Exposé Read online

  The morning meeting was always tense. Twigg had an alarming ability to look as though he wasn’t paying attention, but everyone in the room had learnt the hard way that this was rarely the case. His mind processed information with astonishing clarity, and he was able to articulate with devastating severity just how wrong you were, or how badly you had failed. It was an irony that every single member of staff wanted an invitation to Twigg’s morning meeting. If they were at his meeting, they had finally arrived. But the meeting was so stressful that everyone who was invited soon wished they hadn’t been. “Right,” Twigg exclaimed suddenly, and looked up from his pad. “Thank you for your stirring words, Gayesh. I’m sure everyone found them motivating,” he said, sounding completely indifferent. “So now that’s out of the way we can start.”

  Gayesh knew he had been dismissed, but wasn’t about to relinquish control of the meeting so easily.

  “Has anyone heard from Colin?” Valerie chipped in.

  “Yes!” Gayesh interjected. “Has anyone - ”

  “I spoke to him this morning, Valerie,” said Twigg. “He’s tough. He’ll be fine. We’ve put him up in a hotel and are keeping everyone away from him.”

  “This company will always protect - ”

  “And what about Jaymes?” asked Twigg, talking over Gayesh as though he wasn’t even there. “Where’s Adam Jaymes now? What’s he doing?” He looked around the room, his gaze moving from nervous face to another nervous face until he reached the serene, pale, rounded features of Oonagh Boyle, editor of the paper’s website.

  They had a prickly relationship, Twigg and Oonagh. He’d been editor for more than 30 years and made the Ear the bestselling daily in the UK. But Oonagh had breezed into the company 18 months earlier and with maddening aplomb soon made dailyear.com the biggest news website in the world. And as the ratio of profit continued to swing from print to online Twigg had felt, for the first time, that he truly had a rival at the company.

  The tone of their relationship had been sealed the night the London Olympics opened. Furious at what he considered to be a reprehensible plug for the NHS and multiculturalism during the opening ceremony, Twigg self-published a pounding critique of the whole affair, calling it “little more than a shameful, lefties-pleasing pile of hokum that left the rest of the world spinning with confusion and contempt”. It instantly did the rounds on Twitter which quickly brought it to Oonagh’s attention who decided it was not the right moment for the Ear to be drawing a line in the sand. And so within an hour she had deleted the article itself and then permanently blocked Twigg’s access to the website.

  She remained the only person in the morning meetings that he was never rude to. He wouldn’t even disagree with her in front of the rest of the team. Often Twigg would make it clear how he wanted a story to be handled, and Oonagh would casually dismiss his instructions as being completely wrong for her ‘online readers’. But Twigg would say nothing. He didn’t understand the internet or social media nearly well enough to wade in for a fight. And so he tried his best to stay blissfully unaware of Oonagh, her team and her website. But he hoped that, one day, she would call it wrong and quickly be dispatched from the company.

  “I can answer that,” she said coolly, accentuating her smooth Irish accent simply to annoy Twigg further. She pushed her long, thick black hair behind her shoulders and swiped her fingers across her iPad. “He flew to LA last night, pretty much as soon as Newsnight finished. He’s doing some promotional work for his Glee episodes. The first one airs in the US next week.”

  Twigg shook his head with disbelief. “So he’s dropped us into the middle of this almighty shit-storm, and then pisses off back home?”

  “It’s also worth noting that he recently opened a Twitter account,” Oonagh continued. “Which, bearing in mind how obsessively private he is, did seem a little strange at the time.”

  “He’s a fucking hypocrite,” Valerie spurted, unable to control herself. Twigg gently patted her hand, a signal for her to be quiet. Few others would receive such kind treatment from Twigg, and it was a subtle gesture that immediately made almost everyone else in the room jealous.

  Oonagh continued as though she hadn’t been interrupted. “He tweeted for the first time this morning. Just four words. ‘Project Ear is underway’.” She put down her iPad and knitted her fingers together. “Project Ear was hash-tagged.”

