Operation Cinderella (9 page)

Holy shit!
Macie blinked, at first disbelieving her eyes. Talk about hitting pay
dirt
. Links to “erotica” chat rooms, sketchy “costuming” sites, and yes, seriously raunchy porn greeted her. She spotted what was obviously a kiddie porn site among the list and anger bubbled up inside her. Playing with adults was one thing, but getting your kicks from kids was beyond sick. Hands shaking, she took a screen shot, logged off and back on again as a guest, and e-mailed it to herself, then deleted the copy from the Sent folder.

Queasy, she stepped away from the desk. What the hell was wrong with her? She’d just been handed the equivalent of Mannon’s severed head on a platter and the best she could do was pray she didn’t puke. She should feel relieved, vindicated, triumphant, but instead what she felt was absurdly, irrationally let down. More than let down, she felt crushed, as though she’d just found out Santa Claus was a myth and the tooth fairy just another fake. She’d been halfway to believing that, politics aside, Ross Mannon might be an actually decent guy, but now she saw she’d been right about him from the beginning. On the surface he might look like a prince but beneath that patina of man pretty was a warty frog waiting to leap free. Worse, he was the scum on the bottom of the pond where the other frogs lived—so much for friggin’ fairy tales.

She straightened her shoulders and willed her stomach to calm. It was time to stop acting like a rookie and start being the professional she’d worked so hard to become. The full story remained to be flushed out, but in the interim, this update on Ross’s Internet trolling should satisfy Starr that she really was on to something big.

Back in her room, she forwarded the screenshot to Starr with a cc: to Terri. She’d just dropped her phone in the bottom of a dresser drawer when she heard stirring in the foyer—Ross, of course. The sick son-of-a-bitch was home early and likely eager to log in some more perverted private playtime with his laptop. Macie stood, sucked down a deep breath, and reached for her game face. She drew the door closed behind her and stepped out, the plush hallway carpet seeming to suck at her soles, and her body trembling. Why did this suddenly feel so…
hard
?

“Did you have a nice day?” she asked, coming out into the main room.

“I did.” He turned away from the coat rack to face her and she spotted it at once—a smear of classically dark red lipstick on his jaw.

More confirmation of his scumbag status! When it rained dirt, it apparently poured it as well.

Feeling as though an entire bacco bed were being dumped onto her head, she forced herself to take a step closer. “You have lipstick on your cheek.”

He turned to the wall mirror, tilted his face, and blushed. “Sheesh, Frannie could have said something.” He dug inside his pocket, came up empty, and settled for scrubbing at the spot with the back of his hand.

Frannie? Given his packed schedule, “Frannie” was either the most understanding girlfriend on the planet or one who got paid by the hour. Macie would put her money on the latter.

Apparently catching her questioning look, he supplied, “Sam’s mother showed up in town at the last minute, and we took the opportunity to have a parental powwow over lunch.”

“Your lunch was with Sam’s…mother?” Focusing on the lipstick leavings, she added, “It’s nice that you’ve stayed so…friendly.”

Turning away from the mirror, he grimaced. “Having a kid in common is a powerful motivator to play nice.”

A laudable sentiment—or at least Macie would have thought so if she hadn’t just seen his Internet history. Even if he had just come from a platonic lunch with his ex, he was still a serious sicko. She couldn’t afford to lose sight of who and what he was—and what she’d come to DC to do. At this rate, she’d be back in New York long before her allotted six weeks.

Operation Cinderella was moving ahead at full throttle.

Chapter Six

The next morning, all hell broke loose. Carrying his open laptop into the kitchen, Ross wore a face reddened with fury and his tie loose about his neck. Macie tensed. Had he found out about her snooping? Had Sam revealed her suspicions so soon? She glanced over to the kid, expecting to see a smirk, but for once Sam seemed to have nothing sarcastic or otherwise to say. Picking poppy seeds off a bagel, she hunkered on one of the counter stools, head down and mouth shut.

“Dr. Mannon, whatever is the matter?” Macie asked, not entirely successful at smoothing the tremor from her tone.

