S4, E9 | Extending Power to Thee of Worthy Hand

\ Friday, February 22nd, 2008 /
\ 10:56 pm est. - 7:56 pm pst. /

“What the fuck is going on!?” Grant shouts as he storms through the doors of the lift that bring him into the chair woman’s loft, the detail of his veins showing through the skin on his neck. “Grant, give me a second” Vickers calmly pleads, standing a few feet away from his superior with one hand on his hip and the other pressing against his forehead, speaking politely, but clearly harbouring a great deal of exhaustion from yelling himself.

“I’ll give you a second after you tell me why-!” Grant battles back, only to fall silent at the raised voice of his immediate superior. “Grant, for the love all things- fuck!” Vickers exclaims, spouting the same aggravated yell that his anchor had offered him, “shut your fucking mouth and give me a second!”

Punching the air in a pure rage, the company president finishes his declaration before venturing away, stepping toward the large windows of his boss’ flat whilst the male anchor of nine o’clock watches on, doing as demanded out of respect for the president. Controlling his breaths, Vickers places his second hand at his hip whilst he stares out at the city and the bright lights that keep it awake, his face bathed in the glow of distant illumination as he stares into the darkness of the northeastern night.

Watching the man’s distance-creating stroll come to a stop at the end of the room, Grant turns his attention toward his boss’ employer with as much of a scowl as he’d entered the flat with. Clearly pissed off by the same display that has found the ire of those in her company, Robin sits on her pure white chesterfield without a drink in hand, one hand pressing against her chin whilst the other rests across her chest, the hand of it sitting in the nook of her arm as the president rejoins the discourse.

“Alright. You’re clearly not telling me the whole truth” Vickers calmly states, letting go of a deep breath before turning back for those in the living room’s centre, “did we enact a lifetime ban from broadcasting in Barry’s clause or did we not?” Visibly invested in hearing an answer, Grant crosses his arms in an effort of containing his anger before turning toward the seated woman a short distance away.

Wearing a disgruntled demeanour, Robin looks toward the floor of her luxury living space whilst Vickers draws nearer, staying quiet for a moment as she settles her frustration. “We did not” the woman confesses, shocking the anchor who’d only joined on with their company less than two years prior whilst the president looks toward the heavens with an irritated grin.

“I tried to establish a lifetime ban in our settlement deal, but he promised to not sign it and sue if it was included” Robin doubles down, recalling the moment in which both sides met at the negotiating table for the final time. “We settled on a ten calendar-year deal for him to remain off the air. We had Taylor take a rape kit in secret and paid the police to keep in on the low like she asked” the chair woman carries along, “at the time, spending ten years off the air might as well have been a lifetime ban.”

‘Yes, but it’s not... is it?” Vickers questions back, speaking calmly in a way that makes the LMC owner feel more guilty than she already does. “No, it was not” Robin answers, again staring at the ground out of utter horror at seeing the disgraced anchor’s face on the television this evening. “And yet, you told me...?” the president continues along, stepping back as the shorter woman fires off of her couch with a fever-pitch yell.

“I told you it was a lifetime ban, goddamnit!” the chair woman howls back, stepping up to her subordinate with a face of outright anger, “I told you it was a lifetime ban so neither you or the girl would have to worry that he’d break the mould and show back up on someone else’s air! Are you happy!?”

“No, because now he’s back on the air” Grant calmly answers on the president’s behalf, re-earning the attention of the woman who owns forty-one percent of the company he’s employed by. “And had I known that there’d be a reason to worry that he’d show back up in 1998, I would have pretty much pushed Taylor into the courtroom myself!” Robin shouts, approaching the anchor’s much calmer figure as it remains standing in place, “what do you want me to tell you!?”

Having replaced the outrage that had fueled his expression with a glum and depressed sorrow, Grant keeps firm in his stance with his arms crossed, looking the company’s shot-caller in the eyes and speaking with more composure than anyone in the room had carried up to that point. “I’d like you to tell me something that I can take back to the newsroom...” the anchor answers through great pain, tears forming in his eyes, “...something that can help me convince my fiance to stop crying in the corner of my office with her arms wrapped around her legs.”

