S4, E2 | Beneficiaries of Battle

\ Monday, September 17th, 2007 /
\ 9:42 pm est. - 6:42 pm pst. /

“Their pleas were felt even more in Taiwan than they were here, where hundreds of thousands made their call for the United Nations to formally accept Taiwan” Grant reads, looking directly into the camera as he does so. With his eyes glued to the screen his primetime anchors occupy, the president of the company takes a swig of dark liquor from a whiskey glass with a slight lean against his chair, taking in the information offered by his subordinates as a knock emerges from the front of his office.

“Don’t you just love when a machine is properly oiled and running smoothly?” Vickers queries aloud the moment he hears knuckles tap against hardwood, watching his lowered-guard secretary stand in the doorway with a pause. “These two bounce off of each other better than any anchors I’ve ever lived to see in my lifetime” the man continues, making small talk with the woman that, whilst she doesn’t mind it, had not intended for her greeting to be used as an invitation to it.

“I’m sorry, dear. I’m just so fond of this business, and when everything’s clicking... I just can’t help but smile” the cheerful older man proclaims, properly adjusting his posture and spinning his chair toward the woman at the door. “What is it?” Vickers questions aloud, setting his glass on the top of his desk before folding his hands in his lap, allowing the woman to carry on with her purpose for knocking.

Within a few minutes of his secretary’s entry, Vickers’ feet are stepping along the long floors of the company’s building, travelling from the depths of its internal sanctum to a higher level. “...her plan for a universal healthcare system as the race begins to enter its most decisive starting point” Taylor speaks, only most of her talking points being heard by the company’s president as he steps through the doors of the newsroom, emerging into the bureau with a straight face.

Allowing his co-anchor to continue onward, Grant takes a similarly-brief notice of their superior’s entry with a glance past the hard camera, paying it no mind as of the moment with commercial fast approaching. Finishing the point laid out for her on the screen a few paces ahead, Taylor presses her lips together as her boyfriend takes over, aiding the broadcast in entering the next break whilst she awaits the advancement of the man across the room.

Their desks doubling as a crowd of tables during showtime, the producers responsible for putting the show together collectively watch on at the stage until a few seconds prior to the next advertisement break. Collectively, their chairs begin to spin around to the entrance of the room, where they, too, take notice of the rare sighting of their company’s president.

Calm and collected, Vickers stands at the opposite end of the producer’s fleet of desks with his hands in the pockets of his slacks until the broadcast’s outro tune begins playing, signalling a multiple-minute break whilst their shareholders’ will for profit is fulfilled. Traipsing through the crowd of his employed workers, the older man approaches the transparent stage in which his primetime desk has been placed upon, not uttering a word before coming within a few feet of the couple seated behind it.

“What’s going on?” Taylor inquires, watching the president step forward and remove his palms from the storage slots of his attire, pressing them against the news desk instead before answering in a subdued tone. “Robin gave me the call a few minutes ago, and I’m dropping by to let you know too” Vickers responds, only being overheard by the man that assumes the broadcast’s direction from within the control room, “Ross kicked the bucket about a half hour ago.”

= Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onward =

\ Tuesday, September 18th, 2007 /
\ 11:21 am est. - 8:21 am pst. /

“Where does that leave his shares?” Bruce queries, standing near the absolute centre of the company president’s office between both Vickers and Taylor, who occupy the visitor chairs whilst Robin occupies the swivelling one the office’s occupant is meant to be seated upon. “I’d imagine he’d have passed them down through his will” Grant replies, leaning against the wall lined with windows and his arms crossed, “I’d imagine the beneficiary would’ve still been Kaye.”

“Yeah, but she’s dead. The question is who it’d be passed down to next” Vickers replies, kept from speaking with suggestion any further before his superior’s interruption cuts him off. “With how much he’s worth, the state isn’t going to wait long to find out how much of their share they can snatch from his cold, dead, skank-enthusiast hands” Robin replies, reaching out to the foam cup of coffee she’d placed atop her subordinate’s desk.

“Would anyone here be able to figure out if a will-reading’s been called for?” Bruce questions aloud, providing an inquiry that prevents the company’s chairwoman from indulging in her coffee for the moment being. “We had an agreement that he’d leave me the other half of an apartment complex we’d both purchased in Vancouver twenty years ago” Robin responds, pressing her back into the chair’s cushion, “I don’t take him to be a man of his word, but I should be getting a call.”

