The Divide

by J. L. Brown

  Income inequality was her issue. The issue she’d campaigned and won on, and the basis for her signature legislation, recently overturned by the US Congress.

  How would Americans fare when their country was no longer a superpower? The United States, the world’s longest-lasting democracy, was not any more immune to demise than the republics before it.

  “Are you listening?” Sasha asked. “You’ll be in the room. Speak.”

  “Don’t worry, I will.”

  “Here’s the information you requested.” Sasha handed her a folder. “When are we going to start working on New Cubed?”

  “New New New?”

  “We can do it without Hampton.”

  Whitney’s eyes narrowed. “He thinks I’m Charlie Brown to his Lucy. I will never let him pull the football away from me ever again.”

  “Hampton isn’t the only senator. You should find a different teammate.”

  This gave Whitney pause. “Like Peppermint Patty?”

  “If you want something done.”

  As they resumed walking, she told Sasha about her conversation with Mo. “Tell Sean to schedule a meeting for me with Senator McAllister and the vice president.”

  “Will do,” Sasha said. “By the way, I have news. About Sampson.”

  “What did he do now?” Whitney asked.

  “He’s going to resign,” Sasha said.

  “How do you know?

  “It’s my job to know.”

  Sasha had her sources, and they were usually accurate.

  “You’re always ten steps ahead of everyone else,” Whitney said.

  “I know,” Sasha said.

  Whitney stopped before the Cabinet Room door. “Even me?”

  Sasha pressed her lips together but said nothing.

  She didn’t have to.

  Her look, inexplicably, gave Whitney chills.

  Chapter Thirty

  Washington, DC

  A petite woman with funky hair and wearing a rainbow of colors wended her way through the throng of after-work patrons crowding the tables and booths at happy hour.

  Taking her foot off the brass rail under the bar, Jade eased off her stool. “Hey, you.”

  She bent over to give her best friend a hug.

  When they pulled apart, Zoe noticed the sleek glass filled with beer waiting for her on the bar top.

  “To think people say you’re a control freak. What are we drinking?”

  “German. Hefe.”

  “Thank God!” Zoe said, climbing onto her seat. “I couldn’t stand to drink a Russian beer today. Or China. They brew the worst beers. Japanese beers aren’t bad.”

  Jade returned to her seat. “What are you talking about? We never drink Russian beer.”

  “The three superpowers. I refuse to drink their beer now. Germany and the US are on the outside looking in. The only beer I’ll drink is our ally’s.”

  “Anything for the cause,” Jade said, raising her bottle of beer before taking a sip.

  “Pretty soon those three countries will be pushing their beliefs on us—and their beers. As we used to do to other countries. We must take a stand.”

  “Why is it always about politics for you?”

  “The same way it’s always about ‘winning’ for you. What else is there?”

  “True.”

  “I’m glad you called,” Zoe said. “It’s nice to get out. It’s been a rough month.”

  “Besides what happened to New New… is it work?”

  Zoe’s nonprofit organization supported progressive issues and female candidates for all levels of political office.

  “It’s an uphill battle sometimes.”

  Jade worried the edge of the label on the bottle, wet with condensation. She’d turned down the bartender’s offer of a glass. “I wouldn’t count the US or Fairchild out.”

  “I don’t.” Zoe sipped her beer. “Enough about me. What’ve you been up to? Any exciting new cases?”

  Zoe had been involved in two of Jade’s major cases. Too involved. “Not really.”

  “Hmmm…” Zoe’s brow furrowed. “The Shakespeare Killer case seems like something you would take on. I minored in English Literature.”

  “I remember,” Jade said.

  Zoe raised her hand to draw the attention of one of the bartenders. The female bartender, wearing a gray vest and a black tie, immediately cut off her conversation with another customer and stood in front of Zoe, who beamed her hundred-watt smile. “Do you have any Belgian beers?”

