Just For This Moment

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

“I’VE BEEN OVER THE contracts with a fine-toothed comb.” Tucker McGee, attorney and sometimes community theater actor, sat back in his chair, an expression of regret on his face. “You’re up s**t creek, man.”

Myles dropped his face into his hands. “I was afraid of that.”

In the wake of Mr. Bondurant’s departure, he’d flat out lied to his staff that everything was fine, then closeted himself in his office, working his ass off until day’s end, and waiting until they’d all left to pull out the original contract to pore over it himself into the wee hours. He’d spent the last two days searching, in vain, for some other answer. Finding none, he’d brought them to his buddy to look over, hoping for some kind of miracle. No such luck.

“If you’d been my client when this whole deal went down, I’d never have let you sign this. Did you even read the whole thing?”

Myles bristled. “Yeah, I read it. But the possibility seemed so remote, it felt like it was worth the risk.”

“Why?”

“I couldn’t get a traditional bank loan large enough to fully buy out the paper. And the investor seemed perfectly happy to let me do my thing for the first year, once I explained my business plan. I never dreamed he’d want to pull out before the year was even up.”

“That’s the shitty thing about the law. It doesn’t leave room for assumptions.”

“But it makes no sense. He knows I can’t buy him out. He’s seen the quarterly reports. If he takes the paper in exchange, he’s left with something he’s already seeing as a poor investment.”

“Which he could then turn around and sell,” Tucker pointed out.

“Good luck with that. Do you know how long the paper sat on the market before I came along? Newspapers around the country are folding left and right. There aren’t many people crazy enough to take it on. Probably fewer who could make it work. Selling isn’t likely to make him back what he’s put into it.”

“You could counter with a new offer that gives the investor more oversight into the running of things. Feeling more in control of things might pacify him, if he’s concerned about levels of profit and loss. If he agreed, it might get you a stay of execution.”

Myles shoved up from the chair and began to pace around Tucker’s office. “No. I’m not taking orders from some yahoo who knows nothing about the newspaper business.”

“Well, at this point, you either come up with the money to buy out the investor or forfeit controlling rights to the paper—which could put you in a position of being replaced entirely and having no say in things at all.”

Hello rock. Meet hard place.

How the hell had he gotten himself into this mess?

That was a stupid question. He knew exactly how he’d gotten into this mess.

Veteran Newspaperman Forfeits Paper Due To Risky Investment.

He’d wanted to come home to Mississippi on his own terms, do his own thing, rather than finally joining the family business as had always been expected. He’d been so damned cocky about his odds of success turning The Observer around and dragging it into the twenty-first century, he’d agreed to less than favorable terms. And now if he didn’t figure something out, he and his tiny staff would be paying the price.

The potential answer is staring you in the face, dumbass.

But that would mean taking Tucker fully into his confidence, something he hadn’t done with anybody in Wishful since he’d moved here last September.

Is keeping that secret worth losing the business you’ve been killing yourself to build?

“There may possibly be a third option.” Myles pulled another set of documents from his messenger bag. “Before he died, my grandfather set up a trust in my name. The terms are such that I’ve never had access to it up to this point, but my grandmother is executor. If I can convince her that this is a worthwhile cause, maybe she can override one of his stipulations.”

Tucker took the copy of the trust and began reading through it. Other than a slight lift of brows, he showed no reaction to the contents. Myles made a note to remember that if he ever sat across from Tucker at a poker table.

“Well, that’s one of the more unusual stipulations I’ve ever seen in a trust. Did he ever tell you why he tied this to you being married?”

“Apparently a man isn’t truly settled down and stable without a wife. I meet the rest of the criteria. I’m of age. Can my grandmother overrule the marriage clause?”

Tucker shook his head. “She couldn’t change that even if she wanted to. This thing is iron clad. It’s marriage or nothing.” He paused. “Although—”

“What?”

“There’s no stipulation about divorce nullifying access once it’s granted. Feel like a trip to Vegas?” Tucker grinned.

Myles snorted. “Some lunatic woman from a casino? Yeah, I can just imagine how my family would react if I brought someone like that home. I’m already the black sheep of the family. I’d just as soon not be completely disowned.”

“Well, then, that leaves you with needing to find the money, either via other investors or fund-raising. I suggest you go talk to Norah about that. Hail Marys are kind of her specialty.”

“No.” Bringing in the city planner meant the whole thing likely became public knowledge. Myles didn’t so much care what the good citizens of Wishful thought about the financial situation of the paper, but he’d be damned if he’d give his father the satisfaction of knowing he’d been right. Warrick Stewart would delight in having the ammunition to take pot shots at Myles on every occasion.

“So, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet. But I’ve got forty-three days to figure it out.” He took the contracts back from Tucker and shoved them into his bag. “Thanks for meeting with me on a Saturday to go over this. I’m sure you had better things to do.”

“Yeah, the commute downstairs was a real b***h,” Tucker joked. “You wanna come up for a beer? Watch the game? The Rebs are taking on Duke in about half an hour.”

“Nah, my bracket’s already busted.” He wasn’t in the mood for March Madness just now, even if his alma mater was doing well in the tournament.

“Offer stands if you change your mind.”

Setting out from Tucker’s office, Myles headed across the town green. He loved his adopted hometown. He loved living in a place where almost everyone knew his face, his name. Where he got a life story along with a cup of coffee. And where people still valued other people, putting them above the bottom line. He’d needed that change after years of anonymous living in cities across the country, slowly watching the evolution of journalism into the toy of corporate giants who’d forgotten that true journalism held people as its beating heart. No way was he about to give that up.

Myles hadn’t realized he was heading for the fountain until he stopped in front of it. The heart of town, the huge marble fountain dated almost all the way back to the Civil War. Fed from nearby Hope Springs, it allegedly had the power to grant wishes. Norah’s entire rural tourism campaign centered around the legend. Every light pole on Main Street flew the same banner: Welcome to Wishful, Where Hope Springs Eternal.

More apt to be cynical than not, Myles had to admit, the idea was appealing. Who couldn’t use a little more hope in their lives? God knew he needed some just now.

Digging in his pocket, he pulled out a quarter.

Dear Universe, I wish for a way to save the newspaper.

With a flick of his thumb, he launched the coin into the air. It flipped, end over end, flashing faintly in the moonlight before it struck the surface of the water with a soft plunk.

Well, that’s it then.

The phone in his pocket buzzed with an incoming text.

He pulled it out, grinning when he saw it was Piper. She was about the only thing that could make him smile right now.

Save me.

Myles thumbed a reply. Where are you?

Piper: The Spring House for my cousin’s wedding reception. They’re Baptist, so no booze to numb the pain of boredom.

Myles: That’s tragic.

Piper: So are these bridesmaid dresses. Bile isn’t exactly a flattering color.

Myles: You’re kidding.

Piper: Wish I was. s**t. I’ve been made. Gotta go answer the call of duty. But after tonight, I’m free. See you soon!

Shoving the phone back in his pocket, he changed directions and headed for his car. He might not know how to save the paper yet, but he could certainly save this damsel in distress.