Read (1982) The Almighty for Free Online Page A

instantly alert, receiver pressed to his ear. ‘Yes, this is Hugh Weston,’ he said and listened. ‘Harry, Harry Dietz! My God, it’s good to hear your voice again… Oh, I’m fine, fine… Yes, it is a little drafty in the White House, but I’m enjoying it. I just wanted to give Edward a ring, to see how he’s doing… What? He’s right there? He wants to speak to me? Great. Put him on.’
    Hugh Weston saw his daughter’s tense face and gave her a wink.
    He was engaged on the phone again. ‘Hello, Edward. How are you?… I’m glad. Anyway, my condolences. The old man had a long run and a good one, and you had a long wait… Edward, I understand exactly how you feel.’ He paused. T assume you’re taking over the papers, and the Record.’ He listened. ‘Good, good, good. And just in time. The paper needs an infusion. You’ll do a super job, Edward, nobody knows it better than I.’ He listened. ‘Well, thank you, Edward, that’s kind of you, and I appreciate it. But I’m out of the newspaper business for good. I wanted to retire. Where’s a better place than the White House?’ He laughed. Then he sobered. ‘Actually, I’m calling not only to wish you well but to find out if you’re going to be assembling your own team.’ He kept the receiver to his ear attentively. ‘Well, that fits in with something I want to speak to you about. You were kind enough to want an old Weston - but in fact, you can have a new Weston as good if not better than the old one.’ “Oh, Dad,’ Victoria called out. ‘Don’t do that.’ Her father hushed her with his hand. ‘Here’s what I mean, Edward,’ Weston said into the phone. ‘You remember my daughter, Vicky - well, she’s a grown woman now, and a crack reporter. She’s worked for three years in the Chicago area, two of them on an important suburban daily. She knows the ropes. She’s decided to move on to a job that’s more challenging. She quit her Chicago position last week, and came here to ask my advice this morning. I thought of you, and I wondered if you’ve have the time to see her, would want to -‘ He stopped, listened, and smiled broadly at the
    mouthpiece. ‘That’s wonderful, Edward, wonderful. You won’t be disappointed. What?… It’s Victoria, Victoria Weston… All right, perfect. Good luck to you, too, Edward, the best of luck. You deserve it. Let me know the next time you’re coming to D.C. We’ll hoist a beer together… Good. I’ll tell Victoria.’
    He hung up and turned to Victoria, beaming.
    ‘Armstead’s looking for people. He’s ready to look at you. Your appointment at the New York Record is for two o’clock tomorrow.’
    At the corner of Park Avenue and Forty-sixth Street, the light gray Armstead Building stood sixteen stories high, dwarfed by the taller, new buildings leading uptown. The heart of the structure, the one that pumped activity into all the other stories, was the sixth floor. Most of it was given over to the New York Record’s newsroom, with one portion of it reserved for the publisher’s suite which included the publisher’s main office, the office for his personal secretary and receptionist, a conference and electronic media room, two offices for the advertising director and his assistant, and smaller, glassed-in cubicles for the managing editor and the assistant managing editor.
    By the third day following E. J. Armstead’s funeral, the temporary heir to this suite and to the building had made few personnel changes. Edward Armstead had retired his father’s elderly female secretary on a generous pension and replaced her with his own secretary, Estelle Rivkin, a smart, brisk, thirtyish woman with short-cropped dark hair and hornrimmed glasses who had served him with devotion for five years in Special Projects. He had moved the advertising director and his assistant down to his old Special Projects offices and brought Harry Dietz and Bruce Harmston up from the fourth floor and installed them in the