“And we’re just supposed to wait until that will reading is called for to figure out how fucked we are?” Grant questions, watching the faces that reside in the room ahead of him collectively nod with the rest of their heads. “We’ve been in limbo over these shares for months now, another couple of weeks shouldn’t be that much different to our current status quo” Vickers proclaims, pressing his palms against his knees as he lifts himself from his seat, “until Robin gets that call, it’s business as usual.”

“No one should be acting any differently anyway” Robin explains, joining the company’s president in climbing out of her chair, setting an example that Taylor feels inclined to follow, “we’re already up shit creek without a paddle. Let’s not get ourselves any deeper than we should be.”

“Understood” Grant responds, gently pushing his frame off the concrete wall separating one window from the other before joining the four patrons of the office in making for the room’s exit.

|

\ Friday, September 21st, 2007 /
\ 6:14 am est. - 3:14 am pst. /

“Good morning!” Carly cheerfully remarks, stepping into the office of her executive producer with a box of muffins in one hand and a set of coffees in the other, “two creams, two sugars in your coffee and a pair of blueberry muffins.” Setting the taste bud delights upon the man’s work-covered desk, the eight o’clock anchor looks on with widened eyes and utter surprise at the casual manner in which the star of his broadcast places the treats at his disposal.

“What the hell are you doing here so early?” Aiden asks in genuine, yet semi-animated awe, slowly reaching out toward the coffee that his anchor extends toward him. “Well, I’ve had to keep playing nice with Brant in order to get Vince an ‘in’ with him and I’m hoping to introduce them to each other this morning” Carly replies, continuing to speak as she turns toward the clutter-filled visitor’s chair at the front of her producer’s workspace.

“Vince gets in really early now that he’s living in Taylor’s old apartment and Brant’s a finance guy, so I’m sure it doesn’t take much to crunch the numbers and figure out that they’re morning people” she continues, opting to remain standing in lieu of an actual seat. “So you woke up specifically so you can introduce the two early birds to the worm you’ve been working toward?” Aiden questions, watching the anchor’s head nod to insist that he’s on the right track.

“Not that I mind or anything, but why the hell do you have so much stuff in your office?” Carly questions aloud, quickly shifting the discussion toward matters she’s more interested in. “Don’t get me wrong, I know you take everything here seriously, but... come on, man” the anchor carries onward, gesturing toward the two stacks of binders on each visitor chair, “you work a one-hour show with a host whose only ever really been used as eye candy until you came on board here- how much research do you need?”

“That depends. Some of the binders are news stories, others have paper records of my sources and their previous insights, some are documented reports on the demographics since I took over...” Aiden explains, motioning his hand toward the areas in which each resides as he runs down them, “...it looks like a lot because it’s pretty much every insight that I use to keep this show running on the right track.”

“I don’t understand how you can live like this” Carly responds, still standing to the side of the man’s desk with her coffee in hand and eyes held toward the amalgamation of documents, “I know you and Shane aren’t exactly tidy, but this is like a natural disaster put a hit out on you.”

“My job isn’t easy. There’s a lot to keep track of, and that applies double when I put my career on the line to take a risk like the one I made coming down here” Aiden replies, appreciatively sipping his coffee before leaning in his seat, both arms pressing into the sides of his chair. “Besides, where else would I keep stuff like this?” he carries on, regaining the anchor’s line of sight, “imagine if we were still dating. Would you really want me to bring all of this back to your flat?”

“Of course not! It just seems...” Carly answers, assessing the assorted mess of information once more whilst pausing, unable to put the proper word to the illustration that she bears witness to in the moment. “Excessive” Aiden concludes after a short time, nodding his head in agreement despite being the source of the mess in the first place, “I know it is, but again... that’s my job. All of it’s important and it all serves a purpose. As much of a mess as it causes... it’s necessary.”

Willing to take the man’s claims as gospel, Carly shrugs before allowing her feet to carry her toward the door. “Well, I’m gonna head off. Vince should be getting upstairs in a couple of minutes and I don’t want him getting settled in just to be ripped by the throat toward a breakfast date with some financier douchebag” she concludes, turning her full front toward the room’s exit before hearing her executive producer’s voice call out for her.

“Douchebag, huh?” Aiden jokingly wonders aloud, wearing the faintest smirk that takes no effort at all for his premier anchor to take notice of. “Yes, Aiden... he’s a bit of a douchebag” Carly playfully retorts, her own, composed grin returned to the man that begs the question, “just because a guy is pretty doesn’t mean that he’s worth anything more than drooling over.”

“That’s good to know” the executive producer responds, kicking one leg over the other as his anchor’s breathy laugh is returned to him, her back turning the rest of the way as she sets sail for the bureau. Somewhat amused by the way in which their interaction had concluded, Aiden leans as far back in his chair as it’ll allow him whilst taking a sizable swig from the cup, giving off the most satisfied sigh that a coffee has ever brought him.

