Chapter 1 : Put Up or Shut Up

*Gwen’s POV*

This was it. Today was going to be the day that I finally got to write a piece that I was proud of—one that I could stand up and declare was mine. While prepping for my current piece, I found another that I was sure Mr. Jeffers, my boss, would find equally as intriguing.

A modern-day Dracula inspired story.

If that wouldn’t get the public invested in our paper, then I don’t know what would. My heels stopped clicking on the tiled floor as I came to a halt in front of his office. I took in a deep breath, adjusted my silk blouse and black pencil skirt, then knocked on his door.

When I heard a grunt from inside, I slowly opened it to find Mr. Jeffers sitting behind his steel desk. He didn’t greet me, as usual. I walked in and closed the door behind me, then took a seat in the office chair across from him.

I tucked a piece of my curly brown hair behind me ear before beginning.

"Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Mr. Jeffers. I have some important information that I believe you will find valuable."

"Gwen, I only have ten minutes. Please make it worth my time," Mr. Jeffers replied as he cast a quick glance at his watch, signaling for me to proceed with my information. His eyes didn’t even move to look at me as he spoke–rather, they went right back to whatever he was editing.

I nodded, ignoring his rude attitude. “I have discovered a captivating story that I am certain will pique your interest and has the potential to make headlines.”

"Gwen, I've already assigned you a story to work on," Mr. Jeffers answered with a frustrated sigh. He leaned back in his seat and rubbed his bald head; his grey, sunken eyes bore into mine, daring me to continue.

I swallowed before speaking. “Well, that’s true… but I was wondering if you would be open to hearing a proposal I have put together?"

He rested his hand on his protruding belly, his eyes boring into mine. "Fine. Let's hear it."

I took a deep breath, fighting the nerves settling in my stomach. "Word on the street is that two rival mafia gangs, ‘The Brooklyn Blood Brothers’ and ‘The Blood Kings’, are fighting to control New York. Now, the—"

"Wait!” Mr. Jeffers cut in. “The Brooklyn Blood Brothers and The Blood Kings? Gwen, are you listening to yourself right now?" He laughed, shaking his head.

"Mr. Jeffers, I promise you this is real. I've done the research, and what I find most intriguing is Darick 'The Bloodthirsty’, leader of The Brooklyn Blood Brothers, has done some horrible things that’ll surely make the front page,” I explained, trying to keep my voice even.

"Such as…?" Mr. Jeffers waved his hand, motioning for me to continue.

"Rumor has it that he leaves gruesome bite marks on the neck of his victims," I whispered, hoping the suspense would win Mr. Jeffers over. “Vampiristic marks.”

With a hearty chuckle, Mr. Jeffers leaned forward in his chair, his hand instinctively finding its way to the scotch on his desk. "Gwen, whatever coffee you are drinking, I need some of it. There's no way in hell I'm letting you run this story."

My heart dropped to my toes at his words.

"What? Why not?" I exclaimed, tucking my hands into tight fists on my thighs. “I have more information on this Darick 'The Bloodthirsty' guy. Did you know his count of dead bodies is in the hundreds, and every person that speaks about him ends up missing?"

Mr. Jeffers only shook his head. "I’m not letting you run this story, Gwen. Not only would it serve to humiliate The Brooklyn Enquirer, thereby tarnishing our reputation throughout all of New York City, but we would also become the laughing stock of all of every media outlet. A story about vampires?" He laughed, but this time it was laced with a scoff. “No way.”

He then sat up straight, glaring at me with an unwavering gaze that conveyed his seriousness on the matter.

I tightened my fists, ignoring the stinging pain of my nails digging into my palms.

"If I could just get the chance to interview Darick, let him clear his name regarding the rumors about him, it would make for a hot story," I pleaded. I needed this story—I had a hunch it’d be the one to change my career, but he wasn’t budging.

"The answer is no, Gwen."

"Mr. Jeffers, I can't believe you don't trust me."

"This isn't about trust, Gwen. It's about me being your supervisor and telling you the story is not going to happen, period. So, forget about it!" he exclaimed, slamming his fist on the desk.

"Mr. Jeffers, please! I'm tired of being assigned boring stories that no one cares about. Let me prove to you that I can help set our newspaper apart from any other media outlets in New York. I've already done the research. I just need the go-ahead to start the case," I persisted.

"Gwen, this is not up for debate."

"But Mr. Jeffers, I-"

"Out! Now!" he yelled as he stood and pointed to the door.

God, he was such a jerk. I don't know what he had against me. I watched him grant the request of other editors that hadn’t been here as long as I had. Not to mention, he always seemed to let men choose the stories they want to run. What was his problem with me in particular?

I contemplated as to whether or not I should express my observations, but I could tell Mr. Jeffers was already mad, and it might not be the best idea to push my luck. So, instead, I gritted my teeth and grabbed my laptop bag. I proceeded to exit the door when Mr. Jeffers stopped me.

“Gwen?”

'Yes! Maybe he changed his mind,' I secretly hoped. I turned back around to face him.

"Yes, Mr. Jeffers?" I asked, softening my tone to ease the tension in the room and assure him I wasn't mad.

"You better have your piece on the local craft show on my desk by Monday," he scoffed.

A wave of anger flushed over me, and I impulsively slammed the door after exiting his office.

