by J. L. Brown
LaKeisha’s eyes shone. “I’m focusing on my game. Scholarship offers are coming in.”
“Let me know if you ever want to talk about that. I’ve been through the process.”
“I’ll take you up on that.”
“You should focus on your studies.”
“I will.”
“And don’t worry about the charges,” Jade said. “They’ve been dropped. Your record was expunged.”
Jade had called in a favor at CSS before the assassination attempt. She hadn’t had a chance to tell LaKeisha until now.
The girl swallowed hard, about to cry. She didn’t. Instead, she stood and extended her hand. Jade slapped LaKeisha’s hand and held it.
“No matter if you coach me or not,” the girl said, “you’ll always be my coach.”
Chapter Ninety-Three
The White House, Washington, DC
In the Rose Garden the next morning, Whitney stood at the podium set up for the occasion. She was flanked on either side by Senator Maureen McAllister and Vice President Josephine Bates. Next to Jo stood radio talk-show host Cole Brennan. The two women wore smart suits with skirts. Cole’s tan suit fit. He had lost weight.
The weather was perfect, the arrival of the suffocating DC humidity still a month away.
She gazed out over the assembled audience.
Whitney concluded her speech, “Suicides are at an all-time high in this country. This legislation will not prevent a mass murderer from easily obtaining a gun, but it will decrease the number of suicides. Especially among our teens.” She turned to Cole. “It won’t bring CJ back, but I believe he would have liked this bill. He fought for the causes he believed in, like his daddy… although he chose the right side.”
Cole laughed. “Not going to debate you here, Madam President, but you’re right. CJ would have liked this bill.” He gave her a slight bow. “Thank you.”
The CJ Brennan Mental Health Act would create a department within the executive branch to coordinate mental health programs across federal, state, and local agencies in order to help Americans in need find care, housing, job assistance, and other services.
She moved to the small mahogany table with the presidential seal affixed to its front and waited for Mo, Jo, Cole, Sasha, and several other supportive members of Congress to gather behind her. Selecting one of the many Cross Townsend pens, Whitney signed the act using one pen for every two to three letters of her name. When she finished, she stood and gave one pen to Jo, one to Mo, and one to Sasha. The last three pens she handed to Cole.
“One for you. One for Ashley. And one for CJ.”
Tears fell from Cole’s eyes, and he pulled her toward him in a bear hug. Josh McPherson took a step toward her, but she held out a hand to stop him.
After a moment, she disengaged and slipped her arms around the waists of Mo and Jo. The four of them posed as the press pool cameras clicked away.
“Cole, I want one with just the women.”
He made a face, pretending to be offended. “Aren’t you always complaining about sexism and discrimination?”
“It’s our turn,” she said simply.
Raising his arms in surrender, Cole walked away.
As she posed for the cameras, Cole went to stand by Cameron Kelly.
And her son, Chandler.
What is Cameron doing here?
After the last photo was taken, she said to Mo and Jo, “Thank you both. I could not have done this without you.”
“We should do it again,” said Jo. “We’re on a roll.”
“It was a hoot!” said Mo. “I love working with you two.”
“We should get together again,” Whitney said, “but for fun. Dinner. Once a month. Just us. What do you say?”
“I’m in,” said Jo.
“I’ll bring the moonshine!” said Mo.
“I would certainly hope so,” Whitney said, smiling.
I don’t need him.
A weight she had borne for as long as she could remember had lifted. There was life—a good life—after Grayson.
“Madam President, a few questions!” said one of the White House press corps.
Whitney returned to the podium. She spotted Judy’s replacement at ABC and pointed at the reporter.
“What’s your question, Mike?”
“You said this mental health act would’ve helped CJ Brennan. Can you think of a time in your life when it would’ve helped you?”
The conversational noise ceased. Everyone looked at her, waiting for her answer.
It was time.
“Yes, Mike, I can. When I was a junior in high school, I went to live with my aunt, Mary Churchill, and transferred to a school in a suburb outside of Chicago. Winters there can be frigid. I wore bulky coats and sweaters every day. For the last three months of my stay, I lived at a convent where my aunt volunteered.”
She paused.
A few reporters raised their hands, some shouting “Madam President!” or “President Fairchild!”
Holding up a hand, she said, “Let me finish. There’s been a lot of speculation out there. You’ve waited a long time for this story. It’s my story; let me tell it. If you’re patient, I’ll answer most of your questions.”
“I doubt it!” shouted one reporter.
The others laughed.
She waited for the laughter to subside.
“The entire experience was a painful one. Living away from my family and friends. Attending a new school where I knew no one, with only my aunt for company. I was all alone. It would have been helpful to have someone to talk to. A professional.
“Being there wasn’t a choice. At least, not my choice. It was my parents’ decision. They believed they needed to protect me and my reputation from the inevitable small-town gossip.