  A few people in the room gasped, but Valerie had no idea what any of that meant and so simply spluttered and pulled a face to reinforce her on-going disapproval of both Adam Jaymes and the internet. But she wasn’t about to admit she didn’t know what Twitter was because that would hand the fat Irish whore (her nickname for Oonagh) the chance to patronise her with an answer, and so she simply sneered at her instead.

  Oonagh continued. “His second tweet was a link to BBC iPlayer so people can watch last night’s Newsnight. Now typically Newsnight isn’t watched by many people. On a really good day, it might get almost a million viewers. But a contact of mine at the BBC tells me the episode on iPlayer has already been viewed more than four million times.”

  “And how many followers does Jaymes have on Twitter?” asked Twigg.

  “As of this morning, 5,276,002. This time yesterday he had just over four million. That’s a 25% increase in, well, a matter of hours.”

  Valerie made more scoffing noises and her face was curled up with hatred. “So here is a man who’s spent most of his career moaning about privacy and press intrusion, and now he’s going to be happily ‘tweeting’ about how rich and famous and handsome he thinks he is?” She looked around the room, expecting everyone else to look equally appalled. But everyone else had realised what Oonagh was actually saying.

  “I think you’ve missed the point, Valerie,” she said, sweetly. “He’s set up his Twitter account solely to promote his campaign against this newspaper and drive traffic to his website.”

  “And I would think everyone in this room has looked at the website?” Twigg supposed, and everyone nodded. “So who wants to tell me about it?” Silence. No one wanted to contribute in case they said the wrong thing in front of Twigg.

  “Oh for pity’s sake,” Twigg muttered, and then pointed at the intern. “Felicity, please tell this bunch of silent idiots about Adam Jaymes’ website.”

  Felicity looked up from her shorthand notes, and realised everyone was looking at her. Valerie was at the other end of the table, smiling. Felicity could not work out if it was a kind and supportive smile, or the smile of someone expecting her to royally mess up.

  “Well,” she said, a nervous lump rising in her throat. “It’s actually a microsite that you access via Adam Jaymes’ main website. It’s been designed to look like a news website. Or, more precisely, to look like the Daily Ear’s website.”

  The room was silent, but Twigg was nodding, which seemed a good sign.

  “The article about Colin, likewise, has been written as though it were a Daily Ear exposé. It’s clearly intended to parody the Daily Ear, probably as a way of reinforcing what Adam Jaymes said on Newsnight about using our own methods against us. The headline ‘Kiss-and-Tell King Caught in Sex Tryst’ reflects a number of headlines the Daily Ear has run over the years. And there’s also a digital countdown clock on the front page ... which ... ,” her voice cracked slightly, so she swallowed hard and then continued, “which appears to be counting down to 9pm on Friday.”

  “9pm Friday,” Oonagh repeated, “which is the date and time of his threatened second exposé.”

  “Thank you, Felicity,” Twigg said. “Most succinct.”

  “Well,” Valerie said, her voice cutting through the air like a shard of glass. “I still think he’s a hypocrite and I shall be saying exactly that in my column this week.”

  Oonagh sighed, wearily. “Valerie, I think the purpose of this meeting is for us to discuss and agree how we are going to cover this story.” She then smiled at Twigg. “Over to you,” she said.

  Twigg had been in the office since
3am and didn’t need a discussion about how they were going to cover the story. He’d already spoken to Howard, the company lawyers, Derek Toulson and Colin. He knew how they were going to cover the story. “Here’s what we are going to do,” he said. “We’ll give the story minimal coverage and nothing on the front page. We will not be presenting it as any kind of war between the Daily Ear and Adam Jaymes. Instead, we will treat it as Adam’s personal vendetta against Colin. I will write a few words about press freedom for the editor’s column, and suggest that the Newsnight team had been in cahoots with Jaymes all along.” He grinned. “There’s nothing like a bit of BBC bashing to deflect attention.”

