Page 116 of The Midnight Lock (Lincoln Rhyme 14)

“Not the service entrance. Stupid in a building like this.”

She told Greg, “I could kill you and nobody would blink. Or I could call the police.”

“You could. Most people would.”

“But I think there’s another way to handle this, Greg. Something that’ll work for both of us. You’ll stay alive and out of prison.” She looked at him levelly. “But listen to me. I own you. If you don’t do what I tell you, exactly, if you say anything about what I’m going to tell you, there will be … consequences.”

For some reason, he blanched at the word.

“I’ve uploaded everything about you to a secure server and sent instructions to a third party.” She nodded to the wallet. “I’m a very wealthy woman and as Verum you know how many followers I have. They’re fiercely loyal and more than a little rabid. If anything were to happen to me, they will find you and kill you …” Her voice faded as she had another thought. “No, not kill.” She smiled coldly. “You live to pick locks? Well, betray me and you won’t be doing any more of that, with both your hands mangled, and a few fingers removed.”

His eyes widened in horror. He nodded.

“But get this thing for me right and you’ll be free to go on with your life.” She tilted her head and brushed the dark hair from her face. “However sick it is.” She considered. “I don’t need to sweeten the pot. But I will. You’ll get a half million dollars in cash. Because you’ll need to move out of the area afterward.Farout of the area.”

“And what is it that you want me to do?”

What indeed? she wondered.

Joanna walked to the bar. She poured a single malt—Lagavulin, very smoky—and taking the weapons in her other hand walked out onto the patio. She swiveled the rocker so she could see both the harbor and her prisoner.

Is it possible? Could this really work?

Joanna had been wrestling with the problem: the old bastard, Averell Whittaker, had been struck by conscience and was going to shut down the entire empire, which her father had worked himself to death building.

Joanna detested her uncle. His treatment of his family ranged from condescending to indifferent to cruel. When it was clear that Mary Whittaker, his wife, had only a day or two to live, he devoted every minute to negotiating the deal for the purchase of the TV station that would become the WMG channel.

Professionally Averell was no better: he seized a controlling interest of Whittaker Media from his brother, Joanna’s father, by leveraging Lawrence’s debts.

As for Joanna herself, when Averell took over, and began skewing the empire to male domination within the company, he booted her out of her reporter job on theHeraldand put her in charge of what a “girl was best suited for”: the company’s charitable wing.

Which did have its advantages, since she made a good salary, had perks and because of the job she met Martin Kemp, who wasgood-looking and wealthy and marginally talented in bed. Oh, and who did everything she told him to. Also the charity wasn’t tightly overseen, which gave her a chance to siphon funds to what she truly loved—playing the role of Verum.

Joanna Whittaker had had what she believed to be an insight about journalism as a business. If the ragDaily Heraldoutsold theNew York TimesandThe New Yorker, if the WMG channel garnered far more viewers than PBS, then what would happen if you abandoned truth altogether? If you served up a diet of conspiracies, secret movements, dark operatives, hate and fear and schadenfreude—who doesn’t justloveothers’ misfortunes?

She decided to try it and, in a moment of inspiration—laced with a dash of contempt for the viewership—dubbed herself Verum.

True …

And was hugely successful from day one.

Martin, who funded much of the operation, had asked her if she believed any of her posts.

“Did you really ask that?” she’d replied, put out. “Obviously it’s bullshit.”

But she believed in the money that poured in from contributions and subscriptions and advertising.

She believed in the power she wielded over her thousands of followers, ranks that continued to grow.

She enjoyed too the creative side of the blog: coming up with her fake news.

From time to time she thought of what she could do with the Verum business model and the resources of Whittaker Media.

The possibilities were endless.

But not if the old son of a bitch, with his change of heart, was dismantling the empire and giving it all away.

For a month she’d debated. If Averell died before the dissolutionpapers were signed next week, his fifty-one percent of the stock in the company would go to Joanna and Kitt, split evenly. But if something happened to both KittandAverell, all the stock would be hers. She could take the company wherever she wanted.