“I had a secret, you see. I was pregnant.” The reporters started to murmur. “After the baby was born, I held him once before I signed the papers giving him up for adoption. Before he was taken away from me forever. I was promised he would be brought up in a good home. With parents who would love him. And I returned home to Missouri.
“My story is far from unique. There are women across this country and around the world with similar stories. Similar situations that happened to them. Not because of anything they did or the clothes they wore, but because they are women. I applaud the brave women speaking out. Remember, what happened to you is not your fault.
“Over a decade ago, an African-American civil rights activist named Tarana Burke started a movement called Me Too.” She stared at Cameron Kelly. “I stand here today to tell you that I was raped. I am your president, and I am a survivor. Yes. Me too.”
The press corps and other guests were silent. Stunned. A bird chirped.
Chandler looked from Whitney to Cameron and then backed to Whitney. He roared: “You!”
An ugly look consumed her son’s face, now inches from Cameron’s. Chandler’s hands encircled Cameron’s neck and squeezed. Cameron’s face turned red as the two men fell to the ground. Whitney took a step toward them before Josh grasped her wrist and held her in place. Two secret service agents sprinted past him, each of them grabbing one of Chandler’s arms.
They pulled him off Cameron.
“You fucking asshole!” Chandler tried to shake off the agents, his face also a deep shade of red. Spittle leaked out of the corner of his mouth. “You raped my mother! And you hired me anyway? You goddamn—”
“Josh,” Whitney said to her lead agent. “I have to do something. I need to protect my baby.”
Josh stared at her. He looked around and called two agents over. “Watch her.”
Sasha yelled at the press corps, “Stop taking pictures!”
Sprinting toward Chandler, Josh encircled her son in his powerful arms. Chandler struggled all the way as Josh carried him into the White House.
Cameron staggered to his feet, holding his neck and coughing.
“Did you see what that little fucker did?” he gasped to Cole.
<
br /> Cole looked at him. “Is it true? Did you rape the president?”
Cameron was caught off guard by the question. And then he grinned. “She begged for it.”
“Did she now?” Cole was agile for a big man. His right arm shot out, making contact with Cameron’s jaw. Whitney’s ex-boyfriend fell backward with the impact of the knock-out punch.
Sasha continued to yell at the camera people and everyone who had pulled out their smartphones.
To no avail.
Chapter Ninety-Four
Washington, DC
“Aren’t you tired of lazing around?” Dante said. “You need to get back to work, boss.”
He was followed into the hospital room by Micah, Pat, Christian, Max, and Ethan. Micah moved the metal IV stand and LED heart monitor out of the way so the six of them could gather around the bed.
Jade lifted her chin toward the equipment. “I hope I won’t need that.” She scanned their faces. “Can you help bust me out of here?”
“Don’t tempt them,” Max said.
Christian surveyed the room and spotted the refrigerator.
“How are you feeling?” Ethan asked.
“Bored. Any sign of the perp?”
He shook his head.
Jade finally asked the question that had consumed her for the last several days. “Who is she?”
“Her name’s Devon Mattix,” said Dante, “a former secret service agent.”
“Secret Service?” she said.
Christian returned, popping open a Pepsi. “She was fired from the first daughter’s detail last year when Emma Fairchild sneaked out of her dorm.”
“I remember that. And she blamed Fairchild?”
“She wanted revenge,” Dante said.
With a proud smile, Micah said, “Told you she was in law enforcement.”
“You also thought she was a he,” she reminded him. He frowned. “Nine millimeter?”
“Ruger LC9s,” Dante said.
“You should’ve worn a vest,” Max said, his voice soft.
“Didn’t think I’d need one at the symphony,” she said. “How did she get the gun in?”
Dante plopped himself in the recliner. “She had help. One of the president’s secret service detail disappeared the night of the assassination attempt.”
That was too scary to contemplate. She sat up higher in the bed. “We should inform the—”
“We’re on it,” Dante said. “Every law enforcement agency in the country is looking for both of them.”
“McPherson wasn’t in on it, right?”
“No.”
She exhaled. She thought of Josh as one of the good guys. If he were dirty, it would’ve shaken her worldview. “What’s new with the Shakespeare case?”
“Not much,” Dante said.
“Did you find anything tying Brook—Mattix to the murders?” she asked.
Her talkative team became silent. Christian looked up at the ceiling. Micah studied the books on her nightstand. Max gazed out the window. Pat studied her cell phone. Dante and Ethan stared down at the floor.
Dante looked at her. “What if she was hired to kill them?”
Doubtful, Christian said, “Contract killings?”
Jade remembered what Brooklyn had said she did for a living.
Customer service.
“Thought of something?” Max asked.
“I might—”
She should tell them she’d already “caught” Mattix. Or rather, Mattix had caught her. Seduced her.
Why?
She could tell them where Mattix lived, but she wasn’t sure of the address. Only the neighborhood.
Jade closed her mouth, averting her gaze. “I thought I did, but it’s gone.”
“A contract killing does seem farfetched,” Micah said.
“Does it?” Dante said. “She was a well-trained agent out for revenge.”
