The Cover-Up By Sophie Darch Essay Example

I landed at JFK airport.

Wearing my dressing gown, I pulled my desired coloured hair into a ponytail before heading downstairs where I found my post waiting on the doormat in the hallway. Since a new doorman arrived in the building, my post has mysteriously appeared outside my front door each morning, sparing me from the landlady's daily interrogation in the lobby. It's not that I'm complaining - who wants to face a barrage of questions before they've even left the building? But with bills piling up, there's no reason to celebrate either. For more on taking steps in life, check out the essay "The Step Not Taken."

Receiving only occasional letters from my sister, who complains about her husband's refusal to do household chores, I was intrigued when I received a mysterious letter with no return address and my name, Natasha Pardon, on the front. Upon opening it, I discovered a message composed of letters cut from a newspaper, stating that Congress holds a big case and story for me. Taking this as a riddle, I quickly got ready and grabbed the letter and an apple before heading to the Daily Globe where I requested the fifth floor in the elevator.

Although the Daily Globe Newspaper isn't as popular as some major papers, it still has enough readers to remain in business. As I walked past different desks towards my own, I could see Doug spying on me from his office window. I hoped he wouldn't come out and flirt with the other women around me to make me jealous, even though he doesn't realize that I consider him to be aging prematurely.

Upon reviewing the letter,

I pondered on the identity of its author. The level of expertise exhibited suggested a professional, evidenced by the lack of adhesive residue. It was difficult to pinpoint any individual as the culprit, as it could potentially be any member of a sizable group.

After relocating from London to New York, I acquired several sources who assisted me with various stories. However, one of them appeared to be playing a trick on me by exploiting my passion for my profession and aspirations to become an editor. When the phone rang, I glimpsed Doug's shrewd gaze peering around the bend. In order to avoid encountering his diminutive Armani suit, I rotated in my seat.

"Hello, Natasha Pardon speaking," I answered the phone.

. I perceive...

Can I visit you now? I have free time for most of the day.

Mike O'Neil, a journalist from a competing paper, phoned me with his deep and husky voice. He requested that I meet him at a sports bar in Princeton because he had information that could be relevant to the cryptic letter I recently received. When I arrived, the air was thick with smoke and the aroma of whiskey and dry ale, which made me feel slightly intoxicated just being there.

"You must be Natasha," greeted a man named Mike at the bar, referencing our earlier conversation. "That's right," I confirmed. Despite his tall stature and well-gelled dark hair, Mike differed from typical reporters who don formal suits and ties as he was sporting jeans and an open-necked shirt.

Though uncertain whether it was his demeanor or looks that made him approachable, I was attracted to him. He acknowledged knowing me and apologized if

he seemed rude, but stressed being busy and not having time for idle chat. Thus, he asked me to offer any valuable information I had.

He expressed his belief that there is a lack of determined women in today's society, stating that they are rare. However, I was uninterested in engaging in small talk and gave him a look to convey this. His awkward comment resulted in him apologizing and redirecting the conversation back to business. He informed me that one of his informants had notified him about my employment under Douglas Greene. He proceeded to share reports he had received about a scheme involving transporting illegal immigrants into New York Harbor and selling them at low prices to a local factory using counterfeit passports and visas, which involves Greene's esteemed father.

The authorities are unaware of the situation and will remain so without conclusive proof. The factory is owned by Ray Malone, a prominent businessman involved in congress circles. Suspicions suggest that Greene is selling immigrants to Malone in exchange for political support in the upcoming mayoral election. The task at hand is to obtain evidence. The necessary action is to gain access to the factory and witness the activities firsthand. The meeting with Malone has been arranged, but from that point forward, one must work independently.

I questioned the person sharing their story with me, wondering why they were confiding in me instead of using it for their own paper. They admitted that they could use it but saw potential in me and suggested that I may one day be their boss. Stunned, I realized this could be the story I had been searching for. To

keep my location undisclosed, I pretended to have a migraine and left work early. Preparing for this story would require careful planning and time.

While holding a pad of paper and sipping tea, I took notes on the case. During my research on Congressman Greene, I discovered useful information that could come in handy if things escalate. Just as I was settling in, my phone rang and I confirmed my meeting with Mr Malone for the following day. He expressed excitement about being interviewed by Hello! Magazine's esteemed team, to which I acknowledged our global popularity.

Confirming the time, the speaker apologizes for misplacing it and asks for clarification. The responder confirms it is 2:30pm and the speaker thanks them. The responder greets them as Miss Pardon and bids them good afternoon. The speaker reflects on the exchange and notes its usefulness as a journalist.

The following day, I received a phone call from the woman who had contacted me the previous afternoon, informing me that Mr Malone could no longer conduct the interview due to circumstances beyond his control. I agreed to this change, as I was not particularly interested in rescheduling since I wasn't a reader of Hello! Magazine. Given my understanding of Greene, I suspected he had discovered my true identity and decided to cancel the interview before revealing more than he intended.

Despite my aversion to breaking and entering, as a determined journalist, I knew I had to find a way inside. Upon entering the storeroom, I discovered rolls of fabric covering the walls and observed evidence of exposed electrics and plaster. Realizing that if my efforts to catch Malone for immigration fraud

failed, I could hold him accountable for health and safety violations, I began searching for an archive or filing system. Walking along the steel balconies which provided a view of the main workshop, my search continued.

