ZOEY The sterile fluorescent lights of Gotham Press and the incessant hum of printers were the soundtrack to my life. I couldn't say I loved my job, but it paid the bills, and in this city, that was no small feat. My name is Zoey Anderson, and I was a journalist, or more accurately, an investigative journalist—or, as my boss often put it, a "pain in his well-dressed rear end." I navigated my way through the cluttered newsroom, past rows of desks piled high with newspapers, coffee cups, and stacks of paper that screamed "deadline panic." As I made my way toward my desk, a hand shot out and snatched my attention. "Zoey, get in here," barked Mr. Theodore Harrington, our illustrious editor-in-chief. He was the man who wielded power like a sledgehammer and had a perpetual scowl etched onto his face. I couldn't help but roll my eyes before obediently following him into his glass-walled office. The nameplate on his desk read 'Theodore Harrington, Esq.' He wasn't a lawyer; he just had a
อ่านเพิ่มเติม