\ Wednesday, October 17th, 2007 /
\ 9:18 am est. - 6:18 am pst. /

“I know you don’t drop in to check on me every day, but sometimes it sure as hell does feel like it” Vickers remarks, entering his office with a coffee in hand to find his superior awaiting his arrival. “I figured I wouldn’t go out of my way to convince you that I was already here since your secretary would’ve let you know ahead of time” Robin responds, confessing that her greater intentions were likely impossible to achieve.

“You pay her well... she appreciates me for that” Vickers replies, letting his coat fall off his shoulders before being guided by his hand toward the coat rack. “I got the call this morning. The reading is taking place next week” Robin cuts to the chase, stepping out of the president’s chair with little intention of sticking around any longer than she needs to, “from what I’ve been told, only four people are to be present.”

“Am I one of them?” Vickers questions back, not needing to wait long for his superior to answer his question with ‘no’ and replying to her, “then why would I care about who’s supposed to be there?”

“Because- aside from me- two of them are your highest-rated anchors” Robin answers, watching her subordinate pass her by before quickly looking back, his eyes squinting as the attempt at returning to his desk takes a pause. “Why would Grant and Taylor be in his will?” Vickers questions aloud, hiding a slight optimism that the company chairwoman wastes little time in voicing aloud.

“I’m not sure, but unless he decided within the last year and a half that he was going to try and make up for the scars he helped leave the girl with... I’d hope that would mean he’d redone his will very recently” Robin explains, stepping closer toward her employee-acquaintance and lowering her voice to a near whisper. “Now, I don’t know if what she said to that affair-having jackass made any progress...” she furthers, “...but if he had his will redone recently, it just might have paid off.”

“If he had his will redone recently and has the three of you invited, what are we worrying about?” Vickers queries, gently letting his coffee rest at the edge of his desk. “What we’re worrying about is the fact that the fourth person is Burt Russo” Robin answers, immediately earning the roll of the president’s eyes as he carries on with his approach toward his desk.

“We both know the kind of man that Ross is. We certainly know what kind of grudge he still had against me for ousting him from the company” the owner of the highest-percentage of shares in the company explains, “how much are you willing to bet he’d leave the shares to Russo for absolutely nothing simply because I was in the room to watch it happen?”

“I don’t know at this point, Robin. I wouldn’t discount the idea of him leaving the shares to Grant and Taylor at this point just to take a snipe at both you and Russo” Vickers concludes, dropping himself into his chair whilst looking toward the woman standing over him, “honestly, I’m kind of tired of speculating. With all this worrying about who gets Ross’ shares in the company, I miss just coming into work because I love being a part of making the news... Not being the news.”

“How do you think I feel?” Robin queries, rounding the desk before begrudgingly taking a seat on the visitor’s side, “I’ve had my authority questioned and put in doubt more in the last eight months than I have in the last eight years.”

“We’re all tired of this, Robin. The only light at the end of the tunnel as it stands now is that meeting next Thursday” Vickers responds, wearing a frown as he slides his hand into one of his desk’s drawers. “You know when the meeting is, you know what’s going to happen, and you can’t change any damn thing about it until then” the president continues, retrieving a bottle of scotch and placing it atop the desk, “why bother with letting pointless worrying get to you?”

“I don’t even know if ‘high-functioning alcoholic’ is a good enough title for you anymore. I think you might have outgrown it” Robin quips with humour, listening to the metal cap be directed by her subordinate’s hand around the rim it soon falls off of. “I prefer ‘strong-livered gentleman’ these days. It seems more fitting” Vickers replies, pouring a small amount of liquor into a paper cup that he sits before his superior’s person.

“You’re lucky I have mints in my purse” Robin responds, quickly leaving her chair, taking the paper cup into her hand and downing the drink without hesitation. “Keep your ship in working order, you elderly drunkard!” she proclaims whilst walking for the door, earning a snipe from the man she leaves behind. “Don’t use that ‘e-word’ around me! You wouldn’t call a donkey a horse if you saw its teeth first!” Vickers chirps, watching the woman wander off before returning the bottle to its cabinet.

|

\ Thursday, October 25th, 2007 /
\ 11:36 am est. - 8:36 am pst. /

“I don’t understand, are you his agent or his lawyer?” a white man with a trimmed circle beard questions, standing in the doorway to a room cut off from a larger waiting area. “Both. I’m certified in law and in the representation of my clients” Bruce answers, immediately reading the same hesitation on the man’s face that the rest of the room notices. “Listen, if you can let him in- great. If you can’t, Bruce can stay outside until we’re done and I’ll fill him in afterward” Grant explains.