Unable to say anything in response, Robin looks the much younger gentleman in the face before letting her eyes fall with the rest of her head, the direction of her face carrying her away in even greater shame now. “Please tell me she didn’t have to go on air tonight” Vickers wonders aloud, trying to look past the flat’s primary tenant in favour of asking over the state of the victim to their issue.

“Aiden stormed upstairs during the broadcast and demanded a typed script from us about five minutes after Arnold showed up” Grant answers, shaking his head in refusal, “I refused to let Taylor go on the air and Aiden refused to let me all the same. He just did our nine o’clock script downstairs.”

“That’s fine. No one mentioned Barry or Nalty on our air, correct?” Vickers questions back, only to receive an uncertain shake of the head from his trusted anchor. “I wouldn’t assume that Aiden would allow that, but I don’t know for sure” Grant replies whilst Robin paces around the room with her hands on her hips, “I was too busy consoling Taylor until Aiden and Carly were down at ten. I told them to look after her while I ran over here for answers.”

“Well, it seems you and I both just got them” Vickers responds, nodding his head with great displeasure as he looks toward his superior, “what do we do now?” Pressing the tip of her tongue against her top teeth, Robin stares at the ceiling and gingerly shakes her head, the lids of her eyes tense in their slight squint closer toward each other. “I’m not sure there’s anything we can do now” the chair woman confesses beneath her breath through a sigh.

“We can go on air and out him” Grant suggests, finding the lack of a reasonable reply unacceptable, proposing whatever he can think of. “We have fine lawyers, but those are the ones that put this arrangement in place to begin with” Vickers answers, shaking his head in refusal, “in all technicality, his punishment was the agreement that he signed. As far as legality is concerned, he’s a rotten bastard who did the crime and the time.”

“Well I’m not sure how you expect Taylor to go on the air each night and compete with that asshole for an hour with a straight face” Grant retorts, seeing the sideways nod that the president reacts to his claim with, “she’s the strongest woman I know, but no one is that strong.”

“I’m going to put the two of you on a paid leave of absence” Robin answers, turning her front back to the men that share the flat with her. “I’m fine with going against Nalty. There’s nothing that bastard-” Grant begins to rebuke, only for his response to fall silent at the behest of his superior’s voice. “She’s putting you on paid leave to look after Taylor” Vickers corrects, seeing where his anchor’s misunderstanding comes into play, “think of this as how we reacted to what happened with Kelsi, just with the roles reversed.”

“You can’t seriously expect Aiden to go another couple of weeks without Carly, can you?” Grant questions back, earning a warm smile across his boss’ face, “he just got her back. They’re finding their groove, you can’t take that away from them.”

“Grant, I have deep respect for your consideration of the company’s situation even in the face of this adversity” Vickers clarifies, lifting the ends of his suit jacket up to place his hands within his pockets, “nevertheless, this is not a matter you can talk either one of us out of.” Hanging his head, the anchor lets out a deep breath as the president turns toward his superior, calmed enough to be able to think relatively clearly.

“He is right about one thing, however. Aiden can’t afford to lose Carly for that long again. They’re finally finding their stride” Vickers explains, looking at Robin as she stands with shaky confidence. “We’ll find temporary anchors for nine o’clock and tell the audience that personal matters have taken both Grant and Taylor off the air for a prolonged period of time” the president remarks, calling their immediate shots, “Carly and Aiden will continue as is and we will not release any statement regarding Nalty or Barry.”

“Well we’re going to have to say something” Robin replies, only for the man opposite her to shake his head and fight against the statement. “No, we do not. And I’m sorry, Robin. I don’t care if you’re the person who signs my paychecks, allows me to keep working past the age of retirement, or hell- I don’t care if you’re the right-hand woman to God himself...” Vickers doubles down, standing firm in his stance, “...as far as how we handle ourselves in this war- I’m in charge of it now.”