He slammed the laptop atop the breakfast bar, rattling the glasses of orange juice she’d just poured. “See for yourself.”

The screen showed the
On Top
blog with the header for that day’s post, “Perverse Pleasures? Conservative Media Pundit, Ross Mannon, Addicted to…‘Love’?”

“The station’s PR people run a daily Google Alert to track media hits,” he explained, raking a hand through his shower-damp hair. “The search engine brought up this…crap. Apparently late yesterday, an ‘anonymous reader’ broke the story on my supposed Internet pornography addiction.” He shook his head, color still high. “The sites they list turn my stomach.”

Staring at the screen, Macie felt almost as stunned as he did. Apparently Starr had taken her “interim report” and published it as fact.

“I’m sorry,” she said, surprised that she actually was.

Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Sam, face paling. Then again what kid, no matter how tough talking, wouldn’t be devastated to discover that her dad was a porn addict? Thanks to Macie, she just had.

Turning her gaze back on Mannon, she asked, “What are you going to do?”

“The station’s legal department’s already on it. We’ll demand a retraction—and an apology.”

Feeling weak in the knees, she braced a hand against the counter. “And if you don’t, um…get it?”

“We’ll sue.” He closed the laptop without turning it off. “Hopefully the station will get behind me on this, it’s in my contract, but if I have to I’ll take on the sons-of-bitches myself.” He looked over to Sam. “I don’t want you to worry about any of this, honey. It’s all a load of—a big mistake, but I’m working on fixing it. Okay?”

Sam swallowed, looking like she might be sick. “O…okay,” she echoed, her voice unlike Macie had ever heard it, weak and trembling like…like a child’s.

He dropped a kiss atop Sam’s head. “I’m going into the office. I’ll see you ladies later.” He picked up the laptop and left.

The front door opening then closing confirmed he’d gone. Sinking onto the stool beside Sam, Macie looked down at the platter of bagels that no one, including her, seemed to want to eat. “Sam, are you going to finish that bagel or do you want to take it with you in the car? If we don’t leave in the next five, you’ll be late for school.”

Sam dropped the bagel she’d still held. “I don’t feel so good.”

Macie stood. “Nice try, but I’m not buying. Get your backpack and let’s go. Your dad has enough on his mind without getting a call from your school.”
Thanks to me
, she silently added.

Sam stayed put. “I’m not faking, I swear.”

The kid’s stricken face told her she was telling the truth. “Sam, I know you’re upset, and I don’t blame you, but your dad said he would fix this and…and I’m sure he will.”

“It’s my fault.” Sam planted her elbows on the counter and buried her head in her open hands. “Dad’s going to kill me or at least hate me forever.”

Staring down on the kid’s bowed head, Macie reached for her patience. Fifteen was a tough age under the best of circumstances. Whatever was wrong in Sam’s world might not be any big deal, but right now it obviously seemed pretty big to Sam.

“Your father could never hate you, not forever, not even for five minutes. He loves you too much, but you’d better tell me what you did.”

Sam lifted her head from her hands. Her cheeks were wet and her eyes ran with fat tears. “Dad didn’t visit those websites. I did.”

The shock hit, not so much a full on strike as a face slap, a wakeup call. Stronger still was the relief, so strong it skirted the edges of what felt, suspiciously, like Macie remembered joy had once felt. Mannon didn’t surf for porn, not kiddie porn, not adult porn, either. He wasn’t a pervert. He wasn’t a fiend. Whatever his deep, dark secret might or might not be, it wasn’t
that
.

Thoughts racing, she listened to the rest of Sam’s tearful confession, simultaneously stringing together the details and strategizing what might be done to limit the damage. Pissed off that her dad had implemented the parental control function on her computer and inspired by the Declaration of Independence, which she was studying in her American History class, Sam had decided to stage her own mini revolt. She’d snuck into Ross’s study, found his login and password written on a Post-it note stuck to the inside of his unlocked desk drawer, and used his laptop to log onto the skankiest sites she could find. Not to get him into any trouble—she’d never seen that coming—but to prove that he couldn’t restrict her access and deny her “liberty.” The kid was considerably fuzzier on the nature of the exact object lesson she’d meant to impart, but Macie surmised it had to do with wanting to show that she was an adult as well as equal in the smarts department. That didn’t make logical sense, of course, but being a rebel herself, as well as her own worst enemy, Macie got it.

