Randolph sat on the biggest scandal since Watergate but he tempered his excitement. He couldn’t do anything with the story. Bringing it to Arkwright’s attention was futile, maybe dangerous. It wasn’t a stretch to believe Arkwright would trot to the White House and present the letter to the president or one of his cronies.
Randolph composed his resignation letter, printed it and put it an envelope. He walked to Arkwright’s office, shut the door behind him and tossed the envelope on his boss’s desk.
“That’s my resignation letter,” said Randolph. “It’s effective as of this moment. And some unsolicited advice, Clayton. The people you’re kowtowing to will eat you alive. You’ll never get out from under their thumb. If you don’t stop it now, you and this newspaper are headed down the road to irrelevance. It’s up to you, Clayton. Do you really want the Washington Post to become President Norris’s Pravda?”
Arkwright didn’t respond. Randolph walked out and slammed the door.
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