Page 15 of Until We Burn
Bàba taught me everything I know about reporting and networking.
There is nothing I can’t do.
I walk into the dining room, where I see a group of people listening to Hassan Desai, CEO of the Pacific Observer.
“I think it’s important to show all perspectives in the media. Just because you don’t agree with Dawson Kanes’ opinions doesn’t mean we should ice him out.”
The people around him nod, murmuring in agreement.
Except for one: A dark-skinned South Asian girl with shrewd eyes and zero patience for Hassan’s nonsense.
“Dawson Kanes advocated for the mass layoffs of queer educators across Canada,” she points out. “That’s not opinion. That’s discrimination.”
“And you know what the funny thing is?” Hassan prattles on, “Dawson Kanes also sent millions of food crates to war zones in Europe. No one thinks about that.”
The girl snatches a glass of champagne from the tower and downs it. I frown. Empathy draws me towards her and the group. Their eyes perk up when I do.
“Diana! It’s wonderful to see you this evening,” Hassan greets.
I fake a smile. “You as well, Hassan.”
Hassan gestures to the girl beside him. “You two probably haven’t met. This is my niece, Nirah.”
Nirah’s smile sours. She holds her hand out.“AndI’ve also recently stepped in as the associate producer and the manager of the internship program at the Pacific Observer.”
I shake her hand. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. Since it’s your first time here, I’ll give you a tour of the place. Come with me.”
The group salutes their glasses as we leave.
When they’re out of earshot, Nirah groans. “Thanks for saving mefrom that. My uncle wanted me to come and bond with the others. Sadly, I’ve done more educating than bonding.”
“Just another day of a woman in a newsroom.” I snort. “I’m sorry you had to go through that tonight.”
Nirah shrugs and winks at me. “It’s a good thing I’m tough.”
I show her around the mansion, walking her through the sun room, the rec room, and the library. Our last stop takes us up the stairs. The chatter of the party fades as we step into the room down the hall.
“Welcome to the victory room.”
Nirah gawks at the awards lining the shelves and the walls. Jonathan’s side of the room is filled with critically-acclaimed articles and awards for business and politics reporting; Gregory’s side is made up of legal and crime reporting, Sophia’s has arts and culture, and mine is decorated with awards for environmental and human rights reporting.
Nirah whistles. “Your parents didn’t slack on churning out journalists.”
“You have no idea.” I glance up at the Huang family sculpture. The bronze hilts catch and swallow up all the light glowing from the chandeliers. “Growing up, the media was all I knew.”
“That explains why you’re running for the CEO position.”
“They raised me with the expectation that I would. I’ve never really had the chance to imagine another life beyond that.” It didn’t make sense to. From the moment I stepped into my first pair of kitten heels, bàba taught us that there’s no greater pride than taking over a company our ancestors had built.
“Well, I think I know some details that could help you tonight,” Nirah offers.
I nearly choke on my champagne. “You do?”
“The Decibel 6 and the Pacific Observer are facing criticisms about their lack of coverage about women in Canada. They’re trying to find new, innovative stories that address this. That’s their largest concern at the moment, and it’s one of the major deciding factors of who they’ll root for in the CEO vote.” Nirah smiles mischievously. “You hear quite a bit when you’re reduced to a fly on the wall at staff meetings.”
“In that case, I think I might have something worth considering.”Interest flickers in her eyes as I share details about the news release I saw earlier. “It’s a compelling story that could be explored in three major mediums: a long-form piece, a documentary, and a podcast to engage a variety of listeners.”
Hope flares inside of me at Nirah’s nod of approval.