Plaintive eyes latched onto hers. “What am I gonna do?”

It was the first time Sam had asked for her help or even her opinion. Having her do so now warmed Macie to the tips of her toes. It also scared her shitless. Acting as someone else’s moral compass put her definitely out of her element, far out. And yet here she was with the poor kid literally looking up to her, casting her sad, hopeful gaze on Macie, waiting for her answer as though she were the Dalai Lama.

She reached over and laid her hand on the kid’s cold one. “The way I see it, there’s only one thing you can do.” She drew a deep breath, bracing herself to deliver the message that no child under any circumstances ever wanted to hear. “You’re going to have to come clean and tell your dad the truth.”

Predictably, Sam’s eyes bugged. “Tell him I’m the one who’s made the whole world think he’s a perv? He’ll
kill
me.”

Feeling like the biggest hypocrite on the planet, Macie squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to tell him alone. If you want, I’ll be there standing beside you. We’ll tell him together.”

Sam sniffed into her fisted free hand. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Now go grab your book bag so you’re not late.”

Other than the car radio, the drive to Bethesda was made in silence. Driving Mannon’s Ford Explorer down commuter-clogged Wisconsin Avenue, catching nearly every red light, Macie mentally calculated the damage already done. If a Google Alert had picked up the post, it had likely already gone viral. She had to call Starr and set her straight.

What about “interim update, extremely confidential” hadn’t been clear? More to the point, what had possessed her to send that e-mail so quickly? As a professional, the very first thing she should have done was to ask herself who besides Mannon had access to his computer. She should have dug deeper, ruled out every other possible person, before releasing her findings as fact. She should have…

The sign for Sidwell Friends was before them. She put on her turn signal and pulled into the school’s drop off lot. For more than 125 years, the nation’s finest minds had been formed on this campus of weathered stone and sprawling lawns. Sam, whether she knew it or not, was being groomed to take her place among them. Macie might be in the girl’s life for just six weeks, but she was suddenly struck with the gravitas of the charge she’d been given.

Glum-faced, Sam opened the car door and got out.

Impatient as she was to make her call, still Macie beckoned her back. “Sam?”

Backpack slung over one shoulder, Sam turned around. “Yeah?”

“It’s going to be okay—really.”

“Yeah, right, for you maybe. Once Dad kills me, you two can dump my body in the Potomac. With all the pollution, I’ll probably dissolve.”

Macie sighed. So much for a definitive détente. “It’s a good suggestion, thanks. I’ll pass it on to your father after I’ve finished sharpening the kitchen knives.”

“Or maybe an acid bath like in
Pulp Fiction
,” Sam added with a smirk.

Despite the dire situation they were all in, Macie found herself holding in a chuckle. Mannon’s kid was a character all right. Not many people would appreciate Sam’s morbid sense of humor, but Macie was starting to.

“I’ll consider it. For now, off to school, Morticia.”

Sam closed the car door, but not before Macie spotted her small smile. Feeling fractionally better herself, she reached for her BlackBerry.

Starr answered her cell on the third ring. “What’s up, Cinderella?”

“You tell me,” Macie said. “I send you an interim update and you explode the story,
my
story, without me?”

“Upset I let Terri have the byline, huh?”

Teeth gritted, Macie answered, “It’s not about that. That e-mail was meant as an update only. It turns out Mannon didn’t visit those websites. His…someone else with access to his computer did.” Mentioning Samantha might make things even worse.

