The meeting room is quiet, a small, nondescript space with bland walls.
My editor enters, nodding at me to sit.
He wastes no time, diving into the agenda.
“We need to capitalize on this momentum,” he begins.
I nod, though my mind is elsewhere.
He doesn’t notice, his focus on the numbers and stats.
“The traffic is incredible,” he continues, enthusiasm in his voice.
“We should consider a series of follow-ups.”
I hesitate, the words caught in my throat.
“I have some concerns,” I finally manage.
He pauses, looking at me with mild interest.
“Concerns?”
I nod, trying to articulate the knot of unease in my chest.
“About the source, the authenticity.”
He waves a hand dismissively.
“That’s not our problem,” he says.
The dismissal stings, but I press on.
“It could be a hoax, and if it is…”
He cuts me off, his tone firm.
“We’re in the business of stories, not truth.”
The words hang in the air, heavy and undeniable.
My resolve wavers, the power imbalance all too clear.
Still, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m complicit in something bigger.
The meeting ends, his instructions clear.
I’m left with a choice I’m unsure how to make.
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