As I made my way to my desk, I noticed my colleagues staring at me with surprise. I was unsure as to why everyone was so shocked, as this wasn't the first time Mr. Jeffers and I had heated exchanges. Feeling dejected, I slumped in my chair and lamented the missed opportunity for a compelling story.

What if another news outlet took on the story? Mr. Jeffers was letting the story of the century slip right through his fingers. I couldn't believe he was disregarding the significance of my groundbreaking discovery. If I was being honest, it left me feeling disheartened.

I felt like I went out into the wild, slayed the giant, and brought Mr. Jefffers his head on a golden platter, all for him to say he didn't want it. It was an insult and a direct attack on my hard work and dedication.

I grabbed my laptop from my bag and logged onto my work account when I noticed a notification reminder to review the research I had collected on the two rival gangs. Despite needing to finish the article for the boring local craft show, my impulse got the best of me, and I couldn't help but click on the notes I had taken for the gang rivalry article.

I clicked the tab and began scrolling through my notes when Frank approached me and leaned over my cubicle.

"Whatcha working on, Goldy Locks?"

Frank was known as the office rat. He was young and eager to work his way to the top, or better yet, kiss Mr. Jeffers’ butt all the way to the top. I didn't particularly appreciate being called ‘Goldy Locks’. Still, Frank was known as the office gossiper, too, and he always had the latest news, so I endured his playful banter and nicknames in order to find out the information I would otherwise not know.

I quickly minimized my tab so Frank wouldn't see my notes on the mafia gang rivalry. The last thing I needed was for him to run his mouth and ask Mr. Jeffers why he wasn't assigned the case, which would have alerted him to the fact that I hadn't let the matter go.

Frank had only been at the Brooklyn Enquirer for a year and was given better stories to report on than me. I guess that’s what kissing up gets you in this world.

"Hey, what's your new project?" he asked, his fingers effortlessly gliding through his lustrous, sleek black hair.

Frank's grandparents migrated from Italy to America, and he has all the charming characteristics of a smooth-talking Italian, except for the accent. Additionally, the culinary arts were not his forte, which should’ve been a red flag within itself.

He brought his rendition of spaghetti during our most recent monthly office luncheon, and I was taken aback by the appalling taste of such a seemingly simple dish. However, he deserved an A for effort. Despite over-the-top antics and greetings, he has a warm personality, and I enjoyed our water cooler chit-chat.

"You don't want to know."

A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I gazed up at the ceiling, and a feeling of disinterest washed over me. The new assignment given to me by Mr. Jeffers seemed to be just another mundane and unexciting task.

"What is the topic?"

He strolled leisurely around my workspace, bent down toward my computer screen, perused the article Mr. Jeffers had allocated to me, and began reading out loud.

"The Local Handmade Arts and Craft Show. Brooklyn's annual indoor designer craft market features fine art, apparel, jewelry, accessories, housewares, paper goods, and more. Find unique, handmade gifts or treat yourself to something special. We promise you'll find what you're looking for and more at The Handmade Market.” Frank paused and looks at me. “Wow. This is sad," he agreed with a nod.

“Yeah. Not to mention, I also have to attend the upcoming event and conduct interviews with several vendors," I conveyed, feeling somewhat daunted by the task at hand.

"Why don't you request another assignment?" he asked.

I felt a sense of unease as I contemplated the idea of bringing up my interest in tackling a new assignment with Frank. Although he has always been a supportive colleague, I couldn't shake off the worry that he might push me for more information or even divulge my dissatisfaction to Mr. Jeffers, which could worsen an already strained relationship.

Not to mention, I didn't want to share the research I found on the gang rivalry with Frank because I didn't fully trust him. Despite our enjoyable exchanges, I worried Frank might take the credit for the story if Mr. Jeffers approved it.

"Frank, I appreciate your concern, but I'm afraid I don't have much of a choice in this matter. Financially speaking, I'm in a tight spot and need the money. It's not an ideal situation, but I have to weigh my options and make the best decision for myself. So, for now, I have to put up or shut up. It's not an easy choice, but I understand that it's just the way things are at the moment," I said with a shrug.

Frank gave me a reassuring pat on the back. "You are a great team player, Gwen. What a way to take one for the team,” he complimented with a smile before walking back to his desk.

I was tired of taking one for the team. I had been taking one for the team since the moment I started at the Brooklyn Enquirer. I stared at my computer screen and contemplated what I was even doing here. Maybe I should just quit and go independent. Who does Mr. Jeffers think he is? I'm a talented journalist and should be chasing hot leads for front-page newsworthy stories.

I reopened my browser tab and resumed reviewing the research I had found. I was determined to pursue this story and wasn't interested in covering a dull craft show. I surveyed my surroundings before diving into my report to avoid any suspicion. Just as I started reading my notes, Mr. Jeffers left his office and roamed around the room.

Dammit. It may be best for me to review my notes at home.

Mr. Jeffers stopped and talked with a few people, but I noticed he kept his eyes on me. My heart was pounding erratically against my rib cage as sweat started to drip from my forehead. I just know that he was watching me closely to ensure that I’m working on the damn craft story and not the rival gang piece.

Goddamnit.

I eventually closed my tab with my notes on Darick and his gang as I didn't want to risk getting fired, but I knew I couldn't let this story go.

Not yet.