Warrior Pose by Brad Willis Page B

millions of tax dollars.
    The worker highlighted in our story was told that his government-backed health insurance was invalid because he failed to report his full income, which, of course, he never received. I discovered hundreds of other workers in the same boat and, as a result of our reports, the government ultimately forced the corporation to fullycompensate them. The health coverage for the little girl whose father first contacted Call Three was validated and she received her cancer treatments.
    Viewers soon began calling us with tips. Whistle-blowers came forward. We exposed the local Air Force base polluting the groundwater of its surrounding communities with highly toxic solvents, heroin rings with ties to law enforcement, and even the highest ranking Nazi War criminal ever located in the United States—Otto Von Bolschwing. We found him living in a rest home not ten miles from KCRA.
    Although I loved my work and went at it with everything I had, every night I was watching Tom Brokaw on the NBC Nightly News , dreaming of being one of his reporters in the field. Not a correspondent at the White House or on Capitol Hill, not based at the New York or Los Angeles bureaus, but a foreign correspondent reporting from the front lines anywhere in the world where there was conflict and turmoil. I didn’t know how to make it happen, but I thought continually about getting to network news. It was an obsession.
    One day, as if on cue, a stranger named Ken Lindner walked into the newsroom. Tall and lean, with an expensive Italian suit, flashy tie, and a paisley silk muffler scarf tossed casually over his shoulders, Lindner caught the attention of everyone in the newsroom as he shook hands with Langlois and ducked into his office for a meeting. When Lindner emerged a half-hour later he headed straight for my desk and, with a million-dollar smile, said, “Hi, I’m with the William Morris Agency and we want to represent you. Can I take you to lunch?” I glanced toward Langlois’s office to see him leaning against the doorway with his arms folded, quietly nodding his approval.
    â€œSure, let’s go,” I said, having never heard of William Morris Agency and not having a clue what representing me meant.
    Lindner took me to the most expensive restaurant in Sacramento, where all the lobbyists at the state capital dined, and soon explained how it worked. Top market and network reporters had well-connected agents who negotiated their contracts and supported them throughout their careers—for a percentage of their salaries, of course. Lindner said he had been watching me for more than a yearand met with Langlois to seek permission to represent me. “I think I can get you into a top ten market right away,” he said with a gleam in his eye.
    It felt suspicious to me. He seemed a little too slick, and being an investigative reporter, I was cynical about anyone and everyone’s motives, never taking anything at face value. “Give me one day, okay?” I responded.
    â€œSure,” Lindner answered as he handed me his business card with his private number handwritten on the back. “Take all the time you need.”
    Back in the newsroom I rushed into Langlois’s office. He immediately read my mind. “It’s the real deal,” he said. “William Morris is a major agency and Lindner is a pro. You’re in good hands. We’d like to keep you here, but it’s easy to see your ambition and I’m not going to hold you down.”
    â€œThanks, Pete,” I said, shaking his hand hard then heading back to my desk to call Lindner immediately and say, “When do I sign?”

    A few months later, as promised, Lindner negotiated a new job for me in a top ten market, at WFAA-TV in Dallas, an ABC affiliate and one of the most respected news organizations in the country. It had a consumer unit similar to Call Three, but it was flagging. I was the perfect person,