  Everyone in the room wanted to show how strongly they agreed with Twigg, so they all made approving noises and nodded their heads. Someone even clapped. “Our public line is that it’s business as usual,” he said. But then he frowned, and pointed his finger. For everyone in the room, it felt like he was pointing directly at them. “And I’m telling you all now,” he said, firmly, “that if anyone in this building speaks to another paper, radio station or TV journalist about this issue, I will sack them on the spot. Is. That. Clear?”

  Everyone nodded again.

  “Couple of things PR-wise, Leonard”, Derek interjected. PR wasn’t a profession Twigg respected but Derek had been surprisingly useful in the past and Twigg returned his loyalty by pretending to value his input. “I had a call first thing from Lizzie at the BBC’s Question Time. Following Newsnight, they want you for tomorrow night’s panel. They said they’ll take Valerie again if you’re not available, but would rather have you.”

  Twigg shook his head. “No. And that’s a no for Valerie too. Next?”

  “I’ve had a couple of sponsors contact me about this year’s Amazing People Awards. They’re wobbling a bit. I’ve calmed them down, but I think a call from you would help.”

  Twigg agreed. “Email me their details and I’ll call them later today. Anything else?”

  “No, that’s it for now.”

  “Good. Meeting over. Back to work everyone.” Twigg closed his notepad and returned to his desk. He opened his laptop and started to type and everyone apart from Gayesh left his office. Gayesh stood and closed the door and then walked up to Twigg and leaned over the desk, staring straight into his face. “You are very lucky that I didn’t sack you on the spot,” he said. “How dare you dismiss me like that.”

  Twigg was uninterested in Gayesh but was aware that he had an entire newsroom as his audience, watching furtively from the other side of his glass wall. This was Twigg’s office, his team, his world. He kept it all in order and a big part of that was the discipline he imposed through intimidating his staff. No one was about to undermine him in front of his people. “Go away,” he said.

  “I’m chief executive. Your boss,” Gayesh said.

  Twigg continued to type.

  “I’m the person you report to,” Gayesh continued, but Twigg was reading an email, and would only respond with his usual “Mmmm, mmmm”.

  “As of now, I want an hourly update from you.”

  “Mmmm.”

  “And until this is over, I’ll be chairing the morning meetings.”

  “Mmmm, mmmm.”

  “I will be speaking to Howard this afternoon and then you and I will have another conversation.”

  “Mmmm.”

  “In my office. On the top floor.”

  Twigg closed the lid on his laptop. “Oh, about your office. I forgot to mention. You need to vacate it immediately.”

  Gayesh stood up straight and stared at Twigg. “What?” he bellowed. “Are you really trying to piss me off even more than you have already?”

  “Sam Harvey is flying into London this afternoon,” Twigg said with a soft, cold tone that was markedly different to the voice he used for his more day-to-day rants. He reserved this voice for special occasions, and no one who heard it ever continued their career at the Daily Ear. “He’s going to be working with me over the next couple of weeks to manage the situation. And he needs an office. I’ve given him yours.”

  Gayesh curled up his lips, and for a moment seemed ready to grab Twigg round the throat. “You are in no position to give my office to anyone,” he growled, spraying spit halfway across Twigg’s desk. “I will be returning to my office now and I will give Howard a call.”

  “Oh, one more thing,” Twigg said. “Howard has decided his son has spent too much time running their TV company in Los Angeles. He thinks this is a good opportunity for him to get stuck into the newspaper industry.”

  Gayesh just stared at Twigg. He knew what was coming. He had known it was on the cards for some time. But he had hoped that, if he was seen to take control of the current scandal, he would be able to wing it for another year or so.

  “More specifically,” Twigg concluded, “as chief executive of Harvey News Group.” He gestured to the door behind Gayesh. “These gentlemen will see you from the building.”

  When Gayesh turned he came face to face with two security guards. “The Harvey family thanks you for your hard work.” Twigg looked down, opened his laptop and started typing again.

  Humiliated, bewildered and at a loss for words Gayesh left the office and, followed by the security guards, walked through the newsroom which had fallen strangely silent. The last thing he would remember seeing as he was escorted out was Valerie Pierce, standing in her office, smoking a cigarette with a huge smile on her face.

