âI know youâre dead set against this, Abby. But I donât think we have any choice.â
Abby Warner swallowed past the lump in her throat and stared at James Lipic, who sat next to her at the round table in the Oak Hill Gazetteâs tiny conference room. Twin vertical grooves were etched in the center of the older manâs forehead, forming sharp right angles to the flat, resigned line of his lips.
None of the other finance board members looked any happier, she noted, taking a quick survey. Harold Walshâs ruddy face was pinker than usual, his shock of unruly white hair falling into even greater disarray as he jabbed his fingers through it. Vernon Lutrell stared down at the table, giving Abby a good view of the top of his head, where bristly gray hair spiked to attention on either side of a shiny bald runway. To complete the circle, Tony Parisi doodled on a pad of paper in front of him that was blank except for a series of dollar signs.
Thatâs what it all came down to, Abby reflected, trying in vain to stem the tide of bitterness that washed over her. The almighty dollar. Forget about truth and heritage and independence. Letâs just make money.
âThere has to be another way.â There was a note of desperation in her voice, but Abby didnât care.
âWeâve tried to come up with other alternatives, Abby, but this is the only viable option.â Haroldâs voice was gentleâbut firm.
Much as Abby wanted to vent her anger and frustration on the paperâs board, she knew that wouldnât be fair. Bottom line, it was a fiscal issue. Publishing conglomerates were gobbling up smaller papers, making it difficult for independents to survive.
Nor was this a new problem. The fortunes of the weekly Gazette had begun to sour fifteen years ago, forcing Abbyâs father to enlist the aid of three successful local businessmen who were willing to support a free and independent press. Each investor had acquired a fifteen percent share, leaving her father fifty-five percentâa controlling interest.
Then, twelve years ago, heâd had to add a fourth investor in order to keep the paper solvent, tipping the voting power in favor of the board. The members had never sided against himâor herâsince sheâd taken over ten years ago, after her fatherâs fatal heart attack. Even now, she knew theyâd prefer not to press the issue. But bills had to be paid. And the well was fast running dry. She understood their dilemma: they were all good men who wanted to do the right thing, but their backs were against the wall. Just as hers was.
âWeâre open to suggestions, Abby.â Tony spoke again when the silence lengthened. âIf you have any other ideas, weâre happy to look into them.â
With unsteady fingers, Abby adjusted her bronze-rimmed glasses. As they all knew, the only source of funding on the horizon was Spencer Campbell, founder and CEO of Campbell Publishing, who had expressed interest in acquiring the Gazette.
âI wish I did, Tony.â
âAt the rate weâre going, I doubt we can sustain operations for more than six months,â Vernon offered as he perused the financial report in front of him.
That was pretty much what Joe Miller, the staff accountant, had told her yesterday when theyâd gone over the budget. And there was little Abby could do to bolster the numbers. The operation was already as lean as it could get.
Bottom line, Abby felt like a failure. For more than a hundred years, under the leadership of her family, the Oak Hill Gazette had been a trusted voice in the rural counties in Missouri that it served. Her great-grandfather had started the paper in 1904 with little more than a crusading spirit and fifty dollars in his pocket. Her grandfather had won a Pulitzer prize. Her father, too, had held truth and honesty in far higher regard than monetary gain.
Now, under her watch, that sterling legacy would disappear.
âI just canât see selling the paper to some giant publisher who may not even care about journalistic integrity and all the things the Oak Hill Gazette has stood for during the past century.â Her voice choked on the last word and she dipped her head, blinking to sweep the moisture from her eyes.
âThere is another alternative,â Harold said when no one else responded.
He didnât need to spell it out. They all knew what he meant: let the paper go belly-up. Liquidate. Close up shop. Abby, too, had thought about that option. And dismissed it, convinced that another way would be found to save the Gazette. But theyâd run out of time. Selling out or shutting down now had to be considered. Even if both options made her sick to her stomach.
âIâm sorry. It seems Iâve let everyone down.â A tremor ran through her voice, and Abby removed her glasses to massage her forehead.