***
I slowly walked down the long cobblestone driveway , hoping that I'd made a good decision in coming here . He had ordered me to park quite some distance from the house, probably so I was forced to stare at the grandiose, monstrous structure as I walked. Mr. Starland was a highly eccentric man and a meticulous planner, one that most likely had prepared my fate long in advance . He was also very rich—probably the primary thing that had drawn me to him. Not just his wealth per se, but the ways that he had acquired it.
His mansion sprawled out before me, almost filling the entirety of the horizon, giving me nothing else to look at but his excessive housing arrangement. It was a gorgeous stone mansion , one that had an incredible matching awnin g that wrapped over the front door and overflowed in all directions . There was a subtle darkness right before one entered the house, even with the sun shining brightly.
All around were stone figures of gargoyl es and other mythical creatures. I imagined his house would be gre at during Halloween, but also figured that he probably didn’ t allow trick- or - treaters— especially not with the huge gate surrounding the property. Honestly, i t just didn't appear that he enjoyed visitors. I walked between the creatures to get to the porch, passing through them like gravestones.
So what was I doing at this eccentric billionaire’s home , all by myself? I was a reporter, one that was always looking for a hot or controversial story to add to my catalog of work. Mr. Starland had inherited a lot of his wealth, but almost doubled it through his own efforts. His primary business interest was real estate , a family thing for sure . Everywhere you looked in the neighboring city, you saw Starland Realty signs attached to nearly every property for sale. He also was responsible for a large chemical company, StarChem, one that had fallen under a lot of public scrutiny lately. As was typical of most billionaire enterprises, the public only knew so much.
Illegal dumping, excess emissions, employee illnesses—the list just went on and on. In the space of only a few years, StarChem had gone from source of pride for the country to a global menace. I was here to talk with its shining owner , hoping to expose some hidden fact, some remnant that no other news outlet had grasped yet. I wanted to take the next step in my career—no, I wanted to take a leap, a plunge .
I had flown from New York City to the west coast for this interview, encouraged by my boss to take the time necessary to do a thorough job. If I got a killer scoop, it would mean huge things for the paper —and me . At 28 , I already I had many big credentials to my name. I actually got paid really well—incredibly well , actually —and had received a number of awards for my work. That wasn't enough, however.
My parents raised me to believe that I was never good enough. As a woman, I had fought for upward mobility, spending the majority of my twenties single because I just didn’t have time for anything other than work. I missed many holidays with my family while trying to get a story. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it did not . It was hard to break that trance once I got into it, so sometimes my family became a victim of my lifestyle.
As much as I kept it buried inside of me, I was actually becoming a little tired of never slowing down. I hadn’t taken a vacation in years, instead spending my very few days off working on things at home. If I got a great piece with Mr. Starland, it could actually change my career forever. I hoped that my endless determination would be put to the best possible use in this case, allowing me to leave with a first-class ticket to a new sort of existence.
People always told me I was cute and that my appearance helped with my interviews, but I wasn’t one to accept compliments. I knew that my looks—and the simple fact that I'm a girl — might have been the reason I go t sent s o far away to
I slowly walked down the long cobblestone driveway , hoping that I'd made a good decision in coming here . He had ordered me to park quite some distance from the house, probably so I was forced to stare at the grandiose, monstrous structure as I walked. Mr. Starland was a highly eccentric man and a meticulous planner, one that most likely had prepared my fate long in advance . He was also very rich—probably the primary thing that had drawn me to him. Not just his wealth per se, but the ways that he had acquired it.
His mansion sprawled out before me, almost filling the entirety of the horizon, giving me nothing else to look at but his excessive housing arrangement. It was a gorgeous stone mansion , one that had an incredible matching awnin g that wrapped over the front door and overflowed in all directions . There was a subtle darkness right before one entered the house, even with the sun shining brightly.
All around were stone figures of gargoyl es and other mythical creatures. I imagined his house would be gre at during Halloween, but also figured that he probably didn’ t allow trick- or - treaters— especially not with the huge gate surrounding the property. Honestly, i t just didn't appear that he enjoyed visitors. I walked between the creatures to get to the porch, passing through them like gravestones.
So what was I doing at this eccentric billionaire’s home , all by myself? I was a reporter, one that was always looking for a hot or controversial story to add to my catalog of work. Mr. Starland had inherited a lot of his wealth, but almost doubled it through his own efforts. His primary business interest was real estate , a family thing for sure . Everywhere you looked in the neighboring city, you saw Starland Realty signs attached to nearly every property for sale. He also was responsible for a large chemical company, StarChem, one that had fallen under a lot of public scrutiny lately. As was typical of most billionaire enterprises, the public only knew so much.
Illegal dumping, excess emissions, employee illnesses—the list just went on and on. In the space of only a few years, StarChem had gone from source of pride for the country to a global menace. I was here to talk with its shining owner , hoping to expose some hidden fact, some remnant that no other news outlet had grasped yet. I wanted to take the next step in my career—no, I wanted to take a leap, a plunge .
I had flown from New York City to the west coast for this interview, encouraged by my boss to take the time necessary to do a thorough job. If I got a killer scoop, it would mean huge things for the paper —and me . At 28 , I already I had many big credentials to my name. I actually got paid really well—incredibly well , actually —and had received a number of awards for my work. That wasn't enough, however.
My parents raised me to believe that I was never good enough. As a woman, I had fought for upward mobility, spending the majority of my twenties single because I just didn’t have time for anything other than work. I missed many holidays with my family while trying to get a story. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it did not . It was hard to break that trance once I got into it, so sometimes my family became a victim of my lifestyle.
As much as I kept it buried inside of me, I was actually becoming a little tired of never slowing down. I hadn’t taken a vacation in years, instead spending my very few days off working on things at home. If I got a great piece with Mr. Starland, it could actually change my career forever. I hoped that my endless determination would be put to the best possible use in this case, allowing me to leave with a first-class ticket to a new sort of existence.
People always told me I was cute and that my appearance helped with my interviews, but I wasn’t one to accept compliments. I knew that my looks—and the simple fact that I'm a girl — might have been the reason I go t sent s o far away to
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