Chapter 2 — Echoes of Failure
Riley
The stale air of the plane cabin pressed heavily around Riley Monroe as she leaned her temple against the cool window. Below, the last remnants of Auckland sprawled out in a grid of lights and shadows, gradually giving way to the endless green and blue of the countryside. The hum of the engines should have been soothing, but for Riley, it was a relentless reminder of how far she’d fallen.
The unopened file Greg had given her sat on the tray table, its edges slightly creased from her restless fingers. Willow Glen. Even the name grated on her nerves, conjuring images of chirpy small-town residents with fixed smiles and cheery façades. She could already picture the dusty main street, the obligatory general store, and the overbearing sense of sameness. It was everything she’d spent her career escaping—the antithesis of the sharp, fast-paced chaos of city life she had fought to thrive in. Yet here she was, exiled like a criminal, relegated to penning human-interest fluff pieces about a dying town scrambling for relevance.
She tightened her grip on the armrest as the plane banked gently to the left, giving her a broader view of the rolling hills below. The landscape was breathtaking, she supposed, if you were the sort of person who cared about that kind of thing. To her, it was a void—a reminder of just how far she was about to be removed from the real world. No skyscrapers, no noise, no stories worth telling.
Her eyes flicked back to the file. The photo of Willow Glen’s main street peeked out, taunting her with its quaintness. She didn’t need to open it to know what it contained: a struggling rural community, a floundering economy, a government grant held up as their last hope. She could write the narrative in her sleep.
But could she write anything anyone would care to read?
Her stomach twisted at the thought. She pushed the file shut and pressed her palms against her knees, forcing herself to focus. She wasn’t here to enjoy the scenery or rescue a fading town. She was here to work. To prove—to Greg, to her colleagues, to herself—that she still had something worthwhile to offer. If this was her one shot at redemption, she would take it, no matter how bitter the pill.
The plane hit a pocket of turbulence, jolting her from her thoughts. Coffee sloshed over the rim of the small plastic cup on her tray table, and she muttered a curse under her breath. The businessman beside her glanced over, his eyes hovering somewhere between disapproval and bemusement.
“Rough day?” he ventured, his voice cordial yet distant.
Riley shot him a tight smile. “You could say that.” Her sharpness was muted, her usual wit dulled by exhaustion. He nodded once and turned back to his book without pressing further. For once, she didn’t feel the energy to spar or deflect.
She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, hoping for a brief reprieve. But the darkness behind her lids offered no solace. Her mind, traitorous and relentless, dragged her back to the day her career unraveled.
---
It had been a bright, sterile room, the kind corporate executives loved for their press conferences. White walls, a glass podium, rows of impeccably dressed reporters. Riley had sat near the front, her notebook balanced on her lap, her pen poised to strike. She’d been ready—eager, even—to watch the CEO of Dermatech Pharmaceuticals squirm under the weight of her investigation.
Instead, she’d been the one left squirming.
The CEO had taken the podium with the confidence of a man who already knew he’d won. His tailored suit was immaculate, his smile sharp and calculated. Riley had felt the heat of the room prickling at the back of her neck, the faint scratch of pens and the click of camera shutters filling the air.
“We at Dermatech take these allegations very seriously,” he began, his voice oozing sincerity. “But they are categorically false. We have nothing to hide.”
The room buzzed with muted energy—skepticism, curiosity, disbelief. Riley had leaned forward, ready to pounce. And then, the bombshell.
“Furthermore,” the CEO continued, his eyes cutting sharply toward the cameras, “the primary source cited in Ms. Monroe’s investigation has recanted their statement. They have clarified that their allegations were based on personal grievances, not factual evidence.”
Riley had felt the floor drop out from under her. Her pen froze mid-word, her pulse roaring in her ears. That couldn’t be true. It couldn’t. Her source had been solid—a former employee with access to confidential documents, someone who had risked everything to expose the truth. She’d verified their claims, corroborated the evidence, triple-checked every detail. She’d done everything right.