Parting her lips with the tip of her tongue pressing into the corner of her mouth, Robin looks off to the side and reserves her counter-argument to the man’s claims, holding back in the name of admitting that he might be better suited for what’s next to come than she is. “I love you, I care about you, and you are my closest friend. But, Ms. Lloyd- this can’t be your battle to wage” Vickers reassures, “I’ll run our calls past you before we make them, but they will be my calls.”

Resting her upper and lower jaws closer together, Robin settles into the man’s explanation with a slight defeat carried in her heart, eyes taking to the ground. “I need you to tell me that you understand that” Vickers clarifies, earning a slight chuckle out of the woman as she begins giving into the good-faith release of power she’s asked to place in other hands, “if I’m going to be the general of this counterattack, I’m going to need to know that you have my back when it counts.”

Looking back to the president, Robin finds both sets of eyes that stand before her planting their focus in her direction, waiting for whichever reply she’s bound to give. Finally closing her mouth fully, the chair woman stares past the men and to the barely-decorated wall that resides behind them. Letting his arms fall from the cross that they’d rested within, Grant takes on a similar posture to Vickers as they await their conclusive remark, watching as the superior’s lips part as she presents them with her answer.

“I understand.”

= 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 =

\ Wednesday, March 5th, 2008 /
\ 9:15 am est. - 6:15 am pst. /

“So, we now know for certain that John McCain will be the Republican nominee for president this November, leaving just Obama and Clinton to duke it out over who gets to represent the Democrats” Carly comments, dressed in a Nike sweatshirt and a pair of grey slacks, “as always, we’ll be keeping you up to date with that.”

Offering her closing remarks, the eight o’clock anchor wraps up this online show’s recording and has it sent over to be edited, earning a quiet applause from her boyfriend. “Great show as always” Aiden remarks, kissing the woman before joining her in venturing toward the office she can hear her phone ringing from inside.

“Hello?” she quickly greets, having reached her desk just in time to pick up the phone before taking a seat, her boyfriend’s hands coupling at his lap as he waits for the call to wrap up. “Yeah, this is her” Carly reassures, entering the leathery embrace of her seat as she listens to the masculine tone that replies to her from the other end of the line.

“Why not?” she asks back, unable to fill in her out-of-the-loop boyfriend into the remark that draws her curiosity more than any others. Scoffing at the reply that she receives, Carly rolls her eyes and looks toward the office’s window at a loss for words, wearing the bemused grin on her face as the other party continues to speak.

“Well, what more do they want me to do? Strip to my underwear and do an exotic dance while I break down the weather report?” she questions back, instinctively lifting her finger in the direction of the man she knows heard the reply without context. Letting his pleased smile descend back into a resting face, Aiden takes a seat in one of the chairs opposite his anchor and awaits the conclusion of her conversation.

“They’re just trying to save pennies. They’re buying low so they don’t need to pay the market value” Carly responds, shaking her head in disapproval of the conclusion that’s been brought on by the call. “I’m not going to threaten to take an offer somewhere else. I like what I have here, I like what we’re building, and-” she carries forward, only for the muffled voice on the other end to kickstart once more, interrupting Aiden’s girlfriend as he tries his best to make out what’s being said.

“No, don’t send a counter offer yet. I’m going to go talk to someone” Carly rebukes, leaning closer to the phone in the name of ending the call, refusing the claim that the other party makes to her. “I don’t know who I’m going to talk to, but I’m going to go talk to someone” the eight o’clock anchor rebuttals, pulling the handset from her head before finishing her defiant proclamation as she goes to hang up, “I mean it... don’t send a counter offer yet.”

Without another utterance, Carly returns the handset to the receiver and pushes her chair out, leaving it with eyes set on the office’s exit. “What was that about?” Aiden wonders aloud, squinting out a genuine uncertainty as to whether or not he should be concerned or amused.

