Chapter 6 - Live on Every Screen
The silence in the media room was so heavy that David could hear the faint hum of the generator through the floorboards.
Celeste sat frozen, her champagne glass suspended halfway to her lips, her eyes wide, staring at the screen as if an apparition had stepped through the drywall.
Bryce stood with the remote control in his hand, his mouth open, his skin turning a sickly, mottled grey.
"Is that..." Henderson, the county commissioner, leaned forward, squinting at the screen. "David... is that your daughter?"
Before David could speak, the news broadcast shifted. The helicopter searchlight swung twenty feet to the left of the Army recovery vehicle, illuminating the crumpled wreckage of the tractor-trailer that had triggered the disaster.
The camera zoomed in on the shredded cab, lying twisted across the median. The news anchor’s voice changed from awe to hard, investigative scrutiny:
*“State officials are already raising serious questions tonight about why this section of Interstate 81 was completely unmanaged. Preliminary reports indicate the disaster was triggered when an unchained commercial tractor-trailer lost control on the untreated summit. That vehicle, visible now on your screens, belongs to Mercer Logistics—the regional transport firm recently awarded a forty-million-dollar state emergency maintenance contract.”*
A collective gasp rippled through the room.
The camera showed the blue and gold logo—*Mercer Logistics*—smashed against the concrete divider, while right next to it, Captain Leah Mercer stood on the treads of an Army tank, directing emergency personnel and lifting injured motorists into heated ambulances.
"My God," one of the brokerage partners whispered, backing away from Bryce as if the young man had suddenly caught fire. "Bryce... didn't you just say you canceled the tire chains to save forty minutes on transit?"
Bryce’s hand trembled. He pressed the power button on the remote, frantically trying to shut off the screen. "It’s... that’s an unconfirmed report! The media doesn't understand supply chain realities! That’s an independent contractor, that’s not our fault—"
"Shut up, Bryce," David said.
The voice was not loud, but it had the weight of an anvil dropping into deep water.
Bryce froze, looking at his stepfather. "Dad—"
"I said shut up."
David stepped toward the screen, his drink forgotten on a side table. His eyes were locked on Leah.
On the screen, Leah had just set the little girl down inside the warm cabin of an all-terrain ambulance. A reporter from a local affiliate who had hitched a ride with the state police ran forward with a microphone, battling the sixty-mile-per-hour gusts, thrusting the mic toward Leah’s face.
*“Captain Mercer! Captain Mercer! Just one word! You saved fifty lives tonight! What made you stay at Fort Mason on Christmas Eve?”*
Leah stopped on the track of the tank. She didn't look at the camera with pride. She didn't smile. Her eyes were exhausted, shadowed by deep, bruised rings of fatigue, but they were as clear and steady as polished stone.
*“Duty isn't seasonal, sir,”* Leah said, her voice carrying through the television speakers with absolute, unyielding clarity. *“When people rely on a system to protect them, you don't cut corners, and you don't stay home by the fire because it’s convenient. You do the work.”*
She turned her back on the camera, swung herself up into the commander's cupola of the tank, and keyed her tactical radio:
*“All stations, this is Mercer Actual. Clear the wreckage from lane one. We have two hundred more families freezing down this mountain. Let’s bring them home.”*
The screen transitioned back to the newsroom anchor, who looked visibly moved. *“Captain Leah Mercer. A true American hero on this Christmas Eve.”*
In the media room, Henderson set his wine glass on the stone mantel with a sharp, definitive click.
"David," Henderson said, his voice entirely devoid of the warmth he had displayed twenty minutes earlier. "I think the County Executive is going to want an emergency meeting at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. And I suggest your legal team be present."
Without waiting for an answer, Henderson turned and walked toward the foyer to collect his coat.
Within three minutes, the other guests began to murmur hurried excuses.
"David, Celeste, thank you for the hospitality..."
"We really should check on our pipes at home..."
May you like
"The roads, you know..."
One by one, the bank presidents, the corporate partners, the political aides, and the social acquaintances slipped out the front door into the falling snow, leaving the gilded great room empty, the fire dying down into cold grey ash.
