CHAPTER 30
BY THE FOLLOWING week, we were ready. Sonia sent me an email on Monday morning, right after Berkeley stacked a week’s worth of files on my desk and sauntered off whistling.
Meeting set for Thursday at ten. Campbell sounded nervous on the phone. Guess he remembers me.
Good. He should be nervous, because unless he agreed to our terms, we planned to release a dossier of his dodgy dealings to the press and every protest group he’d ever encountered. And we still had our ace to play—the photos from Amanda.
Wednesday evening saw me contract another mysterious bout of food poisoning, and on Thursday morning, I put on my best pathetic voice and called in sick. I might have felt guilty if I hadn’t worked the equivalent of Thursday’s hours already that week in unpaid overtime.
“All se
