PROLOGUE
Shadoe
Donovan stood in front of the large office window overlooking the bay of Lake Monona.
His six-foot, two-inch muscular frame cast a shadow over the thirty-something
man sitting behind a weathered oak desk.
“When
did all this happen?” The man’s voice came from behind him.
“Officially,
the deal was signed last night.” Shadoe smiled, feeling a bit of pity for the
man. Hell, if someone suddenly walked in off the street telling me he’d just
bought the company I worked years for, I’d be a bit pissed off, as well.
“Why
this magazine?”
“It’s
small, virtually unknown...exactly what I was looking for.” Watching the local
ski team practice their routine to perfection, he felt their aches and pains as
they worked to hone each move with precision. He felt his own aching muscles
spasm in response.
“For
what? A tax write-off after you’ve driven it further into the ground?” The
voice came again, edged with sarcasm and irritation.
“Look
here, Scott—”
“My
name is Ric, damn it!”
Shadoe
turned from the window as one of the skiers completed a jump. “Right now, all
I’m looking for is someone to write a story. I want a fresh, unbiased unknown
for this. Someone with the drive and desire to tell the truth as they see it,
who’s not afraid of a little bit of controversy.”
“Controversy?”
Ric Scott turned away from the files he’d been asked to get. “Just what the hell
is this story about, anyway?”
Shadoe
observed the man a bit closer. Ric Scott was going to be just the person he
needed to keep things under control while he was away on other business. He had
a reputation for being dynamic in his profession. So far, everything Shadoe had
heard about the editor-in-chief was right on the money, including the
shooting-straight-from-the-hip warning.
“Pro
wrestling.” Shadoe smiled, watching closely for the normal reaction to the game
he loved so much, a profession many people considered a circus of highly paid
performers. He supposed they could be right about the circus part. In the past
few years, he’d been asked to wear costumes his father wouldn’t have put on for
any amount of money.
“Are
you nuts? Controversy is right.” Tossing down a pencil, Ric pushed away from
his desk.
“I’ll
be damned if I’ll let you bring this magazine down with that kind of cover-up
story,” he continued. “We write the truth, not some sugar-coated soap! Our
readers aren’t a bunch of hicks; they’re intelligent, well-educated members of
society.”
“Take
it easy, Scott.” Shadoe walked to the front of the desk. “I’m not about to
change the format. I just want a writer to do this exposé, is all.”
Standing
over the man, Shadoe knew under usual circumstances his size and attitude could
be intimidating, but this wasn’t the case here. Even at a less imposing
five-foot-eight, Ric Scott wasn’t about to back down from him, and he liked
that fact very much.
“I
have a plane to catch. I don’t have time to pull rank with you. Let’s see who’s
on staff and go from there.” Shadoe pulled up one of the large winged-back
leather chairs.
Shadoe
listened to Ric as he read each staff member’s credentials. Sitting back in the
chair, he knew halfway through the files not one of the staff would fit what he
was looking for.
“Look,
Scott,” he began, sitting forward. “Everyone so far has experience. If the rest
of them do, too, I can’t use them for this assignment.”
“All
right, Donovan, just why do you want a virtual unknown?” Scott sighed. “Unless you’re
ready for a lawsuit, which, by the way, would destroy the magazine, an
experienced journalist would be best.”
“As
for the legal and financial condition of this magazine, it’s of no concern to
you.” Shadoe liked the directness and aggression of Scott. The fact that this
man was so protective of the magazine and its staff was a welcome relief, but
he wasn’t about to play nursemaid to the man.
“This
company can handle anything thrown at it from now on. As for the why, it’s time
for the fans to know how hard pro wrestlers train every day of the year, how
difficult it is on their families when they’re on the road ninety percent of
the time,” he continued, walking back over to the window, gazing at the lake
and the lone boater drifting out on the water. He felt much of his life was
like that boat, just going with the flow, never really coming to rest for a
long time.
“Besides,
I’m the boss, and I said so.” Returning to the desk, he once again stood with authority
over Scott. “Because it’s the sport that’s enabled me to follow the career I
love and cherish more than anything or anyone. I owe it to the wrestlers who
have been disabled for life or even given their life in the ring for the love
of the game.”
Shadoe
watched the reasoning register deep in Scott’s mind as he let him think. He
glanced at his watch. His plane was due to leave in less than two hours. If
things didn’t progress right now, he’d never get through security and would
miss his flight to Hawaii. The cocky posture diminished slightly with each
passing moment until at last Scott exhaled in a small surrender.
“Okay,
I get the picture. I may just have the person you’re looking for.” Scott ran
his hands through his short, dark hair, hesitation flashing through his face.
“Great!
Who is he?”
“It’s
not a he.” Scott smirked. “It’s a she. There’s no real formal training or
experience. Just the drive and desire to write. Her name’s Khristen Roberts,
but she’s on a long-deserved vacation.”
“Perfect.
Put her on the assignment as soon as you can reach her.” Shadoe stepped toward the
door. “I’ve got a plane to catch. I’ll be in touch with the details soon.”
“What’s
your connection, Donovan? What makes you think you’ve got the inside track to this
‘secret’ society?”
Shadoe
turned just as he reached for the door. Pausing, he looked Ric Scott straight
in the eye, deciding quickly to tell him just how connected he was.
“Ever hear of ‘The Flame’?”
~~~ To Be Continued ~~~
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