Starr’s snort struck Macie in the ear like a spitball. “Yeah, right, and I’m Mother Goose. Are you sure you’re not starting to take this fairy-tale metaphor a little too seriously?” When Macie didn’t respond, she added, “Look, I made a strategic decision, one that will, in all likelihood, build buzz for your exposé. In the meantime, we’ll hopefully also generate enough interest to ramp up sales so we recoup our lost ad monies. In a word,
winning
!”

It was hard but Macie let her finish. “So, it’s all about the bottom line.” So much for Upton Sinclair, so much for seeing herself as a serious journalist. She was nothing more than a revenue generator, not so very different from the sales reps who sold the actual ads.

A sigh sounded. “Don’t tell me it’s taken you five years to get that, but yes, Macie, we’re in the magazine
business
. Not a charity but a business. Next time, don’t send me something you haven’t one hundred percent checked out.”

Gripping the steering wheel with her free hand, Macie firmed her voice. “You need to know that this time Mannon’s not going to be satisfied with attacking us verbally to his listeners. If you don’t take down that post and issue a retraction, he’s going to sue.”

Starr scoffed. “Let him bring it on.”

Macie knew her boss better than to expect an apology, but this callous disregard for the truth, and the consequences of continuing to support a lie, stunned her. “He won’t be alone. The network has deep pockets and his contract ensures they’ll use every last dollar to fight to clear his name—not to mention sue for damages.” The latter might be true. It might also be a bluff. Whichever—she only hoped it would work.

Starr hesitated. “I’ll have the IT people take down the post. As for the retraction, I make no promises.”

“But I just told you—”

“Did those sites show up in his web history or did they not?’

“Yes, but I know for a fact that he didn’t visit them. It was someone else. Okay, it was his kid. She did it as a prank.”

“And you know this how?”

Macie hesitated. “She told me.”

“Has it not occurred to you she might be lying to cover for her old man?’

“She’s not like that.”

Starr scoffed again. “You’ve been there what, a few days, and already you’re an expert on their family dynamics? Are you a psychologist or a reporter, Graham?”

The question didn’t merit a response, but Macie gave one anyway. “I’m a reporter.”

“Great, then bring me a story the public can sink its teeth into. I want it real, and I want it big.”

Starr ended the call before Macie could answer. It was just as well. What more was there for her to say?

It was a good thing she’d decided against driving and not only because she didn’t have her hands-free device and earbuds with her. She laid a clammy palm on the cool steering wheel and focused on calming her racing heart. She’d first come to New York to be a serious journalist. The same desire had brought her back to DC, yet suddenly and in so many ways she felt a long way from “home.” Worse, she didn’t know what “home” meant anymore.

By noon, the blog post had been taken down, albeit without apology or explanation. That was something, Macie supposed, if not exactly enough. Predictably a few regional liberal media outlets had latched onto the story but as far as she knew it had slipped beneath the radar of the national news—at least so far. She only hoped Ross’s PR people were sufficiently savvy in reputation management to have begun burying the story.

Evening rolled around. As usual, Stef had outdone herself—oven-baked barbecue breast of chicken, rice pilaf, and cilantro pineapple salsa for the carnivores and tofu sliders with rosemary-and-sea-salt-dusted fries for Sam—still, everyone picked at their food.

It took several aborted attempts, but finally Sam got the sentence out. “Dad, I have something to tell you.”

Ross looked up from the pineapple square he’d been pushing around his plate. “What is it, honey?”

Macie reached across and took Sam’s hand. “Go ahead.”

Looking between them, Ross said, “Now you’ve got me worried.”

Squeezing her hand hard, Sam drew a shaky breath and started spilling her story. Predictably, Ross was at first shocked and finally steaming mad.

“In sneaking to those sites, you put my computer’s IP address out there to be captured by everyone and anyone. The son-of-a-bitch who reported me probably also hacked into my computer, and now my career and reputation are on the line. I’ve been in consultation with the attorney for damned near half the day. Do you even realize how many hours of people’s time and thousands of dollars have been
wasted
? No, of course you don’t. Well, you’ll have lots of time to think about it because you, young lady, are grounded. You go to school and back and that’s it.”