His Perfect Wife Strikes Back

167 Interviews With A Journalist

Tommy put me in touch with a reporter from the New City Weekly, and we set up our first interview in a hospital room.

I had planned to meet him in a cafe near the hospital, but Tommy thought it would be better for me to do my first interview there. First, for security reasons, and second, Tommy believes that journalists are emotionally involved in the writing of their stories. If a reporter sees me in my hospital gown, he'll be more sympathetic to me.

He is about to hear a pregnant woman describe her own traumatic experiences, and he cannot help but feel compassion for the woman. And he will incorporate that compassion into his writing.

And as Tommy imagined, when New City Weekly's Paul first met me, his eyes lit up with surprise. At the beginning of the interview, he asked some tough questions.

This, as Tommy told me, was a common trick with journalists. They ask tough or embarrassing questions to test the reactions of the interviewees. The goal is usually to test whether the interviewee is lying. Because the media always wants their stories to be objective and truthful. That's how you get the majority of your readers.

As Tommy had warned me, I had been gentle in the face of Paul's pointed questions. Especially when asked about Lydia's death, I told him it was an accident.

"Why were you at your sister's wedding?" Paul said, pushing his black-rimmed glasses,"Because your ex-husband is engaged to your sister?"

"No," I denied. "Actually, I went to see my father. No, my adoptive father."

"Your adoptive father?" Paul looked surprised as if he had received new information. "You mean Mr.Green isn't your real father?"

"We'll get to that later," I interrupted, unable to continue the conversation.

"Go on, Eva," Paul wrote in his notebook as he listened.

So I told him about Mikeal and me. Of course, I avoided some of the parts I couldn't want him know.

"You mean your father treated you badly as a child because he never thought of you as his daughter," said Paul cheerfully. "But it was because he knew you weren't his daughter, wasn't it?"

"I guess I was just a tool he used to get benefits," I said. "He arranged my life, including my marriage. He even allowed me to receive the so-called good wife education since I was a child."

"A good wife's education?" Paul exclaimed. "I can't believe that a rich girl like you would receive such an education. Can you simply tell me what these so-called good wife educations are?"

"Take good care of your husband and children, learn to cook delicious meals for him, get used to waiting for him at night, and never ask where he went or who he was with." I sneered, "Unless he tells you that a woman is pregnant with his child and that she is your sister."

"Oh, Eva," said Paul in shock, "I think your story should be able to write a book. If you allow me, I'd like to write an autobiography for you."

"You'll have to talk to my lawyer about that." I was glad the reporter was starting to take an interest in my story. Then the hunter will release the cage.

"My negotiations with Mikeal failed and he sold me to suffer in a place called Pudding Island. I almost died there, but I came back alive. Before I was sold to Pudding, he told me that he hated me because I was not his daughter."

"Pudding Island, what is that place?" Paul asked curiously.

"A place where women are trafficked." I decided to expose the place to the media. "As far as I know, many women in our country are secretly trafficked to this place for p.rostitution."

"Go on." Paul changed his voice recorder. "I think I should bring more."

"Can you tell me more about what happened to you in Pudding Island?"

So I told Paul about what happened in Pudding, and I told him it wasn't just me, it was a lot of innocent women who had suffered the same thing.

"Unfortunately, our country doesn't pay much attention to things like missing women," I said sadly, "And not all of the women were able to escape from Pudding as well as I did. So a lot of people don't know the secret. That's why trafficking in women is getting more rampant."

"I suggest we have a cup of coffee and continue the conversation," said Paul nervously, "I need to report to my superiors about the trafficking of women because I'm not sure if it can be reported."

"That's all right. You can hear my story first." I handed Paul the coffee I'd already prepared. "Whether it's newsworthy or not, as the first listener, I want to tell you the truth."

Paul's hand trembled as he took the coffee. He was well aware that what we were about to discuss was more serious than he thought. But he listened patiently to all my experiences of Pudding.

We met three times, and at our last meeting, he couldn't help but ask me an important question.

"Your adoptive father is hurting you because he knows you're not his daughter," Paul asked cautiously. "Did he ever tell you who your biological father was?"

"Of course." I pretended to be mysterious. "The night before I was sold to pudding, he told me the name of my biological father."

"Then would you mind telling me?" Paul looked at me expectantly.

"Will you publish my story in the new city weekly magazine?" I asked.

"In fact, I'm editing your story," Paul said confidently. "We'll run your story in the next issue of the weekly."

"And will you publish my biological father's name in a magazine?"

"If you allow it."

"If I allow you to reveal the identity of my biological father, are you sure you'll really publish his name in a magazine?" I calmly looked at the man who was about to fall into the trap, "Are you sure you don't need to report this to your superiors?"

"Eva, I don't think I need to repeat myself," Paul said impatiently. "I assure you of that. Well, give me his name, please."

I looked at him for a few seconds with a sneer. During the silence, Paul's face was full of doubt, but he waited patiently for an answer.

"My adoptive father confessed to me that my biological father was Mickle Blanton."

When I finished saying this, Paul froze. It took him about two minutes to speak.

"The Mickle Blanton that we all know?" Paul's voice was deep. "Eva, this isn't a joke.

"Do you think I'm joking?" I said seriously, "Yes, that's right. Mickle Blanton. He is said to be the front-runner for the next president. I never thought he would be my biological father."

"Neither did I." Paul's voice trembled. "I think I should take it back."

"It's too late, Paul," I said to him, standing up, "Since we don't have an exclusive agreement, all of our conversations will be published in other media. But if you're fast enough, your career will change dramatically."

He looked down and thought. I seduced him step by step.

"Don't you want to be a boss rather than a reporter?" I said. "The opportunity is right in front of you, Paul. Think about it."

The moment he looked up, I knew he had made a choice. Well, tonight will be Mickle Blanton's last good night's sleep.

The beast has fallen into the trap and the fight has begun.