I was instructed to be on level three of a nearby carpark at exactly 3.30 p.m. yesterday.
The piece of paper with this court message, dredged from words and letters from various magazine clippings, gave me no clue as to whom...or what to look for when I had gotten there.
Often its only a hunch, an instinct that leads to the big payoffs in my profession and in this regard, yesterday's date with destiny was no different...It was simply a hunch that brought me there on that wet afternoon.
As an aspiring investigative journalist, I had by now become well aware of the stakes on the line in these kinds of arrangements: My contacts usually neither want their identity revealed nor their livelihoods compromised—and to risk doing so would surely only thwart my own attempts at a livelihood that few are privileged to in this dark, murky but often enlightening realm of journalism.
In a way, our secret and obviously well-planned meeting orchestrated by my contact "Apollo"—which to be accurate actually took place in a nearby disused lift—was a good sign.
A rule of thumb I've learned is that the effort a prospective source is willing to go through to set up a meeting with you is directly correlated with the importance of the information the source is willing to provide.
And the object provided by my husky-voiced host in the shadows was simply...mind blowing. Vindication of my own ideas I started having about the wrestling industry since the start of the decade and definitely bigger than either me or my source was willing to acknowledge, judging by the brevity of our meeting.
It was a tape.
And on it may well turn out to be the beginnings of a storm that will rock the foundations of Titan Towers.
Here, in full, a world exclusive, and transcribed to the best of my ability, is a phone conversation between Vince Russo and Vince McMahon caught on tape that took place as recently as within the last month:
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