  The bartender leaned in, placing her forearms on the bar. Behind her, a mirrored wall dazzled with strategically placed color-coded liquor bottles. Jade wondered how the bartenders found what they needed. It was comparable to those people who organized their books by color rather than in alphabetical order.

  Holding Zoe’s gaze, the woman said, “I’m sure I can find something you’d like.”

  “I’m sure you can too,” Zoe said.

  Jade imagined a dialogue bubble above her own head. Puke!

  After the bartender moved away, Jade said, “Seriously?”

  “She’s cute, isn’t she?”

  “Do you flirt with every attractive woman you meet?”

  Zoe pretended to think about it. “You should try it sometime.” Then, slyly, “Maybe you already have.”

  Jade shot her a warning look.

  Zoe’s dating habits were legendary and geographically dispersed. If Jade met a lesbian on the other side of the country, there was a distinct possibility that she had dated Zoe. Jade sometimes tired of Zoe babbling about her exploits, although Jade couldn’t talk. She ruminated about Blake. And Kyle. She didn’t count Micah.

  “Here you go,” the bartender said, deftly pouring a beer into a Duvel-labeled tulip glass and placing it on the bar before Zoe. She set the other bottle in front of Jade, grabbed her empty, then discreetly laid a folded napkin next to Zoe’s glass.

  “Thank you,” Zoe said, pocketing the napkin with a practiced motion.

  The bartender stared at Zoe several seconds longer than necessary before returning to her long-ignored customer.

  “Let the woman work,” Jade said, taking a drink of her fresh beer.

  “Are you jealous?” Zoe asked.

  Jade shook her head. “You wish.”

  She’d never thought of Zoe that way. They were best friends and nothing more. At least from her perspective.

  She glanced around the bar. Almost all the patrons were millennials or Generation Z. The few Generation Xers, the “invisible generation,” stood out.

  A voice rose above the chatter. The guy sitting on the stool next to her, trying to impress his companions.

  Jade leaned in to Zoe so she wouldn’t be overheard. “What if we were working on that case?”

  “The Shakespeare Killer? Is this another hypothetical?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Tell me about the sonnets.”

  “They were collected by a Mr. W. H. from private friends of Shakespeare, and published years later, most likely without Shakespeare’s permission.” Her face brightened. “May I see them? Do you have the evidence on you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Which sonnets?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Ugh! You never let me have any fun.”

  “There’s nothing fun about murder.”

  “You’re right,” Zoe said. “I’m sorry.”

  She proceeded to tell Jade about the sonnets. Much of it Jade had learned from Alaia Bennett, the GWU professor, and Micah.

  When Zoe paused to take a breath, Jade asked, “Tell me about the Carr brothers.”

  Zoe made a face. “Their extremist views changed the direction of this country forever.”

  Another motive. “Extremist?”

  “Some right wingnut philosophies are now considered legitimate schools of thought because of them. Twenty years ago, most Republicans believed that humans caused clima
te change. Those beliefs were inconvenient for the Carrs’ business, so they set about changing them.”

  “How?”

  “Advertising. Forming foundations and deputizing experts to bully and discredit scientists. It worked.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “Despite the Carrs claiming ad nauseam that they’re for limited government, they have a history of using it to expand their businesses through tax breaks and regulation. Through their company and its subsidiaries, they form nonprofits, which they use to support their beliefs. They hide behind these organizations so they can spend massive amounts of money against their political opponents.”

  “To the outside world, their philanthropy appears generous.”

  “Right,” Zoe said. “But the money they’re giving away is used to manipulate American politics and further their business and private interests.”

  “And it’s all legal,” Jade said.

  Zoe shrugged. “They’re privileged. They can get away with murder.”

  Jade raised an eyebrow.

  “Literally,” Zoe said.

  The two women drank in silence, and then Zoe leaned in. “Ever check out ‘The God of Veritas’?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “On Twitter. Instagram.”

  “No.”

  “Your JadeHarringtonFans account has over two hundred thousand followers.”

