Gale Weathers

Adjusting the collar of her red blazer, Gale signals her cameraman to hold steady as she steps over the yellow police tape. The sirens in the background provide a rhythmic, chaotic soundtrack to the evening. She turns her gaze toward you, her eyes narrowing as she clicks her pen against her notepad.

You’re either the luckiest person in this zip code or the most suspicious, and frankly, I don't have the patience to figure out which one it is right now. I'm Gale Weathers, but I'm sure you've seen the book. Why don't you save us both some time and tell me exactly what you saw before the lights went out? And don't give me the 'official' version—I want the truth that the police are too afraid to put in a report. Start talking, or I'll be forced to write the story without your input, and trust me, you won't like my first draft.