‘We’re closing the investigations department down.’
His bluntness was like a slap.
‘Closing it down? You can’t do that,’ she said, struggling to get the words out.
‘I can and I have. The decision was made weeks ago and now this gives it more urgency. The verdict is a major blow for the Chronicle and we need to go into sack-and-ashes mode.’
‘So I’m a sacrificial lamb? A way to keep the advertisers happy?’
‘Partly, yes. This is a business, Lara and it’s a business you are a part of. I need you to behave like it.’
She glared at him. She fully understood the financial implications, but the Chronicle was more than just a balance sheet.
‘You’re just going to roll over and accept this? Let Felix Tait win the court case and dictate our editorial direction?’
He gave a bitter laugh.
‘Don’t be so naïve. I don’t need to tell you that circulation and advertising have fallen off a cliff. We certainly can’t afford to lose the million pounds we’re going to have to pay in damages and then legal fees. Besides, the data doesn’t back up this sort of expensive reporting.’
‘The data?’
Nicholas carefully re-folded his napkin.
‘Do you know how many people read the Tait exposé, compared to the latest online Kardashian item?’
‘That’s not news, it’s entertainment.’
‘It’s what sells newspapers, Lara.’
‘I get that. But newspapers aren’t just clickbait. We’re here to hold society to account. If we don’t then we’re just a bunch of children rehashing press releases, recycling other people’s copy or writing titbits about reality TV stars.’
‘Those children are generating thousands of stories in the time it takes your team to write one,’ said Nicholas impatiently. ‘Open your eyes Lara, seventy per cent of our revenue comes from the digital side of the business. We simply haven’t got the time or the money for investigations. We need to have compulsive, fast-turnaround news, we need eyeballs on the page…’
‘Now that’s bullshit,’ she spat.
Nicholas looked at her for a long moment.
‘Then leave.’
Lara froze. Nicholas was her father’s brother and sometimes it caught her by surprise how alike they were. Not in temperament, but the fierce blue eyes. And in their conviction that they were always right.
‘Seriously, Lara,’ he said. You really don’t need the job. My brother left you enough money and investments that you could spend your days lying on a beach. Why don’t you? At least for a few months.’
‘I don’t want a holiday, Nicholas. I want justice,’ she said.
‘Well good luck with that, darling,’ he replied. ‘Justice isn’t part of our business model anymore.’
Chapter 2
On any other day, Lara would have been enjoying herself. The Engineer was a chic bar with warm lighting, cold wine and a congregation of hipsters with great bone structure. It was the sort of place she’d meet a group of friends on a Friday night, a staging post for an expedition into the West End or to one of a revolving line-up of restaurants or underground art happenings. But tonight everything seemed so hollow and pointless. Even the presence of her best friend couldn’t lift her mood.
‘Come on, Lara,’ said Sandrine in her lilting accent. ‘I know it’s bad news about your job, but look around you. You’re right at the centre of it all, in London, the second greatest city in world, and that very cute guy over there is looking at you.’
‘Which guy?’ said Lara, reluctantly lifting her gaze.
‘The one in the dungarees.’
‘You mean the rich kid pretending to be a painter? Sandrine, he’s about ten years younger than me. Probably wondering what someone’s mum is doing lowering the tone of his favourite bar.’