Dirty Little Secrets ...Part 1 ...Political Muckraking
—Lord Acton

I’ve often wondered what secrets were hidden behind that ornate black door.
Even since I was a child and Uncle Oscar took me to the Magic Garden, as he called it.
It was my facourite trip to go with him while he met with the Greek ambassador and I wiled away those special moments fascinated by a little pond rippling with goldfish located behind the stately mansion.
I especially loved it in the rain when mist would obscure the downtown Toronto streets and there’d be the mournful notes from a foghorn located somewhere near the lake.
In my youth the darkness spoke of mystery but over the years it has come to mean something entirely apart from that childhood awe and wonder and has been transmuted into something foreboding and sinister.
I’m talking about The Enigma, an exclusive men’s club where shadowy figures come and go in black limousines with tinted windows, tagged with red consular license plates.
It’s no longer the Magic Garden of my childhood, but a shadowy, guarded enclave, no doubt harbouring its share of secrets…
but more grows in that garden than the gardener sows.
I’m sitting in the Cafe May finishing up an article I’m writing for the Toronto Telegraph, trying to soothe the anxiety of Bill Hay, my editor, who’s worried about the investigative series with which I’m currently preoccupied.
It’s never easy when you’re dealing with corruption in high places involving key government figures and the potentially disastrous political fallout that inevitably results.
It seems these days everyone’s desperately trying to cover up dirty little secrets but in the information age and instant communication it’s no longer easy to bury embarrassing missteps.
It doesn’t matter if you’re a president or a prince and I’ve got a feeling we’re in for a real cultural revolution where people will insist on ethics and character in leaders…
And I’ll do my part to hurry that revolution because the way things are sickens me.
“Well, Mr. Hunter, fancy meeting you here.”
I look up from my laptop to see Meredith Cassidy, the latest Cable news reporter who’s as beautiful and she’s talented,
“Please, call me Logan,” I smile, trying to appear casual but the girl is intimidating, to me, at least.
“Do you mind if I join you?” She asks.
Mind? I muse, this is my favourite daydream when I’m not admiring her beauty from afar.
“So, is this the secret den where newspaper reporters gather, when they’re not trying to scoop my stories?”
“I can’t speak for my colleagues, but I’d never do that, Meredith—you deserve all the recognition you get.”
“Really? Are you trying to flatter me, Mr. Hunter? I despise soft- soap.”
“You don’t have to be so stand-offish and formal with me. If you mean, am I trying to manipulate you, nothing could be further from the truth. Why don’t we just have a coffee and chat? Once you get to know me you’ll find I’m actually quite friendly.”
Her eyes are dancing. “That would be quite refreshing.”
Being this close to her I can tell regardless of her aversion to ‘soft-soap’, her skin and hair exude a clean fragrance, the fresh scent of snowflakes and wind.
I try one last time to connect.
“Look Meredith, I like you and don’t want to be on bad terms with you. Can’t we just be friends? We have more in common than what keeps us apart.”
Her eyebrow arches. “Do we have a lot n common?”
I lower my voice almost to a whisper.
“I know you’re not like the other reporters on the hill. You just don’t want to be a cable celebrity—you actually care about people and the important issues, like ethics and responsible leadership in government. We could team up on that issue alone.”
She eyes me narrowly suspicious of my motives. She’s weighing things in her mind and finally asks,
“Do you know something I don’t?”
I nod solemnly.
“And you’d be willing to share this information with me—why?”
I shrug, “Because as I told you, I thought we’d be a good team— me on the printed page and you on television. We could reach a whole lot of people that way, Meredith, and make a difference.”
There’s a long pause while she stares off into space, seemingly seeking some answers from the parade of people passing the window. Finally, she reaches a conclusion.
“Okay, Logan, I‘m buying what you’re selling but you better not scam me.”
“I promise I’m sincere, Meredith.”
“In that case, call me Mer—all my friends do …oh, and you can buy me coffee and a raspberry danish and we’ll see where this goes from here.”
I’d buy her the entire menu if I could afford it. This is the best outcome I could have ever imagined. Meredith and I working together rooting out corruption…
And possibly together building a new life.
Thank you!