  “Zoe…,” Jade said, in a tone that conveyed her impatience. It was one Zoe was familiar with.

  “All right, all right. The God of Veritas tweets a lot about the Carr brothers. I follow him on Twitter.” She turned to smile at the bartender and held up her glass before turning back to Jade. “You want another one?”

  Jade placed her hand over her bottle, still three-quarters full. “I’m fine.”

  “You should check him out.”

  After Zoe finished her third drink, the two friends headed to the door. Inclining her head back toward the bar, Jade said, “Aren’t you going to say goodbye?”

  Zoe didn’t look back. “I’ve got her number.”

  *

  Leaving the bar, they emerged into the middle of the hustle and bustle of Georgetown’s upscale businesses and specialty stores. The northwest neighborhood pulsed with activity, as it usually did this time of night. Diners and partygoers crowded the sidewalk, while drivers honked, protesting the traffic.

  “How did you get here?” Jade asked.

  Zoe pointed at the curb.

  Jade’s mouth gaped open. “You bought a motorcycle?” She examined the black and gray Honda sandwiched between two parked cars. “Nice.”

  “I like it,” Zoe said, beaming. “It’s a Rebel.”

  “How appropriate.”

  Stepping around Jade, she hopped onto the bike. “You wanna go for a ride? I don’t have an extra helmet, but I promise to be careful.”

  Jade surveyed the small bike with its single seat and shook her head. “Nah. I’m good.”

  In truth, she wouldn’t have accepted the offer even if Zoe had lent her an extra helmet and protective clothing, the bike had training wheels, and the streets were empty.

  Zoe strapped on her helmet and revved the engine. As she did so, the sleeve of her leather jacket crept up her wrist, exposing a tattoo. Jade recalled the time she’d caught a glimpse of the new tattoo on Zoe’s chest, right above her heart, exposed as she covered Jade with a blanket. Jade, in a drunken haze, had asked about it; Zoe claimed it wasn’t new.

  Now Jade peered closer. “New tat? I haven’t seen that one before.”

  “There are a lot of areas on my body you haven’t seen before.”

  “Stop,” Jade said, feigning disgust. She paused. “Is that a tree? What does it represent?”

  Zoe shrugged. “Nothing. I just like the way it looks.”

  Jade squinted at her. “You don’t seem happy about it. It didn’t come out the way you wanted?”

  Glancing at the tattoo for a moment, Zoe readjusted her sleeve to cover it.

  “It’s what I wanted,” Zoe muttered. “It’s others who don’t care for it.”

  “When did you start caring about what other people think?”

  A faint smile. “You’re right. I don’t.” She revved the engine. “I gotta go. Sure you don’t want a ride?”

  I prefer living.

  Frowning, Jade said, “Zoe, what’s going on?”

  “Thanks for the drinks,” Zoe said, brightening, her somber mood over.

  Jade placed her hands on her hips. “It’s funny how I always get stuck paying the check.”

  Zoe flashed her characteristic game show–host smile. “Didn’t you just earn a promotion?”

  As Zoe cut into traffic on M Street, Jade prayed for the other drivers. What was the deal with her friend’s melancholy mood? It wasn’t like her.

  Not like her at all.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Arlington, Virginia

  As Jade left the Chinese restaurant, she thought about what Zoe had said about China, Japan, and Russia taking over the world. Glancing at her takeout bag’s greasy bottom, Jade figured she wasn’t helping matters.

  When she opened the door to her townhouse, her cat, Card, came running from whatever mischief he’d been up to. Scooping him up, she squeezed him and planted several kisses on his head. After ten seconds of bonding, he struggled to free himself and, once liberated, sprinted for the kitchen. After replenishing his water and food bowls on the tile floor, Jade picked up her briefcase and the takeout she’d left in the foyer and plopped cross-legged on the espresso-colored leather couch in her spartan living room. The scuffed hardwood floors needed buffing. Her bookshelves were filled with books and vinyl records, all in alphabetical order. Trophies and medals that she’d collected over the years were packed in cardboard boxes and stored in the basement.

