I joined a few banquets with Cameron and easily completed the interviews. The editor-in-chief praised me highly, but he had no idea about my relationship with The Lynch Family.
The office was no longer buzzing with gossip about me, at least not openly. However, I know they just keep that kind of talk more private. I didn’t care about what they said; I didn’t feel the need to justify myself.
I worked diligently, taking on tasks that others avoided, consistently exceeding expectations. Despite my colleagues’ curiosity, jealousy, and resentment, they no longer dared to say anything overtly negative.
Holly Anderson, my colleague, became my only friend in the news department. Despite being a few years older, she was an experienced journalist. We graduated from the same university, providing us with more common ground. Holly was a pleasant person, never looking down on newcomers due to her seniority. Instead, she made significant contributions to the department by personally guiding newcomers step by step.
“I’ve already prepared the draft. Take a look, and if there’s no issue, let’s get this article published as soon as possible!” She placed a news draft on my desk, then turned back, looking at me with concern. “Laura, are you okay?”
I shook my head. Working tirelessly day and night, my energy was on the verge of exhaustion.
“Look at those dark circles under your eyes!” Holly laughed. “While work is important, don’t push yourself so hard! If your health goes downhill, you’ll lose everything!”
“Thanks, Holly!”
I stretched lazily, contemplating whether to go downstairs to the coffee bar for a break and refresh my mind. However, my eyes caught the title of that draft: “Special Feature Report on the Recent Jerez State Kidnapping Cases.”
Instantly, all drowsiness vanished, and my entire being almost leaped from the chair. I picked up the draft; my hands were trembling as I read further. The more I read, the more the cold sweats on my back became.
Kidnapping case.
The local police caught the kidnappers.
There was a list of the kidnappers’ names.
I scrolled down to find the name “Jacob Campbell,” and those two words hit me like two bombs. I let out a low gasp, stood up abruptly, and began panting heavily.
My colleagues looked at me with curious eyes.
“Are you okay?” someone asked with concern.
I sat down quietly, my heart pounding incessantly, and everything before my eyes turned white. However, suddenly, a drop of bright red blood leaped out from this sea of whiteness, and then, that drop of blood turned into a large puddle. Lying in the pool of blood was Anne’s stiff body, with half of her tongue severed beside her…
I rushed out of the office, stumbled into the restroom, and retched into the sink. I was overwhelmed.
This feature report was a collaboration between the local police and the television station. Over the years, Jerez State had seen a surge in kidnapping cases, often driven by feuds among the wealthy elite. The criminals not only engaged in kidnapping but sometimes resorted to murder. The police had spared no expense this time, successfully solving the kidnapping cases of recent years and even cracking open cases from more than a decade ago.
Leaning against the wall of the restroom, I crouched on the floor, my mind blank except for one name-Cameron.
How would he react if he saw this report? What would he think if he knew Jacob Campbell was my father, the person responsible for the tragic death of his sister all those years ago? Would he hate me? Would he kill me, just like my father cut out Anne’s tongue? He might even gouge out my eyes!
But then, involuntarily, I remembered those intimate moments with him-the love and hate, his indifference and disdain, the humiliation and mockery, the tenderness he showed me, his possessiveness, the unparalleled joy he brought me. Scenes played vividly in my mind.
I stood up, twisted the tap open, and placed my head under the running water, trying to clear my mind. I needed to wake up.
He must not find out about this.
And he must never know who Jacob Campbell is.
Quietly, I approached the office and fed that draft into the shredder.
I knew very well that this action would create a massive shockwave. With no draft, there would be no special feature program. It wasn’t just my problem-it affected the entire news department and even the whole television station.
All the scheduled programs and news had to be disrupted due to the cancellation of this feature, and chaos ensued at the television station. Accountability was sought, and I didn’t deny it. The wrath fell squarely on me.
The usually ill-tempered chief editor pounded the table furiously in his office, “Laura! What the hell are you trying to do? Do you want to ruin me and all your colleagues?”
He was notorious for scolding people to tears, but Holly later told me that on that afternoon, many colleagues were sweating nervously, staring at the editor’s office door, dreading to hear my sobs.
However, what echoed throughout the afternoon was not my crying but the editor’s roaring.
I endured it all silently, not shedding a single tear. Compared to Cameron, this editor was nothing worth mentioning.
When I walked out of the chief editor’s office, my colleagues were looking at me as if I were a triumphant hero, almost ready to applaud. Holly noticed that my face didn’t look good and pulled me aside, whispering, “What’s going on? This isn’t like you at all! Laura, can you please tell me what happened?”
I kept my head down, silent.
I knew the draft she had worked on for several nights. She had participated in planning the program, only to have it effortlessly destroyed by me. I didn’t report it, not because I forgot, but deliberately.
“Laura, say something!” Holly was getting anxious, stomping her foot.
It felt like I had lost the ability to speak. Without saying a word, I bowed to her and quickly turned away before the tears could flow.
“Laura!” came the still-angry voice of the chief editor from behind me. “Let me tell you, you must take full responsibility for this! The news department won’t bear the blame for you!”
This incident had attracted the attention of the station manager.
I felt things were not going well; he knew about my relationship with Cameron. If he told Cameron about this, I wouldn’t be able to hide anything!
Walking back and forth in the corridor, I eventually decided to face the situation head-on. I barged into the station manager’s office, intending to use any means necessary to persuade him not to alert Cameron.
At that moment, a gentle voice came from behind me, “Laura.”
I froze and turned around. Patrick, in his uniform, was walking towards me step by step. Backlit, his tall figure seemed like a god emerging from the light. I stood there stunned for a moment.
It turned out that this incident didn’t alert Cameron; it was Patrick who came to handle it.
The draft was originally from the city public security bureau, and the program featured Patrick. Now that I had ruined the program, he, as the directly involved party, was sent by the police department to understand the situation.
I sat with him in the coffee shop. The longer we sat, the longer I zoned out. Patrick proved to be a professional cop, especially patient with someone like me. I stayed silent, and so did he, as if waiting for me to break the silence first.
Eventually, I couldn’t hold back any longer. The moment I uttered “Patrick,” tears started streaming down my face. Patrick handed me tissues and ordered an iced tea for me.
“Laura, tell me what your motive was.”
“I was afraid Cameron would find out…”
“Find out what?”
“Find out about that criminal.”
“Who is the criminal?” he pressed.
I lifted my gaze to meet his eyes. Behind his gentle demeanor was a determination beyond most people’s imagination. His imposing presence was enough to instill fear even in the most hardened criminals, let alone me.
My lips quivered, and tears streamed down my face. His badge, his shoulder patch, his gentle yet stern expression… Each one of them challenged my frayed nerves.
I slumped over the table, finally breaking into loud sobs.
Patrick took me to the police station. Through the iron bars, I recognized Jacob Campbell, my biological father. He had aged significantly, with silver streaks in his hair, a waxen complexion, and what seemed like deteriorating eyesight as he squinted most of the time. He appeared even smaller, hunched over and somewhat squalid.
“He’s Jacob Campbell…” I crumbled. “He’s my dad, my biological father…”
With those words, the heavy stone that had weighed on my chest for fifteen years was finally lifted. Fresh air rushed in, and I felt a sense of relief for the first time.