Leigh Cameron walked through The Media Tower's revolving doors. With one whirl, she
found herself inside, the warm June breeze replaced by the cold slap of the structure's climate
controlled air. Every surface of the impressive glass building sparkled in the early morning
sunlight. She strode to the elevator bay, blinking against the play of the sun's rays on the white
The phone call she'd received in the wee hours of the night still echoed in her ears. "Your
father passed away this morning." She inhaled deeply, willing herself to remain calm. At least it
had been Uncle Bruce's familiar voice who'd broken the news and not some anonymous estate
She stepped off on the sixth floor and flashed her ID card at the commissionaire. It was
barely eight thirty and already, The New York Star buzzed with activity. She strode through the
newsroom, oblivious of the stares burning into her back. At close to six feet in heels and with her
mane of copper ringlets, people always gawked - especially men.
She walked into her boss's office and smiled despite herself. The man's little corner of the
universe was a shrine to his own accomplishments. "We love Jack Lang" stretched across the
entire back wall of the space in big bold letters. The words adorned one of the New York Star's
recent promotional posters that had, no doubt, been hung there by Jack himself. The Star's
readers loved his daily column. The quote had been lifted from a fan letter.
"Nice poster, Jack."
"Admit it, Cameron. You're jealous." He leaned back from the bluish glow of his
Leigh cocked her right eyebrow.
"You're early." He pulled out a chair. "Weren't you covering the Dance Hall Theater's
opening gala last night?"
She nodded, and took the seat he offered.
"Everything all right?"
The room became unbearably small and stuffy, and her throat tightened. "My father
passed away this morning."
"Ah, jeez. I'm sorry, kiddo. You okay?"
She looked up to find Jack leaning