“And fit,” Jade said.
“How do you know that?” Micah asked.
“Uh… I got a glimpse of her before she shot me.”
“That still doesn’t answer why,” Ethan said. “Or who took out the contracts.”
“We’ve examined Mattix’s bank accounts,” Pat said, “and haven’t come up with any unusual or significant deposits.”
“Doesn’t prove anything,” Dante said. “She could have offshore accounts.”
“We’re working on that,” Pat said.
As Micah opened his mouth to say something, his hand accidentally knocked into the rolling table that Jade used to eat her meals. A stainless-steel tray clattered to the floor.
Jade yelled, “Everybody down!”
Her heart pounded as she glanced around wildly at her colleagues.
“It was just a tray, Jade,” Micah said, bending to pick it up.
Concern was etched on the faces of her fellow agents.
Laughing it off, she said, “It was so loud.”
Silence descended.
“We should go,” Ethan said.
“Pat and Max,” Jade said, “can you stay for a moment?”
Micah frowned.
Christian, Ethan, and Dante hugged her and shuffled out.
Micah stared down at her, concern still evident in those gray eyes. “You sure you’re going to be all right?”
“I’ll be beating your butt up the Lincoln steps in no time.”
Micah looked unconvinced. “Can’t wait.” Glancing at Max, he hugged her. “See ya, Jade.”
He sauntered out of the room.
Jade watched him leave.
Her heart pounded again, as if it would bust out of her gown.
But not in a lovelorn way.
She had never seen Micah shirtless. But when he leaned over, she happened to peek under his open-collared shirt. A chill went through her as she caught a glimpse of the tattoo on his chest.
The same as Zoe’s.
In the exact same place.
進捗
Chapter Ninety-Five
The White House, Washington, DC
“How bad is it?”
“Actually,” Sasha said, sitting in the chair alongside Whitney’s desk in the study, “it’s quite the opposite. Your approval ratings are up.”
Whitney shook her head. “Of course they are.”
That morning, the headline of the Washington Post was “The Melee in the Rose Garden.” The entire front page comprised stories about Whitney and her family: Whitney’s confession, Chandler fighting with Cameron, Cole punching Cameron, and speculation—once again—about the identity of Whitney’s baby. The passing of the mental health act warranted two small paragraphs in the lower right corner.
Cameron declared he wouldn’t press charges against either Chandler or Cole, probably figuring it wasn’t a wise career move.
Women took to social and traditional media to tell their stories of sexual assault using the hashtag #MeTooWhitney.
“You just have to look outside,” Sasha said.
Earlier, from the Residence, Whitney had looked out the window at the many women standing just outside the White House fence, most of them holding signs. In addition to #MeTooWhitney, there was #MeToo, #IBelieveYou, and #ItsNeverTooLateToBeFree.
Whitney wasn’t sure why it had taken her so long to speak out about what had happened to her. None of her reasons seemed to matter now.
She was free.
“Cole’s on.”
“Turn it up,” Whitney said.
“It’s been quite a week,” Cole said. “Who knew White House press conferences could be so lively? Thank you all for the cards and emails. Yes, my hand is fine, and no, I shouldn’t have hit him harder. I apologize to you folks that I was such a bad judge of character. I thought Kelly was a better man. I want to tell the fellas something. Are you listening? Come closer to the radio or the computer. Are you ready?
“No means no. It’s not code for yes. Guys like Cameron Kelly have no place in the Republican Party or in Congress.
“If he should run a
gain when he’s up for reelection, I promise to God I will do everything in my power to defeat him. Are you with me?
“We need to pay the bills now, but after the break, my guest will be a former legislative aide to Cameron Kelly, Chandler Fairchild. Yes, that Chandler Fairchild. Stay tuned.”
Whitney looked at Sasha. “You knew?”
Sasha cocked her head and pursed her lips.
After the intermission, Cole introduced Chandler.
“What are you going to do now, champ?” Cole asked.
“I’m not sure yet, Mr. Brennan. I might take a break from politics.”
“Why?”
“My last two bosses weren’t very good.”
Cole’s high-pitched laugh squealed over the airwaves. “That’s true. How did you feel when you realized the truth about Kelly?”
“Blindsided. This guy hired me, showed an interest in my career, in me. Now I know it was to spite her.”
“Not very nice of him.”
“I was just as bad. A real sh—jerk to my mom.”
“Who knows, son? She might be listening. You do listen to my show, President Fairchild, don’t you?”
Whitney smiled.
“What would you say to her,” Cole said, “if she were listening?”
“Mom, I love you, and I’m so proud of you and all your accomplishments. I’m sorry I ever went to work for that douchebag.”
“What do you think about your mom? After what she went through.”
“She’s a badass. I should’ve been there for her like she’s always been there for me. Chosen her over politics. Sons are supposed to protect their mothers.”
“Are you going to switch parties?”
“I’m still a Republican, but I respect my mom’s views, as she’s always respected mine.”
