After my encounter with D'Avanzo at the factory, I am sure that he knows something about Emily. In order to discover the truth, I meet with Leo.

Without wasting time, I tell him that I want to know more about D'Avanzo's life before the factory. After negotiating our prices, Leo scurries out of the café. As I watch him, I notice that a man wearing a fedora is looking at me. Staring. It seems a s though he is not only peering at a stranger...but that he is looking at me with a purpose in mind.

I look at him, puzzled. He gets a little bit agitated when our gaze meet. He quickly looks away and gets interested in his dessert.

It might have been involuntary. I'm thinking too much. I leave the café.

______

The elections are getting closer. Everybody at work is busier and busier. Trohman tells me that Mr. Weeks wants to talk to me. I head for his office and knock on the door. "Mr. Weekes? It's Gerard..."

"Here you are," Mr. Weekes greets with his usual emotionless face once I step in. "As you know, the election is in full swinging. All journals are publishing articles on the candidates, and I managed to obtain an interview with Mr. Williams. You will be in charge of the interview. Please start preparing the questions and material you may need."

"Thank you for giving me this opportunity, Mr. Weekes, but I started investigating something else..."

"I don't remember giving you another task. What are you currently investigating?" he asks as he walks around his desk to stand behind it and sort out some sheets mindlessly.

"A patient of the Metropolitan Hospital. There seem to be a mystery about her death."

"That is something personal to you, Gerard. What does that have to do with your work?"

His reaction takes me aback a little. I was used to Mr. Weekes being a bit more understanding. "Um, yes, it is somewhat personal but I believe that it's worth some interest."

My boss sighs. "Way. I understand that you are upset about your friend's death. But you can't decide of the topics you will work on because of that."

"Please, Mr. Weekes. Let me investigate. I have the feeling that there is a major story hiding behind this!"

Mr. Weekes shakes his head; he obviously already made his decision. "I don't see anything interesting in this case."

"Wait, you see, Mr. Weekes, Emily's father was a police officer who died on the job. But his file mysteriously disappeared from his police station... After Emily's death, her stuff were taken away by a stranger. There are just so many suspicious elements about this story, it's the proof that there might be a big conspiracy behind all this!" I speak quickly, fearing to be interrupted.

"You are only speculating. You have no evidence," Mr. Weekes states, unyielding. "We can't possibly publish articles based on intuitions."

"I-I do have evidence! I discovered that the person who took Emily's stuff was part of the mafia. Add to this the fact that her father was a police officer, and things are definitely not as simple as they seem."

Something switches in Mr. Weekes' attitude at those words. It's barely perceptible and I couldn't explain it if I was asked to, but I sensed something. A tension, perhaps.

Mr. Weekes rans a hand in his hair. "I admire your courage, Way. But you are facing something dangerous here. Although lots of journals have published reports on the mafia in the past, they almost never went into details. It's not that no one is trying to investigate the mafia. But all have stopped their investigation for one reason or another. Even if you did manage to dig up something, I would never allow you to publish it, for the safety of the journal and its workers."

I look at him in the eye. "People have died, Mr. Weekes. And, the more people are burying the truth, the more we have to dig to find it, isn't that right?"

"As long as it is safe. But what you are investigating might endanger everybody's life at the Gotham News!"

"I..." My expression saddens. I am at a loss of words...

"What are we discussing here? Can I participate?"

I hear a voice behind me. I turn around and the only thing I see is Urie's head, protruding from the frame of Mr. Weekes' office open door. His sudden appearance caused the sparks of a big argument to disappear entirely.

Mr. Weekes and I go quiet. Urie's odd, upward haircut sways slightly as he steps in freely, rearranging his dark blue bowtie. "Do you have a disagreement about a hot topic?" He turns to me. "You have only been working here for four months, Way. Mr. Weekes has more experience than you. Respect this. You should listen to him."

"But I have reasons too..." I try to defend myself.

"Alright." He nods and turn to our boss. "Here is what I have to offer, Mr. Weekes. I will pair up with Way to investigate this case! By looking after one another, we will manage to avoid danger."

"Things aren't as simple as you think, Urie." Mr. Weekes frowns. Urie indicates that he wants to talk to him in private and gently pushes me out of the office. I don't have any other choice but to close the door behind me and stand there like an idiot.

Half an hour goes by and Urie is still in the office. I go back to the door on tiptoe as I am worried, and I attempt to eavesdrop.

"You have to account to the journal, Urie. Some journals have fallen under the mafia's influence. If you insist on investigating such a case, we could... Do you want the Gotham News to end up like them? What would your parents think?" I hear Mr. Weekes' voice through the door. What does that have to do with Urie's parents?

