The Billionaire's Revenge (Tycoon Billionaires 3)

“Hi,” Eleanor said. “Can we come in?”

He hesitated. “Why?”

“We just want to talk to you,” Joseph said.

“But why?” he asked.

“Because I think you were right,” Eleanor said. “You were right about News Scape being corrupt and I want you to tell us everything you know about their underhand reporting techniques.”

He stared at them for a moment, then stepped back to let them in. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“You’re not planning to attack us with your plastic gun again then?” Joseph asked with a smirk.

Bob wrung his hands. “No. But my shotgun’s in the kitchen; ready and loaded.”

Joseph’s grin faded and he nodded. “Right.”

“Come through.”

He led them to the living room, which also seemed to have been frozen in time – it was like a museum of American history. It was impeccably neat and tidy, with a dark blue carpet, bold patterned wallpaper, net curtains, velvet-upholstered wooden chairs, and long windows that allowed the winter sunlight to flow through in shafts, lightening up the room. It smelled of polish and home-baking.

“Do you live with your mother?” Eleanor asked.

“No… I don’t have any family.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Please sit.”

They all sat down. There was a grandfather clock standing by an antique writing desk, tick-tocking loudly in the silence.

“I’m sorry about last time,” Bob said. “I’d just got out of prison. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“It’s okay,” Eleanor said. “Did you get arrested for that?”

“Yeah.” He picked at some loose skin on his thumb. “But the police didn't file charges, and told me to go home and to never return to New York.”

“Well, it seems nice and peaceful here,” Joseph said.

“Yeah it was… until you showed up.”

He threw them a cynical grin and the awkwardness unravelled as his unexpected humour softened the tension.

Eleanor pulled a notepad out of her purse. “Can you tell me what happened in the run-up to your arrest – in your own words? How did you get caught? Why did Blair Robertson drop you so fast?”

“I was the fall guy,” Bob said. “After I was initially arrested for using underhand methods to get my stories, Robertson said he’d take care of me. But as time went on and the case grew more public, he paid me off and fired me.”

Eleanor gazed into his eyes. He seemed defeated and broken.

He shook his head and continued. “Obviously I’m now unemployable in the media. I only ever wanted to be a journalist. To try to make a difference, but now I’m spent, because Robertson threw me to the lions – implying that I was the only one doing what I did – that I was just some evil rogue reporter who’d sullied his entire organisation. He said it was an isolated incident and no other journalists would ever employ such underhand techniques.”

Joseph leaned back in his seat. “Well, we know that’s not true. Someone’s been listening to my voicemails.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Bob said. “Loved your first album by the way, Joseph. Before the commercial machine got its hooks in.”

Joseph smiled humbly. “Thanks, Bob.”

“What other techniques do they use?” Eleanor asked. “I’ve only been on the job for a week, so I’m still learning. I know all about blagging… and obviously the phone hacking. But can you tell us what else you did?”