  With the case files for the Shakespeare Killer—they were probably stuck with the name now—spread out around her, she fired up her laptop. Using chopsticks, she scooped mouthfuls of the chow mein right out of the carton. She’d forgotten to eat breakfast and lunch. Again.

  Jade reflected on her earlier conversation with Micah. Warren Barringer might not be a pleasure to work with, but she didn’t want to believe that he’d leak sensitive details about such a high-profile case.

  Putting thoughts of Barringer aside, she logged in to her rarely used Twitter account. Jade wasn’t on social media much, both because of her job and because she wanted her private life to remain private.

  She could’ve assigned Pat or Cyber to this task, but sometimes she preferred to conduct research herself. She found @TheGodOfVeritas easily. One hundred thousand followers—fewer than her fan account.

  Veritas meant truth. The God of Truth.

  His profile was bereft of description and location. He tweeted. A lot. Specifically about President Whitney Fairchild.

  The more Jade read, the more concerned she became. His criticisms of the president were harsh, a recurring theme being that she was too conservative and not a real Democrat. A DINO—Democrat In Name Only.

  Reading the replies to his tweets reinforced Jade’s decision to avoid the platform. Had the human race always been so hateful, racist, and close-minded? Or did the anonymity of social media foster that behavior?

  She kept reading, stopping short when her eyes landed on one particular tweet:

  @TheGodOfVeritas: Word on the street is that Finn Hurley is in secret meetings with Senator Hampton. I wonder what Congress will do next to boost her business. #shame

  Jade checked the date. About a week before Hurley was killed.

  Thirty minutes later, she found another tweet of interest.

  @TheGodOfVeritas: It’s no secret that the Carr brothers and their Super PAC are behind the push to repeal the #NewNewDeal They should feel #shame

  Tweeted a week before Carr was murdered.

  The skin on Jade’s forearms started to tingle.

  Finally, after another hour, she came to:

 
@TheGodOfVeritas: While thousands of NYC citizens won’t be eating dinner tonight, Sebastian Scofield is attending a $1000-a-plate dinner at the NYPL. #shame

  Again, approximately a week before Scofield’s death.

  When she looked at the clock, it was 1:00 a.m. She’d been reviewing The God of Veritas’s timeline for hours. The Chinese food was long gone, as were the two bottles of wheat beer from a microbrewery in California.

  Card had fallen asleep next to her, his cocoa-colored head resting against her leg, snoring.

  She wondered how long it would have taken the FBI to discover The God of Veritas’s tweets if Zoe hadn’t pointed her in this direction. The timing of the murders wasn’t a coincidence. If his tweets signaled or were associated with the Shakespeare killings, what were the killer’s plans for the president?

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The White House, Washington, DC

  “I apologize for the late hour,” Whitney said to the senator and the vice president, who shared the cream sofa under the elegant half-moon window in the West Sitting Hall off the Master Bedroom of the Residence. Whitney, sitting in a gray chair perpendicular to them, continued, “but I thought we’d be more comfortable here.”

  She waited as Senator Maureen McAllister took in the beige walls with landscape prints and white wainscot and chair rail. A bookcase leaned against one wall, filled with coffee table books interspersed with Fairchild family photos. Vice President Josephine Bates didn’t need to behold the surroundings; she’d been here before.

  “I don’t mind,” Mo said. “Those drapes! And the flowers are lovely.” Mo’s gaze returned to Whitney. “I do declare that I’m starting to enjoy visiting here.”

  “It can be habit-forming,” Jo agreed.

  “You’re welcome anytime, Senator,” said Whitney.

  Mo sipped her hot tea before setting her cup on the square wooden coffee table. “I suppose you want to get down to business. Being from the North and West Coast and all.”

  Whitney asked, “What did you think about our proposal for New Cubed?”

  “Why do y’all always go there?” Mo said.