Hadn’t she?
The CEO’s words blurred together after that, a symphony of legal jargon and polished denials that seemed to grow louder and louder. By the time he finished and the reporters swarmed him with questions, Riley was already backing out of the room, her hands trembling.
She’d called her source immediately, her voice sharp with panic. “What the hell just happened?”
“I’m sorry,” they whispered, their voice small and broken. “They threatened my family. I couldn’t— I couldn’t go through with it.”
Riley’s chest had tightened, rage and helplessness tangling into a knot she couldn’t untangle. She’d wanted to scream, to argue, to demand they fix it. But what could they do? What could she do? The damage was already done.
By the next morning, the headlines were everywhere. Reckless. Irresponsible. A cautionary tale. Her career, her reputation, her very sense of self—shattered in less than twenty-four hours.
---
The plane jolted as its wheels hit the runway, snapping Riley back to the present. She blinked against the sudden brightness streaming through the window. Below her, the green expanse of New Zealand stretched endlessly, dotted with tiny farms and winding roads.
As the plane taxied to a stop, she gathered her belongings with mechanical precision. The businessman beside her offered a polite nod as he stood, but she didn’t return it. Her focus was already elsewhere.
The terminal was small, almost quaint, with a single baggage carousel and a handful of travelers milling about. Outside, the air was crisp and tinged with the faint scent of grass and damp earth. The sky was a piercing shade of blue—not the hazy, polluted hue of the city, but a pure and vibrant brilliance she wasn’t sure she trusted.
Her rental car—a practical, unassuming compact—waited in the lot. She tossed her suitcase into the trunk and climbed in, adjusting the mirrors with sharp, jerky movements. The GPS chirped, directing her onto a narrow road that wound through the hills.
The landscape unfolded around her, vivid and unrelenting in its beauty. Lush pastures stretched out on either side, dotted with grazing sheep. Distant mountains loomed, their peaks dusted with snow. For a fleeting moment, Riley felt a twinge of awe—but it was quickly swallowed by her cynicism. It was picturesque, sure, but it wasn’t home. It wasn’t the world she knew.
Her phone buzzed in the cupholder, and she glanced down at the screen. A message from Greg: *Hope you’re settling in. Remember, this is your shot. Don’t waste it.*
Riley snorted, tossing the phone back onto the seat. Settling in? She hadn’t even reached the town yet, and already she felt like an alien in hostile territory.
The first signs of civilization came into view: a weathered sign welcoming her to Willow Glen, a scattering of modest houses, a barn with peeling paint. Main Street emerged moments later—a handful of wooden storefronts and tin rooftops nestled against the hills. It was exactly as she’d imagined: quaint, quiet, and wholly unremarkable.
She parked in front of a small café. The scent of coffee wafted through the open door, mingling with the faint hum of conversation. Locals paused their activities to watch her pass, their expressions a mix of curiosity and wariness. Riley felt like a specimen under a microscope.
The bed-and-breakfast wasn’t hard to find—a charming old house with a wraparound porch and window boxes overflowing with flowers. Margaret and Tom, the elderly couple who owned it, greeted her with warm but measured smiles.
“Long journey, was it?” Margaret asked as she handed over the keys.
“Something like that,” Riley replied, her voice clipped but polite. Margaret’s smile didn’t waver, though her eyes flickered with quiet curiosity.
The room was cozy and quaint, filled with antique furniture and floral wallpaper that teetered on the edge of kitsch. Riley set her suitcase down and sank onto the edge of the bed, the weight of the day settling heavily on her shoulders.
The file lay on the nightstand, its title glaring up at her: *Willow Glen: A Community at the Crossroads.* She stared at it for a long moment before turning her gaze to the window. Outside, the endless green hills rolled on, unyielding and indifferent.
She’d landed, but she hadn’t arrived. Not yet. And as she sat there, listening to the faint rustle of the trees outside, she wondered if she ever truly would.
