“We’re not doing a 2-minute segment,” the station’s news director, Ron, said, leaning against the doorframe with a grin on his face. “We’re doing a full hour primetime special. We’re gonna lead with the footage from Platinum, then we’re gonna interview 10 other people who’ve been discriminated against by them over the last 10 years. We’re gonna air it tomorrow night at 8 p.m., right before the playoffs. Everyone will be watching.”
Marcus stayed in the newsroom until 3 a.m. that night, helping edit the special. He watched the footage of Julian mocking him over and over, and every time, he thought of his mom, sitting in that realtor’s office 10 years earlier, being laughed at for working an honest job. By the time they finished the final cut, his eyes were red, but he didn’t cry. He was too focused on what was coming next.
Julian stumbled into his 20th floor downtown condo at 7 p.m., his silk suit soaked through with sweat, his hands shaking so bad he could barely get his key in the lock. He’d spent the last three hours sitting in Carter’s office, begging for his job, but Carter wouldn’t even look at him. He’d already called HR to process Julian’s termination, and he’d told him if he ever showed his face at Platinum Estates again, he’d have him arrested for trespassing.
Julian poured himself a triple scotch, dropping down onto his $5,000 leather couch, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the city skyline. He’d worked his whole life to get here. He’d grown up in a tiny trailer in the poorest part of the city, his dad a construction worker who wore faded flannel and scuffed work boots every single day, his mom a waitress who worked double shifts to pay for his private high school tuition. He’d hated growing up poor, hated the way the rich kids at school laughed at his hand-me-down clothes, hated that his dad would show up to his football games covered in sawdust and grease.
He’d promised himself he’d never be like that. He’d gone to college on a scholarship, gotten a job at Platinum Estates right after graduation, worked 80 hour weeks to become their top agent. He’d bought the fancy suit, the fancy condo, the fancy car, he’d started dating a plastic surgeon’s daughter, he’d cut off all contact with his old friends from the trailer park, he’d even stopped talking to his dad for six months last year when his dad showed up to his office wearing work clothes to bring him lunch.