“I’ll tell you later. Go do whatever you have to do, I want to handle this myself” Carly explains, leaving her office in the same breath as her delivery whilst the man she ditches watches on. “What on earth was that about?” Aiden wonders aloud after a brief few seconds in the quiet, shaking his head at a loss as he sinks further into the guest’s chair.

|

\ Wednesday, March 5th, 2008 /
\ 9:22 am est. - 6:22 am pst. /

Staring at the cloudy sky from the comfort of a lawn chair, Grant occupies the end of the pier to he and his fiance’s recently-inherited beachfront property. With a pair of sunglasses draped over his face and an unzipped sweatshirt that continues to be pushed by the breeze, the anchor turns to his side without much emotion in his face. “We should be able to use the beach as a beach in a few weeks” the man murmurs aloud, prompting his lover to turn and face him, “are you excited?”

Wearing a similar set of clothes, Taylor sets her sights back upon the glum heavens above with a slight squint, having chosen not to join her fiance in adorning tinted shades. “I don’t know. I’ve never actually used a private beach before” she confesses, shrugging her shoulders with a shake of her head, “I’d never even owned a home until we got this place.”

“Yeah, there isn’t really much room for a private beach within a residential tower in the middle of Manhattan, is there?” Grant queries, earning an amused laugh out of the woman beside him, seeing a lift in her spirits that had been hard to come by over the last few weeks. “If there was, I’m sure every stockbroker on Wall Street would be wearing a swimsuit to work” Taylor replies, matching her fiance’s amusement with some of her own, mustering a chuckle all the same.

“It’s probably for the best. Those September 11th conspiracies would be a lot tougher to sell otherwise” Grant quips, sending the humour directly back to his co-anchor, “imagine if, instead of complaining about jet fuel and steel beams, they just started spouting off that the death toll was too high to be realistic because people could’ve just cannon-balled into the harbour instead of aiming for the ground.”

Laughing quietly, but hard enough to press the lids of her eyes together, Taylor shakes her head at a loss for words as she lifts a travel cup of coffee to her lips, taking a sip as the amusement settles into good spirits. “Hey...” Grant mutters, prompting the woman to lean her head against the back of her seat and roll her face into the direction of her fiance, staying quiet as he speaks.

“...I really love you” the man remarks, watching his lover’s eyes close again as her face wears a genuine smile, the space between them remaining quiet for nearly another minute after the woman’s eyes reopen. To the sound of dull winds whipping by at the pace mother nature dictates for them to, the couple glue their faces toward each other’s as their breaths steady, foggy breath leaving through their noses with each exhale.

“I’m so sorry about everything that’s happening” Grant confesses, prompting a slight regression of the woman’s grin, her face beginning to wear the recollection of the circumstances that surround them in a way that she knows is necessary. “If I’m being honest, I’m pretty sorry that I didn’t see it coming” Taylor admits, lifting her eyebrows as she wraps both hands around the exterior of her travel container, “after all these years, I’d ignored any mention of him so much that I never asked whether or not he’d show up again.”

Remaining silent, Grant keeps his eyes held upon the woman as she takes another sip of her drink, singular strands of loose hair flailing in the breeze as she stares ahead. “I never even really thought it was a possibility that he’d show up again” Taylor carries on, feeling comfortable enough to speak mainly because of the company she shares the moment with, “in hindsight, it feels so obvious. Even Russo’s email specifically pointed out you and I.”

“He’s going to pay for this shit, you know that right?” Grant interjects, offering a reassurance that his fiance can only silently turn her face back toward his own in reaction to. “Barry’s going to pay for showing his face again- that much is for certain” the male anchor doubles down, pointing toward the ground with confidence, “but it’s Russo that gave him the platform to show back up on in the first place. And for that, it’s Russo that’s going to feel the worst of it.”