“That is acceptable. I’m only authorised to let the four of you inside while proceedings are underway” the executor remarks, “once I’ve completed the reading of the will and all opportunities to ask questions have elapsed, we will open the room to anyone who wishes to join.”

“Is that alright, Bruce?” Grant questions, watching the man begrudgingly lift his hands into the air as a show of surrender, stepping back from the man that gently rests his non-dominant hand on Taylor’s lower back. “I’m a busy man and I have a lot on my plate. Can we just get this show on the road?” Burt questions, immediately hearing the snicker of the LMC chairwoman beside him.

“You’re just a walking fat joke, aren’t you?” Robin chirps, joining in the ire that the youngest of the present women continues to draw. “Can we just get this bullshit over with please?” Taylor wonders aloud, stepping forward with the hopes that her progression toward the room will convince the executor to similarly follow suit.

“Are there any questions before we begin?” the executor questions aloud three minutes after seating each beneficiary at the table, the Finley Network operator seated alone on one side whilst his LMC-based adversaries occupy the one opposite. “Yeah, when do we receive the things that we’re being given in this thing?” Taylor questions aloud, asking the one question that none of the present parties had raised just yet.

“Bank accounts, retirement accounts and other non-physical aspects will be distributed immediately” the executor responds, seated at the end of the table closest to the two parties, “any physical items you may receive will take a few months to be settled by the probate and distributed to their rightful beneficiaries.”

“So, company shares would be passed down immediately?” Burt questions aloud, sitting closer to one side of his chair than the other, his dominant arm resting against the seat’s side, “even if the shares are worth hundreds of millions of dollars cumulatively?”

“If the company shares are as high of a value as you present, there will likely be a few hoops to jump through with the I.R.S...” the executor replies before nodding his head and looking toward the opposite side of the table, “...but, yes. Aside from those caveats and actually having to sign off on the paperwork associated with the changing of ownership, company shares would be placed into the possession of their beneficiary immediately.”

As if readying for their feet to be put to the fire, the LMC trio begin holding their breath as the time for questions concludes, allowing the executor to open his leather bound binder to the will they’ve waited all too long to hear the results of. “Mr. Walker’s will is not a bullet point list and will be read in the manner it was copied” the will-reader explains, “for the purposes of clarity, it will be read like any letter would. Each paragraph, read by each word, until completion.”

Slightly impatient, Burt glances toward the opposite side of the table whilst pressing a hand against the side of his face. The subjects of his glance all eager to hear what’s been written, their collective patience proves to be one of necessity in the name of keeping a straight face, hiding their worry that nothing good will come out of the next few minutes as best as they can muster themselves to.

“My final hours on this earth will be spent thinking back to each of the ones I had lived prior to them. As I reach the end of them, I will hope to have lived a full life” Ross’ opening line reads, doing little to sit within the conscience of anyone other than the two younger anchors. “I have done good and I have done bad, but what I have not done is make amends for much of the former. I intend to change that, even if I don’t have much time left to do so” the following statement reads.

With slightly wider eyes, Taylor stares at the executor, whose face takes on the expression of focus that comes with someone reading off something as important as the document in his possession. Stricken with hope by the final line, Robin passes a glance toward the confused man on the opposite side of the table that fails to see the purpose in such a remark from the man he’d attempted to do business with.

“It is for this reason that I request any American currency that remains in the wake of my estate be donated to children’s hospitals, local foundations, and cancer research” Ross’ first declaration states, being scoffed at silently by the Finley Network chairman. “I next wish to leave all of my international property to the ownership of my first wife, Robin Lloyd, in full” the will follows, affirming the only true expectation that the woman in question entered the proceedings with.

“My domestic properties- aside from one- are to be left in the possession of Robin Lloyd as well” the next line reads, earning a slight squint from the LMC chairwoman, “I wish for my Port Washington estate to be left in the possession of Taylor English and Grant Haste.” Uncertain for the reason behind their benefitting of the property, both anchors glare with confusion at the document whilst keeping their mind on the bigger prize still at stake.

“In addition to this waterfront property, I wish to leave Taylor English and Grant Haste each of the assets that are registered under the Port Washington property” the executor carries on, “this includes a collection of seven foreign luxury vehicles, individual properties that reside within the home, and my vessel stored at the Port Washington Yacht Club.”

