A Good Kind of Trouble (A Trouble in Twin Rivers Novel Book 1) (13 page)

"Of course I don't mind," Lindsey said, shaking the councilwoman’s hand. Rae Waters had been on the city council for quite some time, coming to city government after a long career as an elementary school teacher. She looked like everyone's favorite grandmother, but was rumored to be a cutthroat politician. People admired her and feared her.
 

"Thanks for joining us, Rae," Teri said. "We were just getting started."

Lindsey turned to the two women, her pen poised over the notepad. "Well, first, why is the city undertaking this project now? It seems like a very expensive project and the city has been cutting its budget for several years running."
 

Teri nodded. "The city wouldn't voluntarily undertake such a huge project at this time, but last year there was a series of storms that showed how decrepit the existing plant was. A few years earlier, the city was sued for allowing too much runoff into the river and was already under an injunction to renovate the plant."
 

Twin Rivers residents had been outraged over the pollution from the spill. And the smell. Her nose wrinkled at the memory. It was the last straw for local environmental groups who demanded the city follow the court order or face yet another lawsuit.
 

"How does the financing work?" Lindsey asked, knowing the answer.
 

"Bonds are like the city issuing IOUs for a certain rate of return," Teri said. "They get paid off over time, which allows the city to build these huge projects."
 

"Like a credit card?"

"Yes, but with a much better interest rate," Teri said with a smile.
 

"It's the safest way to get the project funded, dear," Rae Waters said. "While we certainly need civic improvements like this clean water plant, we don't want to pay too much for it. We're trying to be good stewards of the environment, as well as the taxpayers' money."
 

Lindsey nearly gagged on the platitudes from the city councilwoman. She knew more about this bond deal than the two women she was interviewing were aware, though, and would play along. For now.

"Who is issuing the bonds?"
 

"That would be EFB, Inc. They handle a lot of municipal bonds," Teri Schulman said, giving Ms. Waters a quick look.
 

"How much do they make on the deal?"

Teri's polite smile slipped slightly. "What an odd question. I suppose they make whatever is standard for these sort of deals. It's in line with other municipal bond issuances."
 

"Do they make more money when the bonds are refinanced?"

Teri's smile faded to a neutral expression. "Refinanced? Bonds don't get refinanced unless a city can't afford to repay them at the end of the term. But the city's revenue stream is increasing and there should be no problem with the repayment," she said.
 

Lindsey pulled out a copy of the contract and turned to a page she'd marked. "But this clause appears to be setting a date to refinance the entire bond amount plus fees and interest in three years, which is well before the end of the initial repayment term." Lindsey leaned across the desk and pointed to the densely worded paragraph of eight-point type.
 

Rae Waters glanced at the document then up at the city attorney, an uneasy expression on her round face. Teri’s gaze focused on the paper but she didn't appear to be reading.
 

"You certainly have done your homework," she said, her voice tight. Teri pushed the contract back across the desk toward Lindsey as she leaned back in her chair. "That's just in case of a financial catastrophe, where the city wouldn't be able to raise rates or taxes to cover the expected payments. It's not a mandate."

Lindsey wrote the quote down word-for-word, picturing the city attorney’s quote in her finished article contrasted with the actual language of the contract. Teri Schulman seemed to realize that and quickly tried to correct herself. "I mean, it's not required that the city use EFB. Or that the bonds be refinanced. It will be up to the city council to enact that clause."
 

Lindsey kept writing, knowing none of that information was correct.

Rae Waters blinked as her gaze bounced between Teri Schulman and Lindsey. "The city council will act in the best interest of the community," she said with a firm nod.
 

It must have been the city councilwoman's stock reply when faced with a question she wasn't prepared to answer. Lindsey wrote it down anyway.
 

Teri Schulman stood. "Well, thank you so much for coming by, Miss Fox."

"I have a few more questions," Lindsey said. Why was she being shown the door so quickly? She hadn’t nearly finished with her interview.

"You can submit them in writing and I'll get back to you. I'm afraid I have another commitment and must go," Teri said, opening the door to her office.
 