Though her teeth hide behind her pressed-together lips, the corners of the woman’s lips rise at either side of her face, forming a smile that only Grant and very few others can muster out of her. Letting a long breath leave through her nose, Taylor reclaims the sky into her field of view, the redirection of her gaze not convincing her fiance’s eyes to do anything other than keep upon her.

“That sounds very optimistic” she admits, presenting the returned comment with a modest amount of scepticism in her tone, “it’s almost like suggesting that good always beats evil. You think that when you watch superheros in cartoons as a kid, but then you grow up.” Falling, Grant’s eyes spend only a moment being carried away from his significant other, returning them to focus just as she begins speaking again.

“If good always beat evil, then Russo wouldn’t have a network, Barry would’ve died years ago like I’d thought he would’ve, and Nalty wouldn’t have been able to get away with what he did for as long as he did” Taylor proceeds, earning a scoff-like chuckle out of the man beside her. “Russo’s going to get his ass kicked, Barry is going to get what’s coming to him, and Nalty only got away with it for- as shameful as it sounds- as long as I let him get away with it” Grant argues.

“We’re not on the air and this isn’t a back and forth, honey” Taylor politely rebuttals in a way that fails to resemble a rebuttal, locking eyes with the man beside her whilst wearing a sorry expression. “Good people lose more than they should, and bad people win more than they should” the longer-tenured nine o’clock anchor remarks, holding back a displeasure in that confession that her fiance takes notice of despite her efforts, “in our line of work, the bad guys win a lot more.”

“I don’t believe that” Grant refutes, only for his better half’s face to sway from one side to the other with a shrug. “It doesn’t matter what you believe. We might be the only moral company in all of New York, and even we have skeletons in our closet” Taylor confesses, again presenting a truth that her fiance struggles to cope with, “Barry should be behind bars, but he’s not because the company needed to protect its brand. Robin and Sam signed off on that, and so did I.”

Turning his sights toward the sky, Grant parts his lips with hopes of offering something worth replying with, only to continuously fail to find anything of value in quick succession. Watching this hassle unfold in real time and knowing that it hurts her fiance’s heart to fall so silent on offering a retort, Taylor begins to wear the weight of the struggle she’d caused, not wanting to be a burden to one of the few people she cares more for than herself.

“I didn’t mean to make you upset” the woman sighs, apologising to the sound of her fiance’s laughter, purposefully meant to argue anything other than that. “I’m not upset, honey” Grant refutes, continuing to find reluctance to believe such a response from the woman beside him, “I’m not upset. I just don’t know what I can say to convince you that...”

Leaving no possibility to not take notice of his pause, Grant comes up short of what he’d wished to say before seemingly deciding to wipe the train of thought from his mind. “Say it” Taylor demands, watching the direction of her lover’s face collide with her own, nodding as she stands by her request, “I’m not a fragile little girl that you need to walk around eggshells to please. I know what you were going to say, so please... say it.”

Pressing his lips together in a slight frown, Grant keeps his line of sight firmly upon that of the woman’s own, unable to pull his face away from hers as she remains silent, not wanting to prevent her fiance from finishing his thought. Begrudgingly, the man carries out with his declaration to the reception of a genuine smile, knowing it’d be more disrespectful to pretend like she couldn’t handle criticism than to actually offer it.

“I don’t know what I can say to convince you that you’re wrong” Grant confesses, watching the pearly whites that his fiance offers back to him as an invitation to continue speaking. “Bad people win a lot. I can’t argue against that, but what can be argued is what we’re supposed to call ‘winning’, is it not?” he doubles down, watching Taylor’s less-enthused and more-intrigued visage return to him.

“Nalty has a fortune. He had a legacy. He had luxury cars, and properties in different countries, and a yacht for fuck’s sake...” Grant carries forward, using his own past as an example, “...but you know what? I won.” Slightly furrowing her eyebrows further, Taylor watches the eagerness in her fiance’s face carry on before changing her invested expression into a joyful visage.