"I will take care of not getting the Gotham News involved. And my parents would surely support me, if there were still there."

Urie's parents are dead... That would explain why he has never mentioned them...

"As the owner and chief editor of the Gotham News, I understand that I have to take responsibility of its content," I hear Urie say through the wooden door my ear is glued against. Wait, Urie is the owner of the Gotham News?! I thought that he was just a journalist like any other!

"But, this is exactly why I support Way's investigation : because I am responsible of the journal's content. And isn't it a journalist's duty to discover the facts and expose them to the public?"

Urie...

"I suppose that you have made your decision, Mr. Urie. So I have nothing more to add to it. Please be careful."

"Perfect! I knew you would accept. Let me announce the good news to Way."

Oh boy, I'd better go back to my desk!

Urie joins me right after I sit down behind my desk. He folds his arm, standing in front of me with a grave face. "Sorry, Way. I didn't manage to convince Mr. Weekes."

What? Didn't he give his consent to Urie? I observe Urie intently and realize that he is doing his best to keep a straight face. Oh, so you want to prank me, Mr. Urie... You and I both can play this game.

"Really?" I quietly utter, an exagferated pout on my face.

"Whatever I could say, he didn't want to hear anything from me. Sorry." He shakes his head.

I slowly look down at my desk, shrivel on my seat and start sobbing.

Urie buys right into it.
"Huh? W-why are you crying?" He gasps, genuinemy alarmed. "I was teasing you, alright? Mr. Weekes agreed! Oh no, please stop crying."

"You're lying..." I sniffle, shaking my head.

He raises his palms at me, hesitating to pat me somewhere to comfort me. "No, no, I'm not! It's true this time, I swear. Mr. Weekes really accepted."

I look up and throw a mocking, victorious smile at him.

"Gerard Way! You were acting!" He smirks.

"Hey, you started, aright?" I laugh.

He sighs in defeat. "Alright, I deserved it. I won't do it again."

"Good."

"So, I actually have no idea of what you are investigating, except that it's dangerous and surely related to the mafia. I'm in!" He chirps. "More seriously, I understand that this is your case. I told Mr. Weekes that we would investigate together so he would agree to let you investigate, but I understand that you don't want to work with me. Just know that if you need help, I will be glad to."

I give it some serious thoughts and remember what Mr. Weekes told me. "Thank you so much, Urie. Thank you for helping me and always having my back, but Mr. Weekes is right. This is kind of personal, and I wouldn't have minded working with you if the case wasn't also dangerous. I don't want to put you in danger, even if you don't care about that. Because I care about you. You're my friend, and I don't want you to get hurt."

Urie looks surprised at my words. "Wow... Well, thank you for your concern. I'll be fine, but if that's your wish, I can only respect it. Good luck with your case, Way. Please stay safe."

"Thank you, Urie, will do."

My coworker – and also my boss, apparently – leaves. That story is intriguing me. I go to Trohman and try to get information from him, subtly.

"Hey, Joe, I was wondering... Urie is... a journalist, right?"

The taller man gives me a weird look and replaces his shoulder straps. "Well, yes. Why?"

I try to drop hint in the conversation about Urie, then I ask a little bit too bluntly if he knows anything about Urie's parents. Trohman has been working here for longer, so I thought that he light know something. But in fact, he knows less than I do at the moment.

I go back to my desk, staring at nothing, lost in my thoughts. I mainly wonder why Urie would hide being the owner of the journal. Perhaps he wants to be seen and treated as any journalist. From the peeks I had of his life, Urie seems to be much more than that. A wealthy heir who doesn't want to be so much...

I then realize that I am overthinking the situation and that it's not my place to judge. This is Urie's life, his private life. I shouldn't investigate my colleague and friend. There must be a reason so he never talks about it. I must respect his silence, no matter what. I have to put myself boundaries.

A ringing makes me jump and interrupts my train of thoughts. Another ringing. I pick up the phone and bring it to my ear. "...Is it you, Gerard?"

"Mikey? It's me. Why are you calling me from the farm? Was there a problem?"

"Gee, I know I can't disturb you while you're at work, but I didn't have a choice..."

"Mikey, what is going on?" I sit down, the tone of my brother's voice worries me.

"Yesterday, several gangsters came by and demanded 3,000$ to Dad to pay his gambling debts!"

"Gambling debts?" I gasp. "I don't remember Dad ever having a gambling debt!" I gasp. My heart squeezes in my chest. I have a bad feeling about this.

"This year, the harvest was bad, and the money we earned was barely enough to pay the interests to the bank. Dad thought that by gambling at the casino, then..."