Rae stood and nodded at Lindsey. "Good-bye, Miss Fox. It was lovely to talk to you today.”
 

That was a crock. A moment later, she found herself in the hallway, still holding her pen and notepad. She hadn't even been able to ask about the connection to the arena financing.
 

 
She barely had enough to write an explainer on the sewage plant project. Sam would be happy to have any piece on the sewer project, but she had much more reporting to do before she could really show what was going on.
 

She smiled as she waited for the elevator to take her to the first floor. At least she knew she was on to something now. Teri Schulman wouldn't have pushed her out of the office so quickly if this were any other boring municipal project.

Chapter Eleven

Ben stood in the blazing noonday sun on the sidewalk and watched the barrel-chested figure walking toward him. He hadn't planned on running into Sam Wagner, but when he saw Lindsey's editor heading toward the hot dog stand a block from the newspaper office, he'd pulled his car over and parked, a brilliant idea forming in his brain.
 

Well, maybe not brilliant.
 

"Mr. Wagner?" Ben asked, meeting up with the editor near the condiment bar.
 

"You're that lawyer, right? The one who got Lindsey out of jail." Sam’s eyes narrowed and he frowned. "Shit. She's not in jail again, is she?"

"No, she's not in jail," Ben said. "I was hoping to talk to you, though. Can I buy you lunch?"
 

He nodded toward the hot dog stand and Sam shrugged. "Yeah, well, not going to turn down a dog."
 

Ben placed the order and handed the money to the vendor, then gave Sam a steaming foil-wrapped cylinder and took one for himself. The prospect of a free lunch seemed to loosen the impatient scowl on his face.
 

"You wanted to talk to me?" Sam asked, unwrapping the foil and inhaling the wafting odor of the grilled meat.
 

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Wagner," Ben said.
 

Now that he was here, standing in front of Lindsey's boss, he didn't know where to start. It had been an impulse to pull over. He was thinking about Lindsey, he was driving back to the office from a meeting, and he saw Sam leaving the newspaper office. If he could just talk to Sam, explain that Lindsey was on to a real story, maybe he could convince him not to fire her. He scanned the faces of people on the sidewalk, hoping not to see Lindsey among them. There was no explanation for his talk with Sam that wouldn't insult her.
 

Sam gave him a suspicious look, then sighed. "Fine, let's grab a bench. This way."
 

He led Ben toward a long row of benches outside the newspaper's main entrance and in the shade of a leafy tree. "And call me Sam."

Sam dug into the hot dog with gusto, a glob of mustard falling with a splat onto his tie. Ben wasn't that hungry, and Sam's enthusiasm wasn't helping his appetite.
 

"So, this have to do with Lindsey Fox?"
 

Ben set his lunch on the bench and watched Sam dab at his tie with a napkin.
 

"I know you want to fire Lindsey."

Sam looked around, but they were the only people in the outdoor seating area. "It's not my idea," he said. "Look, for a paranoid drama queen, she's a damn good reporter. Hell, it's not like there aren't eccentrics in a newsroom. Have ya met Charlie? Ask him about crop circles, if you have a few hours to waste."
 

"Then why is she getting let go?"

Sam fidgeted with his napkin. "It's complicated," he said slowly. "There are a lot of people pushing this, many of whom probably couldn't pick Lindsey Fox out of a line-up."

Sam ran a hand over his face and gave another deep sigh. His craggy face that seemed frozen in a scowl was now more sad than angry. He gave another nervous glance over his shoulder at the empty courtyard.
 

"Here's the deal. The newspaper's editorial board is supporting the new arena. You may have noticed the glowing and enthusiastic editorials each Sunday promoting 'growth' and 'redevelopment,' which always ends up coming back to building some billion-dollar sports complex in the middle of an abandoned rail yard downtown. The editorial board is of the opinion that the construction and then the arena will bring economic prosperity to the withering downtown area, jobs for residents, and the civic pride that comes from having a pro sports team."
 

"Not everyone agrees with that argument," Ben said.
 

