first name basis with Australian’s most abusive businessman now? I thought you just took his picture.”

Darcy bit her lip. That was close. She liked Col. They’d shared a workstation pod for twelve months, since he arrived from the Review. But everywhere she turned she was hearing Will’s name, being reminded of him. She’d almost forgotten to be careful. “Yep, that’s right, I just took his picture.”