Broken By The Heir, Claimed By Power

Ben Miller, the paper's staff photographer, came jogging out of the building, his camera bag slapping against his hip. He looked out of breath.

"Friedman actually did it?" Ben asked, his eyes wide. "He fired you?"

"Suspended indefinitely pending review," Elena lied. She couldn't bring herself to say the word 'fired' yet. It made it too real. "He wants me out of the office until the heat dies down."

"That's garbage," Ben spat. "You're the best writer we have."

"Tell that to the Kensington legal team," Elena muttered.

She needed to get away. She needed to find money.

As she turned to hail a cab she couldn't afford, a silver Porsche 911 screeched to a halt in the loading zone, blocking the path of a delivery truck.

Spencer jumped out. He wasn't wearing a suit today. He was in designer jeans and a cashmere sweater, looking disheveled and frantic.

"Elena!"

He ran toward her. Elena kept walking, aiming for the subway entrance.

"Elena, wait! Please!"

He grabbed her elbow. She spun around, ready to scream. He flinched but held up his hands in surrender.

"I heard," he gasped. "My mother... she bragged about it at breakfast. About the paper. About St. Mary's."

"Get away from me, Spencer."

"I can fix it!" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick wad of cash held together by a rubber band. It looked messy, desperate. "I... I couldn't get a check. She froze the accounts. But I pawned my watch. The Patek Philippe. It's twelve thousand. Take it."

Elena looked at the cash. It was dirty money. Guilt money.

"You think cash fixes this?" she asked quietly. "You think you can buy your way out of the fact that your mother is systematically destroying my life?"

"It buys your dad another month!" Spencer pleaded, trying to shove the money into her hand. "Please, Elena. I can't stand the thought of you suffering because of me. Just take it. We can figure the rest out later."

"There is no 'we', Spencer."

"Don't be stubborn! It's survival!"

Elena looked at the money. God, she needed it. It would save her dad. It would pay rent.

But taking it meant admitting she was exactly what Victoria thought she was: a dependent. A charity case. A paid problem.

She took the money.

Spencer exhaled, a look of relief washing over his face. "Thank you. I knew you'd be reasonable. I'll get more. I promise. I just need time to-"

Elena threw the cash.

She didn't hand it back. She threw it into the air. The wind caught the bills, scattering hundreds of dollars across the sidewalk and into the busy street.

"What are you doing?!" Spencer shrieked, scrambling to catch a hundred-dollar bill before it landed in a puddle.

"I don't want your scraps, Spencer," Elena said, her voice trembling with adrenaline. "And I don't want your pity. Go back to your tower."

"You're insane!" Spencer yelled, on his knees on the pavement, gathering the money as pedestrians stopped to stare. "You're going to ruin yourself out of pride!"

"Maybe," Elena said. "But at least I'll still be me."

She turned back to Ben, who was watching the scene with his mouth open.

"Ben," she said. "Give me the keys to the van."

"What?" Ben blinked. "The press van? Elena, if you're suspended..."

"I need to get out of the city," she said. "There's a story in Albany. A corruption lead I've been sitting on. If I break a national story, Friedman has to hire me back. The board won't be able to touch me."

It was a lie. There was no story in Albany. She just needed to move. She needed to drive until the panic attack in her chest subsided.

"Elena, I can't..." Ben looked at her desperate eyes. He looked at Spencer groveling for cash on the sidewalk. He reached into his pocket. "Friedman will kill me."

"Report it stolen tomorrow," Elena said, snatching the keys. "Come with me. You can take the photos. Half the syndication fee."

Ben hesitated, then grinned nervously. "I hate this job anyway."

They ran toward the battered City Chronicle van parked down the block. Elena jumped into the passenger seat, her hands shaking too hard to drive. Ben took the wheel.

"Go," Elena said.

Ben gunned the engine. The van rattled and lurched into traffic, leaving Spencer Kensington behind on his knees in the dirt.

Elena didn't look back. She watched the city blur past the window. The sky above was turning a bruised purple. Heavy, dark clouds were rolling in from the east.

Ben turned on the radio. "Severe thunderstorm warning in effect for I-95 North. Drivers are advised to use caution. Flash flooding possible."

"Great," Ben muttered. "A storm."

Elena leaned her head against the cool glass. She closed her eyes. "Just drive, Ben. Just drive."

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