"Mikey, did you ask Dad? Does he really owe that much money?"

"He said that he did it on impulse, but these men said that if he doesn't pay, they will kill him! We already put a mortgage on the farm and borrowed from whoever would lend us money, but still, it isn't enough..."

Mikey whimpers as he explains the situation. I can feel his distress along with my fear. Even if I could sell all my organs, I couldn't possibly gather 3,000$. What can I do?

"Mikey, don't panic. I... I will find something. There is always a way. Tell them that we are going to pay. Don't let them hurt Dad!"

After hanging up, I am in shock. Dad was always a hard-working, rational man. Why did he suddenly go to the casino?

My instinct tells me that it can't be, that something is wrong, but Mikey sounded truly scared. What is done is done, there is no point in questioning it. I'd better find a solution.

If I had money or power, it would be easy to solve that problem. But I am only a little journalist. Yet another ringing made my heart leap. I quickly grab the phone.
"Good morning, Mr. Way."

The masculine voice sounds familiar, but I can't recall where I heard it or to whom it belongs.

"Who is this?"

"Mr. Way..." I heard this pouty, scolding voice. "I thought you'd have a better memory."

Dante D'Avanzo?! Why is he calling me? Unless... I take a few deep breaths before I choose my words carefully.

"Mr. D'Avanzo, us there a problem?" I said with a minimum of casualness.

"I suppose that you heard about your father."

My heart drops - what a rollercoaster today is. "H-how do you know? You must be behind all this."

"Mr. Way, those who can't keep their promises must be punished. If you want to keep satisfying your curiosity, you might have to pay the price..."

I have no idea of how he found out, but I somehow got exposed.

"Y-you're awful! Attack me if you dare but leave my family out of this! Why get them involved, they have nothing to do with it!"

"Well, this is the most effective way of dealing with journalists who value the truth more than their lives."

"That's despicable," I snarl. "Don't you think I'm going to call the police?"

"The police?" He laughs boisterously. I almost forgot... He is working with the mafia. The police surely won't be a bother for him.

"If you are in debts, just pay your debt. How is it any of the police's concern?" He says and I ball my fists. "If you be more tactful, we might erase your daddy's debt."

"I'm warning you, do not come at my family!"

"It all depends on your own behavior from now on."

D'Avanzo hangs up. His call overwhelms me with despair. But I am more certain than ever that he is the one who claimed Emily's stuff, and he did it for a reason. How did he find out that I was investigating on him?

That man, at the café! Did D'Avanzo send him to watch me? That would explain why he knew so much.

What should I do? Maybe a compromise can give me a break. It won't work on the long term though. But if I don't do that, how can I sort out this dreadful situation?

Sitting at my desk, I am dumbfounded and my mind is racing yet blank, until a business card catches my eye. I grab it.

Frank Iero? Oh right, he gave le his card. I recall that evening, at the theater and what he told me.

'Some things aren't meant to be reported... Here is my card. Call me if you ever need help.'

Though he is a quite mysterious man, Mr. Iero seems to hold a certain power. If he does have power, will he be able to help me? I can feel my palms starting to sweat as I look at the card I am holding. He offered his help, but we only met a few times, sometimes only briefly. Will he really respect his offer?

Or... Should I ask Urie for help? He seems wealthy, it would just be so easy to ask him to lend me money. He did offer me his help. I slide Mr. Iero's card in my pocket and head for Urie's office.

Approaching his office, I realize that his door is partly open. I walk to the opening on tiptoe and try to catch a glimpse of Urie.

Slumped on his armchair with half a cigarette in his right hand and a frame in the other one, Urie is looking at a picture with glassy eyes. Surrounded by smoke, he is sitting still and quiet, like a statue.

I have an intuition as to whom this picture is portraying. I feel the need to come in and comfort him after seeing how depressed he looks. However, I recall this quiet promise I made myself right before Mikey's call. My hand stops midair. I suppose that Urie would rather be alone, right now...

I might be unable to comfort him , but I can't leave him like that, my conscience forbids me to. I am simply powerless. There is an uncrossable wall between him and I. I renounce to ask him for help. Poor Urie. I can only empathize with what he is going through, though in the end, I only have a vague idea of it. He is in enough trouble.

I walk away, shoving my hands at the bottom of my pockets. I feel a piece of paper and extract Mr. Iero's visit card. I don't have much of a choice now, do I?

I sit behind my desk and dial Mr. Iero's number. At least, if he refuses, there will be no impact on my situation other than getting me back to square one and clear up where I stand with this odd man.

The phone hums along with my heart rate. Pick up, please, pick up...

______