Page 46 of Reptile Dysfunction

But even that thought is something I need to shy away from. Eddie’s mandate comes to mind – that I need to approach these stories impartially – and I try my best to push any bias from my mind.

I’m a reporter, I remind myself. I’m here for the facts.

As much as it pains me to be casting suspicion on Mason again, I know the only way to be certain about him is to dig into this claim against him. How can I be sure that my image of him is accurate unless I have the facts? I fell prey to that once before, and I won’t do it again.

Slowly, I make my way through each line item that I already have invoices for, painstakingly comparing every single dollar amount with its corresponding expense. Time and time again, the numbers come up correct and every time they do, I feel a sense of relief. Even though I’m probably not supposed to.

But personal Charlotte and professional Charlotte can’t quite be separated so cleanly. Every time I check an item I feel guilty, every time it comes back clean I feel relief.

What I have to watch out for, though, is my professional side being so excited about a story that I stumble into past mistakes. I shake my head at everything I did wrong last time.

Yes, this is a promising lead, I tell myself. Yes, there’s the potential for it to uncover some real corruption. But I can’t act on anything until there’s hard proof. For Mason’s sake as well as my own.

I know without a doubt that this story has the potential to make or break me. If the allegations are true, this will be a huge story for me. It could mean even more than just redeeming myself at the Herald. It could redeem my career as far as Chicago.

On the other hand, if I report something that’s untrue, like I did last time, that will literally be the end of my career in journalism. The best I might be able to hope for after that is a job at some tabloid magazine, the kind that thrives off unfounded gossip and slander.

The thought makes me shudder.

And then, of course, I have to think about Mason’s career. A story like this, if it’s true, will genuinely ruin him. He’ll be thrown out of office, there’s no doubt about that. That’s why I have to be sure about everything. The stakes are way too high not to take this seriously.

I turn my attention back to the spreadsheet in front of me as I check the last invoice I have for now. The numbers line up, and despite myself, I say a little prayer of thanks.

That’s 21 out of 98 vendors and partners, and they’ve all come back clear. I just hope I’ll get answers from the rest of them sooner rather than later so I can get to the bottom of this without too much hassle.

I check my email again and find another 17 invoices have come in while I’ve been working. An hour later, those are cleared, too, and I start to feel optimistic that the so-called informant may have just been a prejudiced member of the community rather than an actual whistle-blower.

As predicted, I’ve heard nothing back from them, and I don’t expect to. But if they were relying on me to print another article full of unfounded allegations, they were mistaken. This time, I’m determined to do this right.

I pick up my phone, determined to keep working for as long as it takes to find the truth.

“Hello, Ms. Glog?” I say when my call is answered. “This is Charlotte Lieberman. I’m covering Pickle Fest for the Herald, at the request of the Mayor’s office.”

It’s not technically a lie, but it’s not the whole truth, either, and I try to push away the guilt that rises up in me as I say it.

“I was just looking over some of the background financials,” I continue. “And I wonder if you could send over your invoice for the pickle-bobbing pool? I seem to have misplaced it.”

I listen to the bubbling voice on the other end and sigh with relief when she doesn’t question me any further on my involvement.

“Wonderful, thank you so much,” I say. “You can send it directly to me. No need to bother the mayor’s office about it.”

I tell her my email address and sigh heavily once I put the phone down. I make another two dozen phone calls just like this, successfully reaching the two vendors that I missed this morning.

By the time I reach the end of the day, I’ve received another 37 invoices and it’s well and truly past dark by the time I finish cross-checking all of them. Every single one comes back above board, meaning almost two-thirds of the festival’s expenses have been checked without a single discrepancy.

If the rest of them come back the same, and the way things are going I have no reason to believe they won’t, then Mason might just be in the clear.

In the back of my mind though, I know that that won’t be the end of the story. As much as I want Mason to be innocent, I know I have to follow this lead as far as it goes. And as much as I hate the thought of it, that will eventually mean confronting him about the claims.

My chest tightens at the prospect, fully aware of how uncomfortable that conversation will be. My feelings for him haven’t ebbed, even if they have been a little overshadowed by this recent development. But I can’t, in good conscience, avoid that talk if it comes to it. And I’m pretty sure it will come to it.

In the meantime, I have at least another day’s work ahead of me. Even though I’m exhausted, I spend the rest of the evening sending emails to the remaining vendors in the hopes I’ll get a reply in the morning.

I just hope the rest of these invoices come back clean and that, if and when I have that conversation with Mason, he doesn’t hold it against me.

28

MASON

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