“Nalty knows that he doesn’t hold any power over me now. No matter what we have to our names- the luxury, or the legacy, or the reputation... I won” Grant declares, watching the shift take shape in his fiance’s face in real time, “I looked him in the eyes and I took every last belief that he won that war away. I kept that power from him, I kept that control from him... and he knows it.”

Looking toward the heavens, Taylor feels the embrace of its warmth come over the skin of her face as her fiance continues, disregarding the slight bite of the winter wind in favour of the pleasant kiss of the sky’s subdued sunlight. “One day, Barry’s going to see the exact same thing. He’s going to see that he doesn’t have the power or the control...” Grant doubles down, watching his lover’s eyelids press together, “...and he’s going to know it.”

With nothing more than the look of bright red brought on by the cloudy sky, Taylor parts her lips with both rows of teeth gently pressing against each other. As her fiance falls silent, she begins slowly lowering her bottom jaw and pulling her teeth away from each other, shrugging with a slight lift in her eyebrows as she finally responds.

“Agree to disagree.”

|

\ Wednesday, March 5th, 2008 /
\ 9:34 am est. - 6:34 am pst. /

“Why am I being low-balled?” Carly questions, entering the office of her immediate superior with a genuine inquisition carried through her eyes. “I beg your pardon?” Vickers genuinely retorts, leaning slightly with a squint in his eyes, unsure as to what’s being insinuated through this visit. “My agent says LMC is low-balling me in their renewal offer” the eight o’clock anchor replies, “it’s not even less than what I’m asking for, it’s less than what I’m already getting.”

“Well, I just sign off on whatever deal finance puts on my desk once they’ve crunched the numbers into something more favourable for them” Vickers replies, pulling the pair of cheaters away from his face whilst he does, “but, if I had to imagine why you’d be getting low-balled, I’d assume it’d have something to do with the shift in your viewership. And by viewership... I mean the decrease of it.”

“It’s only dropped in one demographic because it’s steadily growing in the opposite direction- the one that’s more favourable to advertisers” Carly responds, only to receive little more than a shrug. “Sure, but it’s not there yet” Vickers rebuttals with his hands coupled over his chest, leaning back in his seat with each elbow pressing against the sides of his chair.

“I want more money than what they’re offering” Carly restates, only for the president to roll his eyes and look toward the windows at the end of his office. “We’d all like more money than what we get, but the fact of the matter is... there’s a reason not many of us get our way” Vickers rejoinders, uncoupling his hands for only a moment as he directs them toward her, “your reason is that you sacrificed the ability to negotiate a higher pay when you and Aiden took on the risk of completely restructuring your broadcast.”

“And again... it’s working” Carly reiterates, only for the president to shake his head in a slight lean forward. “But it’s not working fast enough” Vickers argues back, watching the woman let out a sigh as she begins pacing in the opposite direction, “I mean seriously, Carly. Did you really think you’d be able to put on a currently less-successful show than what you used to put on and still be able to negotiate a bigger deal?”

“You can see the growth in the audience. You know there’s no reason to believe that it’ll stop any time soon” Carly counters, doing little to convince the president to switch sides into her corner. “And you have no certainty to argue that it won’t stagnate” Vickers replies with an equally-solid argument, “I’ve been in this business for multiple decades, Carly. You’re not the first person to walk in here thinking she can change the way we do the news.”

Displeased with the conclusion reached, Carly hangs her head in disappointment with both hands pressing against the sides of her hips. “The deal you’re on now pays you for the show that you used to do. The one that you’re doing right now isn’t as valuable as that one was” Vickers explains, again coupling his hands over his chest, “but in that same breath, the one that you can do in three years time could also be more valuable than both put together.”

“I’m not signing another three year deal at the figure that they’re giving me, sir” Carly rejoinders, only to find both hands being held out at either side of the company’s president. “Well, I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Ms. Carpenter. Sign a one-year deal at a lower figure in the meantime so you can negotiate a stronger one when the key demographic actually does kick in” Vickers offers instead, hard-pressed to find much of an alternative.

