***
Jim Breslaw watched the press conference, listened to Jerome Jaden’s disparaging comments about him, knew that his removal from the station had been strategic. With a lifetime of experience, he had known that change was inevitable. Reality shows, with a group of people, supposedly picked at random but heavily screened and their banality scripted, irritated him. And he knew that cooking shows, once a staple, cheap to produce, had had their day and that programmes that had a pretty host at the forefront, an excess of cleavage, a tight skirt riding high, were doomed.
He had to agree that Tricia Warburton was the last best hope, the programme well thought out, and with initial success, the result of more money spent on promotion and production costs than recouped from advertising revenue, the viewing figures would be guaranteed. But when the programme needed to be turned into a cash cow and with less money spent, the quality would suffer. Tricia Warburton, no longer staying in five-star hotels, relegated to four, flying economy instead of business class.
Vindication was his. He gloated, gained satisfaction, worried about his garden and life, saw no point in either. Grabbing a coat from a hook in the hallway, wrapping a scarf around his neck, and picking up the keys to his car, he left the house.
After driving around for what to him seemed hours but was no more than one, he found himself outside the television station.
It was calm, the time before the majority of those who worked in the building arrived. Parking next to a Mercedes, Jaden’s car, Breslaw entered the building, flashed his magnetic card at the sensor on the front door, not expecting it to open, but it did. A fear came over him, not sure if what he was doing was right, knowing there was no going back.
On the fifth floor, Jaden appeared startled when Breslaw walked in. ‘Jim, how?’ he said.
‘We need a word,’ Breslaw said as he pulled up a seat opposite Jaden. ‘You and me.’
Unsure what to do, aware that there was no one else in the building he could call on, security having failed to do their job – he’d deal with them later – Jaden adopted a relaxed pose.
‘How’s life been treating you? Good to be away from here? It’s no fun having to deal with the current situation, what with Simmons’s death and the new programme. Tricia will make a go of it, and I could do with you here to help out. How about coming back on a contract basis, paid by the hour or the day?’
Breslaw could see that Jaden was nervous. He was pleased, not yet appeased.
‘Why now? Why not when you had the opportunity? I’d always played fair by you. I could have taken a lesser role, given the snotty-nosed kid a hand.’
‘Not you, Jim. You’re not the sort of person to let go, no more than I am. I’ve still got people I need to answer to. You were regarded as a liability, a legacy of the past.’
‘The same as you, Jerome, or don’t you believe it? After all, we were friends once.’
‘Friends, but this is about the survival of the fittest. And you, Jim, aren’t. Time will tell if I am.’
‘With your money, you’ll survive.’
‘Money is not the motivator, never was. It was what I did, set up television stations, invest, speculate. You programmed, did a great job, but time moves on, the future is for the young, not for us.’
‘Then why didn’t you deal with my departure better? Why did I get the rough-hand treatment?’
‘Hardly that. We paid all monies outstanding, and I personally wrote a reference for you.’
Breslaw felt calmer talking to Jaden, reminded of the early days when they had worked hand-in-hand, pleased to make a small profit, but then Jaden had been the owner, and he, Breslaw, an employee.
‘The new programme, it’s not going to fly, you know that,’ Breslaw said.
‘The last roll of the dice? The Titanic has sailed, an iceberg looming?’
‘Poetic, but true.’
‘It may be, but I won’t go down without a fight.’
Platitudes, metaphors, neither did much for Breslaw. He had liked Jaden, the tenacity of the man, his generosity, and regardless of what had happened, he still did.
Jaden pulled himself up from his chair and went over to a desk in the corner. He withdrew a file of papers. He handed them over to Breslaw.
‘Read these,’ he said.
‘What are they?’
‘Projections of the new programme’s revenue, operating costs, how much we’re going to pay Tricia.’
‘Why show me?’
‘Eyes and ears.’
‘You want me to spy, but how?’
‘I want your advice. The station’s going down, and yes, it’s inevitable; believe me, you got out in time. But for me, it’s not so easy, too much money tied up in stocks and shares, and they’re heading south. I’ll be cleaned out if we don’t lift the share price, allow me to offload enough, use a middle man, someone to cover for me.’
‘You want me to act illegally for you? Insider trading, is that it?’
‘Nothing’s illegal, not until you’re caught. I’ll agree I was wrong to disparage you at the press conference, but then I had that awful Ashley Otway asking questions. What could I do?’
‘You could have spoken to me beforehand. I might have gone along with you.’
‘Jim, it doesn’t work like that, and you know it. There’s no A to Z on this. Your presence here shows me possibilities that I hadn’t seen before.’
‘Simmons, you knew about his stunt.’
‘Did I? It’s not written down anywhere, not that I was overthinking about it when you told me. I believe I told you to make sure he didn’t fall.’
‘Which you will deny.’
‘I will, as you must.’
‘Tricia knows the truth.’
‘She’ll not talk, not as long
