“Now, why would I scoop someone who works for the same station as I do?”
“Not sure if it’s a good idea that I say that out loud.” His dad glanced over his shoulder. “Two reporters visiting me in quick succession, and everyone in here is talking.” His father leaned back slightly. “Interview me on your show. You control the narrative.”
Noah looked at his father's hands cuffed to the table, and Noah thought about the birthday card. The puck. The flowers delivered to Ziggy's house with his name. Monica's beaten face—early this morning her identity had been confirmed as Noah’s ex-girlfriend—on Ziggy's phone. All of it was orchestrated from inside this room by a man with nothing but time and the intelligence that had allowed him to live two separate lives for fourteen years without anyone noticing the seams.
“Just for fun, walk me through what the interview might look like,” Noah said. "If I were to consider it." He held up his hand when his father opened his mouth. “And for the record, I’m notsaying I am. I just want to hear what you think I should cover. How do you think it should go?”
His father's chin lifted slightly, and he tilted his head. It was a small tell, but Noah knew he’d hit a nerve. “It’s your show. You get to run it however you like. I’ve watched it many times. In fact, it’s very popular in here. We all gather in the TV room every Thursday night just to see who you’re going to go after next.”
Noah thought that last line was an interesting choice of words. “I wish I could say I’m flattered, but I’m not. And I’m not out to get people. I want to uncover truths, which is why I’m curious about why you want to come on my show rather than do an interview with Hugh. His reports and my shows are two very different things.” Noah avoided the one question he wanted to ask, and that was what truth Matias wanted to unleash on the world. Noah didn’t want to hear the lie.
“Because you’re honest, and I think Hugh is a scum-sucking snake who’s only out for ratings.” His father leaned back, pulling at his hands, but the cuffs wouldn’t allow him to cross his arms.
Noah almost felt bad for him. It would’ve been a nice power move. But the statement landed.
Hugh was far from a snake. Sure, he'd been acting like a cocky asshole since this whole interview situation aired, but Hugh was still young and hungry. Most reporters would allow their egos to get the better of them in this case. And Hugh wanted the ratings, but who didn’t? Even Noah knew he needed them if he wanted to stay on the air. But the real dig there was that Noah was keeping a secret.
So, now he had to decide what his next move was, and this was where it was about to real sticky. However, the reality was that there was only one way to do this.
"What would you be willing to discuss?” Noah kept his voice as even as he could—his resolve too close to the breaking point to do anything else. "Hugh's been reporting that you agreed to talkabout Angel. Is that where you want to go with this interview?” Noah’s heart thumped so loud in his ears, he wondered if his father could hear the rapid beat.
His dad’s eyes widened for half a second. Not long. But long enough for Noah to realize that Matias hadn’t expected him to go there. "That's at your discretion," his dad said. “But we don’t have to.”
Noah laughed. It was genuine, and he watched his father's posture shift by a single degree.
"What's funny?" his father asked.
"I couldn't do an interview with you and not ask about your son," Noah said. "Every journalist in the country would notice. Every producer would ask why I didn't of. I'd have to ask."
"Then ask," his father said. The smile returned, easy and certain. "I'd tell you I haven't heard from Angel since he was a teenager. That I don't know what became of him. That I won't discuss it." He tapped his fingers on the table. "You push. I dig in. You move on." He held Noah's gaze. "It puts the story to rest."
Noah looked at his father's hands. At the face across from him. He thought about being eight years old and believing his father was the smartest, most capable man in the world. How proud he’d been to be his son. Noah nearly choked on the thought.
He leaned forward and pressed his hands flat. "I wonder if you'd actually do that," he said. "Keep the promise. On live television, where you’d have the opportunity to blow the whole thing wide and tell truths even the truth-seeker didn’t see coming.”
"I've kept my word for twenty-five years," his father said. "What makes you think I wouldn't now?"
"Because I’ve been at this job a long time, and I’m damn good at it. I also know when I'm being played." Noah leaned back, dropped his hands to his lap, but he didn’t move his gazefrom his father’s. Not for a second. He wanted to watch every muscle in that man’s face. "This whole thing is a setup. You knew I'd never agree to have you on my show voluntarily. So, you manufactured a situation. Found a backdoor. Set up a reporter who thought he was getting the story of his career and used him to back me into a corner. That's not going to happen."
His father twisted his lips to the side, though it was still a smile. It was always a smile. "I could agree to Hugh's interview."
Noah stood. "Go ahead."
He walked toward the door. “We’re done here,” he said to the guard.
"You're making a mistake,” his father called.
Noah didn't turn around. "I'll take my chances." He moved out into the corridor. Another guard guided him through the two big doors that groaned when they closed. The first time Noah had heard it his heart jumped to his throat.
Now, that noise told him his father was locked up in the walls behind him. But being imprisoned hadn’t stopped him from reaching Noah. And now, Noah had stepped onto the board and joined the game.
He approached the desk, where his belongings were returned to him. Mindlessly, he stuffed them all in his pockets and waited for the loud click of the next door that led him to the lobby and to Jag and Troy, who were on their feet in seconds.
“I need to get out of here,” he said as he passed them and pushed open the exterior door. The October air was cold against his face, but it made him feel alive. And fucking free.
But he knew he was far from free.
Noah stood in the parking lot with the understanding that he hadn't won that conversation. He'd walked onto the chess board, moved a pawn, and his father had immediately captured it.