A handful of protesters tried to get the word out that the stadium project was a boondoggle—it wouldn't pay for itself within its lifetime, the taxpayers would get stuck with the bill, the jobs would be seasonal and low-paying. And there wasn't any guarantee that a pro sports team would move to Twin Rivers, either. So all the money that the city was planning to spend was purely speculative.
 

Sam nodded. "Yeah, the usual suspects are protesting it because, one, they're anti-tax, anti-government, anti-anything-the-city-council-wants citizens who are naturally suspicious of everything the city tries to do; or, two, they don't trust the council because they think there's some unspecified corruption going on."
 

He wadded up the foil wrapper and tossed it into a trashcan at the end of the bench. "Nut-buckets, the lot of them. Lindsey had a hell of a time finding credible sources who oppose the project. Overwhelmingly, the people seem to want this."
 

"So what's the problem? If the newspaper supports it and the citizens want it, why take Lindsey off the story? Or fire her?"

Sam's frown deepened, something Ben wouldn't have believed was possible. "The official reason is because O'Bannion threatened to sue the newspaper over her coverage of ValCorp." He waved a hand dismissively. "It was total bullshit, but legal caved because ValCorp's got lawyers up the kazoo and they'd bury us in lawsuits until the stars blinked out. Goddamn lawyers."
 

He looked at Ben and cleared his throat. "Uh, no offense."

"None taken," Ben assured him.

Sam reached for his shirt pocket and pulled out a pen, which he glared at. It was the unconscious gesture of a former smoker, one that Ben had seen his dad make a thousand times. Sam sighed and put the pen back in the pocket.
 

"Unofficially, it's because Lindsey keeps raising concerns with the project at our news budget meetings and that eventually filters up to the suits upstairs and they want to keep the coverage 'on message.' Upstairs, they see her as a troublemaker, trying to gin up a controversy where there isn't one. The news department and editorial are separate, but that doesn't mean there isn't some pressure that comes down from on high."
 

"So they want her to stop reporting on it? Do they think she's doing a bad job? Do you think that?"

"No, I think she's doing a great job," Sam said. "Well, she was. Until I had to take her off the story and put that mouth-breather Jeff on it instead."

Ben threw up his hands. "Still not getting it, Sam."
 

"If I didn't move her off the story, they would have run the arena coverage through another department, like business, instead of news. Then I wouldn't be the editor on it. And I'd have no say in the coverage," Sam said. "And if I didn't rein in the cheerleaders upstairs, the stories would be basically advertisements for the project. And then my newspaper's credibility suffers."
 

Ben nodded. He could now see the politics at the newspaper at play in Lindsey's situation. Sam was willing to sacrifice Lindsey to protect the newspaper's credibility and keep control over the arena story. This was the guy Lindsey insisted had her back? Did she really know what was going on with her editor and his battles with management? And whose side Sam would be on if it came down to Lindsey vs. the editorial board.

"Plus, those nut-buckets are getting louder and they have blogs." Sam rolled his eyes and spat out the word "blogs" as if it were an unpleasant term, like "cancer" or "dog shit." He grimaced as the glass door to the newspaper office slid open to disgorge another group of newspaper employees leaving for lunch. Ben saw another familiar form walk out, silhouetted against the bright white lobby—the flippy hair-do and slim capri pants and sweater set of Lara Petrie. She accompanied a tall silver-haired man in a three-piece suit.
 

Neither acknowledged Sam and Ben on the bench as they breezed by toward the curb where a black sedan was waiting. A driver opened the back door and Lara slid into the car, followed by the man.
 

"Talk about nut-buckets. That Lara Petrie is a pain in my ass. She's angling for a position on the editorial board, so she's sucking up to Bryant."
 

"Bryant?" Ben asked.
 

"Franklin Bryant, III, the publisher," Sam said, nodding toward the sedan pulling away from the curb. "Lindsey did a good job on the arena issue, as she always does. We got complaints from both sides—opponents say they don't get as much coverage as they deserve and she's not asking the right questions, and supporters say she's giving too much weight to a tiny minority of whiners. To me, that means she's doing a good job—pissing off all parties. But to the editorial board, they think that when everyone complains, the reporter is doing something wrong.”