Taken aback by the generous wealth they’ve been left with, the couple stare on with bewilderment for a moment whilst retaining their reservations, aware of the possession still up for grabs that provokes the impatience within their network adversary to further build. “With that, what I am certain of is that my remaining assets- namely the twenty percent of shares that I own in LMC Media- are the greater focus of those that are present for this reading” Ross’ departing letter continues, “in that, I will waste no further time in naming the beneficiaries to these.”

As if told to brace for an impact that was only seconds away, the collective attention of those at the table stands immediately, their bodies tensing and teeth pressing together. Settling his impatience, Burt takes a slight lean forward whilst Robin clenches her fists, the anchors that man her premier broadcast strengthening their grasp on each other’s hands whilst their free fingers wrap tightly around the sides of the seats that they reside within.

“Of my twenty percent of shares in LMC Media, I leave them to Robin Lloyd for absolutely no cost” the letter proceeds, immediately fueling an anger within Russo that stands in drastic juxtaposition to the glee that brings an audible cheer over the three beneficiaries opposite him. Collectively leaping out of their seats with a roar of joy, Grant and Taylor release each other’s hands from their grasp and instead take each other into their arms whilst Robin’s head tilts back with immediate satisfaction.

“Fuck yes!” Bruce exclaims from beyond the doors that each of the beneficiaries had wandered through to begin proceedings, hearing the collective applause and knowing immediately who had reacted with it. “This is fucking bullshit!” Burt blurts aloud, reacting exactly the way in which the executor had come to expect of him, “had his miserable, bitch wife been a better driver, none of this would be happening!”

“Tough shit, Russo!” Robin proclaims with a smile, standing out from her seat and bringing a natural pause to the embrace that her primetime anchors share beside her, “you can talk all the game you want, but it’s like I’ve said countless times at this rate... LMC is my domain.”

Flaring his nostrils, Russo looks to the opposite side of the executor before hearing the neutral man’s continuation and turning his head. “After this, I imagine the room is currently uncivilised and I authorise my executor to finish off my will- which I don’t wish to waste any further time with” the man explains, finishing off the final declaration that Ross had to offer, “Burt Russo, you are the scum of the earth. I have more hatred for you than almost anyone else in life. To you, I leave a ten dollar gift card to Dunkin’ Donuts.”

Turning away with a look of obvious rage, the overweight network operator is refused the ability to leave the room as his rival’s voice draws his ear all too firmly. “Russo, the only thing that matters is that his wife’s dead, he’s dead, and you’re fucked” Robin quips, prompting the man to turn his back with a finger raised in the much smaller woman’s direction.

“If you think this is something to cheer about, you are sorely mistaken” Russo declares, watching as Taylor follows Grant toward the chairwoman’s direction, his posture suggesting that he’s ready for a fight in the event that one breaks out. “Do you think I’m oblivious to how Finley’s perceived by the public? Our shows aren’t meant to get people to trust us, it’s to get people to watch... That’s it” the heavy set man doubles down, “if you think I’m opposed to ruining our reputation for the sake of ruining you... think again.”

Making threats that the LMC chairwoman refuses to take as being anything other than idle, the borderline-obese executive turns toward the room’s exit before thinking twice, adding emphasis to his claims. “None of our networks like each other, but no one is at war here. ACN and CSN fill a void, but no one’s going at each other’s throats... Not until now” Russo declares, again pointing his finger in the trio’s direction, “you’ve picked a fight with a network who doesn’t pretend to be morally higher than the competition... And it won’t end well.”

“Finley stands as much of a chance of putting LMC out of business as the economy has of bouncing back anytime soon” Robin rebukes, drawing the furthered ire of the man that she fails to find any reason to fear, “there’s nothing you, or your slutty anchors, or your handsy correspondents, or your mindless audience can do to stifle us.”

“Maybe not, but it will make you wish the only thing you had to deal with was having me in your boardroom” Russo counters, offering his final declaration whilst moving his finger toward the subjects they’re intended to snipe at. “I’m going to make each and every board meeting a living nightmare for you...” the man declares with his finger aimed at Robin, only to pause and redirect his extended digit toward the anchors both beside and behind her, “...and I’m going to make your lives a living hell.”

Speaking his peace, Russo steps back and angrily ventures through the now-open doors, retreating toward the direction in which he’d entered the building whilst the trio he leaves behind watch on. Unphased and willing to remain that way until confronted with a reason to change that, the anchors and their superior stare on without uttering a word, having gotten out of the appointment what they’d wished for and ready to leave with the aftermath of their benefits in full swing.

== Tonight at 9 ==