Chapter Two
1165 Words
Sophie’s POV.
Emily ran out in her pyjamas holding a baseball bat in her arms. “I heard screaming. What’s wrong?” she asked with a worried look on her face.
“Come see.” I squealed. She sighed as she dropped the bat.
She walked up to me and crouched over the laptop. “Oh wow, this is…nice.” She said as she read the job invitation email. “Could be a scam.”
I pulled the laptop towards myself. “What?" No it's not.”
“I mean you don’t know that for sure, as far as I’m concerned, I doubt any company sends out emails at night.”
I looked at her, my smile as wide as ever on my face. “Well, it's a good thing this isn't just ‘any company’, this is THE TORONTO CHRONICLES, the whole country reads their papers.”
“Well, the email does look legit,” She said skeptically as she eyed my laptop screen. “Well, what are you waiting for?” She clicked to reply, “Answer the email already.”
I didn't know if it was the excitement or the fact that a big company had reached out to me, but I replied without hesitating, confirming my interest in the job.
❦
I barely got any sleep after I replied to the email. I was up practising for ‘just incase scenarios’ that I was busy making up in my mind.
The email had all the information I needed in it. It was said to be available by 10 o’clock, I was there by 9 o’clock.
By 9:30, the receptionist directed me to a room, with the instructions ‘knock and go in.’
The moment I did, I felt nervous and a bit intimidated. There was a lady sitting behind a desk, she was going through a file, constantly tapping her fingers on the desk.
“Have a seat”. She said, her voice in a stern and firm voice.
I sat down. “Good morning.” I greeted.
She stretched out her hand and I handed her my CV.
She looks up, piercing grey eyes staring at me. “You’re here early, that's either desperation or nerves”
I smiled. “You could say both.”
“Your resume is…rather interesting. Fired from three jobs. That's not a record that applicants brag about,” She said, a displeased look on her face.
“I know ma’am, but I wasn't fired because I couldn't do the work, I was fired because I refused to look the other way and stay quiet.”
For the first time, she smiled. “Is that so?”
I stayed silent.
She chuckled. “You young journalists are all the same." You come full of self–righteousness and fire, but it all dies out, once you come up against power, money and lawyers. Why should I believe you are any different?”
“Well, Mrs. Margaret,” I say reading her name from the name plate on her desk “I think my resume speaks for itself. If I were willing to bend to money and power I’d still be at my previous jobs.”
She eyes me. “I’ve seen such confidence before, Miss Sophie; you’re no different.”
“Well, ma’m all my previous bosses can testify that I don't know how to shut up. And because I’d rather be fired again than silenced.” I said hoping the determination in my voice was strong enough.
Margaret arches a brow. “ So you are reckless.”
“I prefer the word relentless.”
She leans back on her chair, her fingers tapping the desk in a particular rhythm, whilst studying my face.
“I don't like reckless, Sophie, but relentless…that I like.”
My heartbeat spikes.
She leans forward, resting her elbows on the desk. The room feels smaller now, her grey eyes sharper. “Do you know what I see when I look at you, Miss Tremblay?”
I swallow but force myself not to look away. “What?” I mutter.
“Someone who is either going to be a thorn in my flesh… or the kind of reporter this paper needs.” Her lips tug into the smallest smile. “I haven’t decided which yet.”
I sit straighter. “With respect, ma’am, I think you just did.”
Her laugh is short, clipped, but real. “You have nerve. I like it. It'll either destroy you… or get you somewhere.” She flips through my CV again, taps the paper, then sets it aside. “The Toronto Chronicle doesn’t hand out second chances, Miss Tremblay. We certainly don’t babysit stupid and greedy journalists, and we don’t shield anyone. You want the truth, you chase it—and if it buries you, well then, you dug your own grave.”
“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” My voice is steady, though my palms are damp, and I rub them on my skirt.
Her tapping fingers stop. Silence stretches between us, heavy and deliberate. Then, at last, she nods.
“Hmm. Report to Markus Patel tomorrow at nine– note that he still has the power to dismiss you if he doesn't see you fit for the job. He’ll be your manager.”
I blink. “Wait—you’re offering me the job?”
“No, I’m offering you a chance.” She folds her hands together. “And before you start celebrating, know this—your main assignment won’t be fluff pieces or restaurant reviews. You’re going after Apex Global Industries– rings a bell.”
I think so…
“Toronto’s biggest conglomerate. Tech, oil, real estate– you name it. The man at the top…” She pauses, eyes narrowing slightly, “is not someone you want to cross lightly.”
The words land like a punch. My chest tightens, but I keep my expression calm. “Oh, w-why me?”
Margaret studies me again, as though weighing whether she made a mistake. “Scared? Well everyone else is too comfortable—or too scared. You? You seem just right; determined and fierce. And I like the energy you radiate. Plus you look like you've got nothing to lose”
My throat goes dry. I want to tell her I do have something to lose—Emma, my sanity, my fragile hope that this time will be different—but the fire inside me drowns it out. Instead, I nod. “I won’t let you down.”
Margaret smirks. “Oh, I expect you will. The question is how quickly. Don’t make me regret this sooner than I expect. You’re dismissed.”
I stand, clutching my bag, adrenaline buzzing through me. “Thank you,” I manage, and head for the door.
Her voice calls after me, crisp and cool. “Welcome to The Toronto Chronicle, Miss Tremblay. Let’s see if you can survive it.”
- Writer