“I know what I’m worth, sir. I know what Aiden is worth, too. And- with that- I know what our show is worth” Carly argues back with confidence and civility, only to receive just as much push-back from the president as she’s received since entering his office. “Ms. Carpenter, you wouldn’t be the first anchor to think she’s worth more than she is and then take that value to some other network” Vickers explains, “present that argument to finance, and they’ll have no problem letting you walk and going out to find someone to do the news they’d rather pay for.”

“I don’t want to leave, but I guess that leaves us at a stalemate” Carly concedes, disappointedly doing so, “because I know what we’re worth, and I am not willing to play ball with people that aren’t smart enough to see the same thing.” Letting out a displeased sigh of his own, Vickers adjusts his posture in his seat and folds his hands atop his desk, looking toward the attractive woman opposite him without much certainty in her stubbornness for a specific figure.

“Intelligent people would see the concession for a one-year deal, or even a two-year deal, as being representative of the means to an end” Vickers clarifies with a raised eyebrow, paying the woman the respect she’s owed by placing his full attention upon her. “You can sacrifice lesser pay for a shorter period of time in the name of earning yourself a blockbuster deal when finance can’t hide behind a previous deal” the president furthers, “why not bite your tongue and make the stupidly-high wealth that you’ll get then by just biting the bullet now.”

“Because no one should ever hold themselves to less than what they’re worth” Carly argues back, staring directly into the unmoved expression of her immediate superior. “Let me ask you something...” the woman changes course, crossing her arms as she stands before the man’s desk, “do you believe that Aiden and I will actually succeed in fully making this work?”

With the ball in his court, Vickers turns his glance toward the carpeted floor of his office and thinks quietly to himself for a moment, weighing his options with all the time in the world that his eight o’clock anchor will afford him. “I may stupid for it, but yes, I do” the president answers honestly, giving the attractive and mostly-affable face of their lead-in to ‘Tonight at Nine’ all the ammunition that she needs.

“Good. That means you believe we will, and so do I, and so does Aiden, and so does finance for that matter. That’s why they’re offering me a lesser deal” Carly fights forward, one foot resting further than the other, “they want to pay less for a superior product than what they were getting before.”

“What is your point, Ms. Carpenter?” Vickers questions, seeing the line of dialogue approaching like a train at the end of a tunnel and wanting it to just reach its next stop. “It’s that everyone knows what Aiden, and the show, and myself are worth. Everyone knows that I’m right about how much I’m worth...” Carly answers back, stepping directly up to the front of the president’s desk, “...and the problem here is that- even though we’re all sure that I’m right- everyone is trying to convince me that I’m wrong.”

Keeping to himself for a moment, the spectator to the eight o’clock anchor’s pitch sits with the rebuttal for a moment before looking away. “Everyone wants to convince me that I’m worth less than what I am. And that precedent is a very dangerous one” Carly continues to argue, re-earning the president’s line of sight, “and then, when everyone knows what I can be except for me, how the hell does that not incentivise me to just inherently think less of myself than I should?”

“It does” Vickers answers with a slightly-convinced tone of voice, nodding in agreement as Carly lets her arms fall by each side. “That’s why I can’t stand to take a lesser deal. I have to hold myself to a standard, otherwise I waste what I’m truly capable of” the woman concludes, stepping further back from the desk to appear less-confrontational than she’d eventually become, “LMC saw that when I first negotiated, and that was why I signed on to work here instead of Los Angeles. I can’t go back on those laurels now.”

Sitting in silence for a moment, Vickers pulls back in his seat slowly and stares at an unimportant corner of the room, nodding along with the conclusion that has been raised. “I’ll make a couple of calls, but I can’t guarantee it’ll amount to much more than what you’d consider peanuts” the president concludes, addressing the woman with as much reassurance as he can muster, “but- hopefully- it’ll be a start.”

== Tonight at 9 ==