Upon reaching the end of the walkway, I discovered numerous doors leading off in every direction. Despite seeing a sign indicating that admittance was restricted to senior staff only, I decided to disregard it and enter the room. Within, I observed a collection of filing cabinets arranged around the edges of the space. After locating the section containing shipping orders, I located evidence confirming O'Neil's suspicions regarding Malone's involvement. One particular order indicated a shipment consisting of 1500 items requiring careful handling and attention, similar to how Malone identified human individuals like packaged meat. Swiftly gathering all necessary evidence, I exited out of the window and made my way to my vehicle, before speeding off towards the closest fax machine.

O'Neil provided me with both a fax number and email address for me to seek advice if necessary. I forwarded him a copy of the shipping order and became uneasy before going to bed. The next day, I resolved to return to work for the sake of returning to a sense of normalcy.

A man named Mike called me after I dialed the number on a yellow post-it note labeled "urgent" on my computer screen. He identified himself as Natasha and I was curious as to the nature of the emergency.

"Yes, it's me" said the speaker, who then continued "Look, they know they've been caught. This morning a shipping tanker sank in the harbour and the police are claiming it was due

to a fire on board, but we both know that's not true, don't we?". The speaker then asked "What should we do now? I was very cautious with the orders, making copies before returning the original to its place before leaving...but I guess..."

Mike apologized for any inconvenience caused by the first person leaving a copy in the machine due to being in a rush and trying to avoid getting caught. The second person advised not to worry about it, as what's done is done. They suggested going down to the harbor where Greene will likely be campaigning for the upcoming election. Bringing a tape recorder, they recommended using information about his mistresses, particularly Natasha, to confront him when he's alone. This presents an ideal opportunity to use that information. The first person thanked Mike for their assistance and stated they would head over there immediately with hopes of speaking again soon.

"You haven't seen the last of me," I said, determined to make Greene pay for the deaths of the crew and destruction of their produce. Despite the swarm of police, firefighters, and paramedics, no survivors were found. My guilt weighed heavily as I walked away from the commotion and towards a group of press surrounding Greene.

Tanker fuel caused the fire to spread extensively, posing a tougher challenge for those involved in handling the situation. "Congressman Greene, Natasha Pardon from the Daily Globe, I work for your son in the main office," I said as I introduced myself to the Congressman. He recognized me, having heard a lot about me from his son who was impressed by my work. "Less of the small talk Congressman,

I think we have some matters to discuss, in private if you wouldn't mind," I added, steering the conversation towards our purpose. The Congressman then took me into a small office where I noticed a neatly mounted photo of him and the shipping general with their arms around each other. "Now how can I help you madam?" The Congressman asked, sounding displeased about my tone earlier. "I hope that you don't talk to all of your clients in that way!" He added. "No sir," I replied, "only those who are responsible for the deaths of..."

An accusation was made about the politician using more than a thousand people for his own social gain in congress. However, he denied any knowledge of it and claimed that there were no skeletons in his closet when pressed by a reporter named Miss Pardon. She suggested that they ask his wife about his activities, specifically mentioning his presence in shady bars with dubious dancers. The politician was taken aback by this information and questioned where it had come from and what was being demanded of him. Miss Pardon then revealed that she wanted to know about his involvement with Ray Malone.

The man who offered votes in exchange for worker support claimed it was just a one-time occurrence and he never intended for the events of that day to take place. However, he contacted the speaker on the day of the event claiming an order had been taken from his office and all evidence needed to be destroyed, including a new shipment scheduled to arrive that day. Despite concerns, the speaker reluctantly agreed to follow the request. The man now

asks for secrecy and offers compensation if needed.

"Greene, your money doesn't interest me. What matters is that justice is served and you take responsibility for this terrible situation," I declared as I passed the Congressman my tape recorder. His face reflected his distress, suggesting he knew he was going to face unfavorable consequences. He tried to snatch the tape from me, but just then, the door burst open and a group of police officers rushed in and nabbed Mr. Greene by the arm. A sympathetic hand took possession of the tape from me.

Thank you for your invaluable assistance in accomplishing our task. Although Malone does not plan to place orders soon, please remember that Congress can still be helpful and decisions do not always rest with Natasha. Douglas resigned as editor of the Daily Globe, possibly due to public embarrassment or rumors about his questionable character traits being hereditary among female colleagues, leading to difficulties finding dates. As I left the office after a long day, the phone continued ringing incessantly like it has been doing more frequently lately.

"Hello?"

"Ah, hello dear. I didn't expect to catch you so soon,"

"You did though mum, what's up?"

"Just

wanted to confirm if you're still coming for dinner tonight. Jeremy is excited to meet you."

"Sure thing, give me an hour and I'll be there!"

Despite my initial belief that I would remain single forever, I eventually agreed to join my mother and her new partner for dinner. Upon arriving at the restaurant, Mum introduced me not only to Jeremy but also Mike - "the nice young man" she was eager for me to meet. During our meal together, Mike shared with us that he had recently become the editor of The Daily Globe.