  CHAPTER 4

  After a stressful 10-hour flight from LA, Sam Harvey arrived at Heathrow feeling extremely ill-prepared. He had a one paragraph brief on Project Ear, which had left him with the impression it was little more than a silly TV spat between an actor and a reporter. He couldn’t understand why his father had dispatched him so suddenly, and so completely, to London.

  The phone call between the two had been abrupt. “Gayesh is out. I’m making you chief executive. You’re moving to London today. You can live at the house. Twigg will email you a brief. It’s about time you got your hands dirty.”

  And after that brief phone call and a couple of short emails, here he was stepping off a plane in London as Harvey News Group’s new boss. His clean, sunny life was gone and with it his entire support network. His PA and team of researchers, lawyers, policy advisors, creatives and accountants had stayed behind in the States. Together they had made the Harvey Network the second highest-rated broadcast network in the 18–49 demographic in America. In reality, though, Sam knew he’d had very little to do with that success. On paper, of course, it certainly looked like he had led the company to new heights. Ten years ago, at the tender age of 21, his father had prised him from his mother’s bosom and sent him to America to run THN, and within just three years the company was nipping at the heels of the likes of Fox and CBS.

  But Sam knew how heavily he had relied on his team - utterly and completely. They were the people who had seen him through his twenties, a brilliant and reliable team who had told him what was going on, where to be, what to think, what to say, what decisions to make and what to sign. Because in his heart, Sam knew he was a lightweight. He hid behind a carefully crafted image, one that was the polar opposite of his high-profile, blustering and impulsive father. He was considered to be the quiet man of the family, the rarely-seen, thoughtful and analytical businessman. He was a man who listened rather than spoke, who considered his options slowly rather than making quick decisions on gut instinct.

  But the image was a falsehood. Sam was rarely seen because he didn’t want a public profile. Out of sight, out of mind - that could have been his catch-phrase. He didn’t speak very often because he didn’t have anything credible to say. Every day, he knew he was always on the verge of expressing an opinion that was catastrophically stupid and that knowledge kept him in a near constant state of panic. And the reason he took so long to make a decision was because he needed endless meetings and reassuring advice from his top team before agreeing a course of action.

  “It’s about time
you got your hands dirty.” His father’s words were still ringing in his ears. And dirty was the right word, he thought. The Daily Ear was dirty, always had been. It had a nasty news agenda, was run by slick, untrustworthy executives, was staffed by unpleasant journalists and all working from grotty offices where it seemed to be perpetual twilight outside. For his entire adult life, Sam had done everything to keep the Ear at arm’s length, hoping to avoid ever having to involve himself with it. Clearly, that was another battle with his father that he had lost.

  As he paced quickly through the terminal, briefcase in hand, he spotted a BBC camera team some distance away and realised they were looking for him. Clearly, his arrival had sparked some interest with the British media. But Sam was confident he would make it to his car without being stopped. He knew there was nothing exceptional about the way he looked. He wasn’t tall or muscular or handsome. He was average and bespectacled and thin and ever so slightly beige. His ordinariness was a camouflage that usually made him invisible to unwelcome eyes. And as he stepped freely from the airport to his awaiting car, he smiled at the knowledge that a BBC reporter was going home empty-handed.

  “The office, please,” he said to the driver as he took his seat.

  “Actually sir, I’ve been instructed to take you straight to the house,” replied the chauffeur. “Father’s orders.”

  Sam sighed. “OK, the house it is then.” He had expected his father to have organised a late night introduction with the company’s great and good, all of them ordered to stay until the early hours to meet their new boss. But this was going to be a quiet conversation at the family home, and that made Sam worry there was more to this Project Ear business than he’d been led to believe. His father seemed rattled, and that was a rarity. The drive to Holland Park gave Sam just over an hour to catch up on his reading. He switched on his iPad and started scanning across all the websites his PA had saved to his favourites just before he left Los Angeles. It included a number of British newspapers as well as the Huffington Post and a couple of influential media blogs.