The Devil's Clause

Chapter One: The Unafraid Journalist

Elara's POV

"Ms Voss, please come to the stage," the anchor smiled directly at me. I almost returned the smile, but I didn't want to seem too confident, so I kept a straight face.

I stepped onto the stage, the bright lights blinding for a moment, but I welcomed the heat. It was nothing compared to the fire I felt inside. The fire that burned as a result of watching the wealthy and influential oppress the poor.

The panel session was packed, a sea of faces eager for the drama about to unfold. I could see him sitting there, Miles Grayson, the millionaire business owner who thought his wealth could shield him from accountability. He leaned back in his chair, a smug smile plastered across his face, oblivious to the storm brewing.

“Let’s get started,” I said, my voice steady, cutting through the chatter. “Mr. Grayson, your company has been accused of using its influence to undermine small businesses in this city. Care to explain how you justify that?”

The room fell silent, tension crackling like static. Grayson’s smile faltered, a flicker of discomfort flashing in his eyes. “That’s a rather loaded question, Elara."

"it's Miss Voss to you, Mr Grayson," I corrected with a straight face. "I expect that you reciprocate the respect I showed you."

He stared at me intently and didn't respond for a few seconds. Then his lips curled to the side in a crooked smile. "Miss Voss..." he drawled out. "My company operates within the law, and we create jobs.”

“Jobs?" I scoffed. "What kind of jobs?" I demanded.

Without giving him a chance to respond, I continued, "Jobs that come at the expense of hardworking individuals trying to make an honest living?” I leaned forward, my heart racing. “You’ve been reported to have pressured local suppliers to cut ties with small businesses. How do you sleep at night knowing you’re crushing dreams?”

His expression shifted, anger simmering beneath the surface. “You’re misinformed, El--" I glared at him murderously and I watched him hiccup the rest of my name, and then corrected himself. "Miss Voss. Those businesses were failing before we even entered the picture.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” I pressed, refusing to back down. “You think that just because you can throw money around, it gives you the right to destroy others? What about accountability?”

The audience murmured, some shifting in their seats, clearly uncomfortable. But I wasn’t here to make friends; I was here to expose the truth. Grayson’s facade cracked, and I could see the anger boiling over.

“Look, the market is tough. Survival of the fittest, right?” he snapped, his voice rising. “If they can’t keep up, maybe they shouldn’t be in business.”

“Or maybe they deserve a fighting chance,” I countered, my voice unwavering. “You’ve built your empire on the backs of those you’ve pushed out. Isn’t it time you acknowledged your role in this?”

He opened his mouth to retort, but I could see the gears turning in his mind. The pressure was mounting, and I was relentless. “Tell us, Mr. Grayson, how many small businesses have you driven to bankruptcy? How many families have you shattered?”

The room was electric, as though everyone held a collective breath, watching as Grayson shifted uncomfortably. “That’s not fair,” he finally muttered, his bravado faltering.

“Isn’t it?” I challenged. “You think you can hide behind your wealth, but the truth is coming out. You can’t buy your way out of this one.”

And then it happened. Grayson, cornered and desperate, spilled a truth that sent shockwaves through the room. “Fine! I’ll admit it. We’ve used our influence to push them out. It’s business!”

Gasps echoed around the auditorium, the media frenzy igniting like a wildfire. Cameras snapped, journalists scribbled furiously. I felt a rush of vindication, a thrill that coursed through my veins. This was why I fought so hard. This was my purpose.

"Business is usually getting paid for supplying a demand, I didn't know when it shifted from that to seizing food from the table of honest workers." I stood up from my seat, holding his gaze. "You should figure out whether you're being a business man or a destroyer of livelihood."

After speaking to him, I stepped off the stage, adrenaline still surging. I could hear whispers of admiration, the buzz of excitement around me. I have done it again. I took down a titan, and exposed the greed that festered beneath the surface. My heart swelled with pride, a sense of accomplishment washing over me.

It didn't used to be this way. I thought back to the early days of my career, the uphill battles I fought just to be taken seriously. Being a woman in journalism meant constantly proving myself, battling misconceptions about my capabilities. I had faced countless doubters, people who dismissed my passion for fighting for what they deemed unprofitable businesses. “You’ll never make it,” they said. “You’re wasting your time.”

But I persisted. Each story I uncovered, each small business I helped save, fueled my determination. I had built my career on the belief that everyone deserved a voice, that the underdogs had a right to fight back against the giants. And with every victory, I felt a little more vindicated, a little more powerful.

Now, as I walked through the bustling streets, the sun shining down on me, I couldn’t help but smile.--

"Miss Voss! Miss Voss!"

I paused in my tracks and turned around to find the source of the voice. It was Harriet, the owner of the company I just saved. "Miss Voss, how can I even begin to thank you? This company is the only memory of my husband I have, and you saved that." She fumbled around her purse and handed me a crumpled cheque note.

"I got a compensation of a hundred grand, and I decided to appreciate you with 25% of the money. You were the only one who took me seriously and was bold enough to face off against a man like Miles Grayson. I--"

"Harriet, no," I shook my head, pushing her hand back. "That is yours, rightfully deserved. Besides, I didn't do this for the money. I did it because it's the right thing to do."

"Ooh!" She embraced me tightly, crying as she chanted thank you over and over again.

Her gratitude washed over me like a warm embrace, and I could see the respect in her eyes. I was a warrior for the voiceless, a champion for those who had been pushed aside. Yet, as I returned home, the weight of reality settled on my shoulders. I walked into my small apartment, the familiar sight of unpaid bills sitting on my desk greeted me like old friends.

I plopped into my chair, the satisfaction of the day fading as I sighed deeply.

"You aren’t fighting for these people because of money, Elara. Remember this." I murmured to myself.

I closed my eyes, letting the silence envelop me. The world outside continued to spin. If only my parents had someone like me to fight for them, they'd be alive by now, wouldn't they?