SCOTUS: A Powerplay Novel

by Selena Laurence

  Chapter 16

  “No,” Kamal said abruptly from where he sat on a love seat in the Oval Office.

  Teague glanced at the president uncertainly. He still wasn’t sure how the whole power dynamic worked between President Hampton and her new husband. For as long as Teague had known him, Kamal was in charge—of everything and everyone he could be. Yet, he was now an American, and his wife was also his president. The whole damn thing made Teague’s head hurt, but didn’t seem to bother the Masris at all.

  “Apparently, the First Gentleman doesn’t like your resignation, and I have to say I’m not enthusiastic about it either.”

  Teague looked at the president. “Ma’am, I appreciate the vote of confidence, but surely you can see that I’m a sitting duck now. I’ve lied to the administration, Congress, and the public. In addition to the fact that everyone is going to see my ability to hear cases dealing with the death penalty or penal issues as compromised. All those cases the Supreme Court hears as the final court of appeals, those cases that deal with the civil liberties of prisoners, methods of execution, appeals to death convictions. No one will believe I can be impartial about those.”

  Kamal stood and paced the width of the room. “Look, we can spin this. You didn’t lie, your mother told you he had died, and you’ve believed that since. You never bothered to investigate, because why would you?”

  “You’re going to pin all this on my sixty-something mother?” Teague asked, one eyebrow raised.

  Kamal stopped in front of the fireplace, a painting of George Washington hanging above him. “I’m going to paint a picture for the press and public that is as close to the truth as possible without calling you a liar. Let me ask you this—did you ever look up your brother? Did you try to find him or know anything about his day-to-day life?”

  Teague scratched his head, embarrassed that he had to admit his selfishness and negligence in front of the president.

  “No. I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t. I worked very hard to put him out of my head and focus on my goals and my life. It was the height of selfishness.”

  “Or it was the height of self-preservation,” the president added gently.

  “It also makes what we’re going to tell the press and Congress so close to the truth that you will be able to say it with a clear conscience.”

  Teague snorted.

  “Hear me out,” Kamal said, glancing at his wife, who nodded her approval. “Your mother told you something—that your brother had died—you believed her, you moved on. All that is true. It’s what you’ll say, it’s what we’ll say. It’s simple.”

  “But it doesn’t deal with the issue of the court’s docket and my ability to be impartial.”

  “Is anyone impartial when it comes to things like the death penalty?” the president said. “Can any judge at any level—any attorney, any juror—be impartial about the government acting to imprison a nineteen-year-old for decades, or end a human being’s life through state-sponsored execution? These prisoners have been convicted of some of humanity’s most heinous crimes, but they are also still people. They have loved ones. They have thoughts and feelings. How can anyone be impartial about that?”

  Kamal gave Teague a wry smile. “She has a very good point.”

  “The question isn’t whether you can be impartial, Teague,” the president continued. “It’s whether you can make logical, rational rulings on constitutional law. Rulings that you can defend, and that you feel provide the most freedoms to the most people while still protecting our citizens and the nation.”

  “And what do you think, Madam President?” Teague asked, genuinely curious.

  “I think that I spent a great deal of time vetting possible candidates for the most important judicial position in the country, and that I chose my nominee carefully and wisely. I think that I will support him no matter what, because I have the utmost faith in his abilities to protect our Constitution.”

  Teague swallowed, his throat dry and tight.

  “And as someone who has known you for several years now, I concur,” Kamal added.

  So far nothing about this morning’s meeting was going the way Teague envisioned. He’d come to the White House to tender his resignation as the president’s nominee, and now he was blindsided by her endorsement and her belief in him. He didn’t deserve it, but he was inclined to take it and run before she changed her mind.

  “I can’t thank you enough, Madam President. Your confidence in me is humbling. And I apologize again for not being honest with you and your staff when all this started.”

  “Thank you, Teague. It’s unfortunate that it’s going to make things more difficult for us, but I’ve never backed down from a fight on the Hill before. I won’t start now.”

  “Since we have the president’s directive, why don’t we adjourn to my office to discuss more strategy,” Kamal said, standing smoothly. “I’ll see you at lunch?” he said to the president, giving her what Teague could only describe as a heated look. Teague ducked his head to cover his smirk, pretending to examine the ornate Persian rug on the floor. He felt like a twelve-year-old spying on his parents.

  Lunch plans were confirmed, and Kamal led Teague out of the Oval Office to the East Wing, where his own offices were housed. They greeted his secretary, who had been with him since his days as the Egyptian ambassador to the US, and then went into his office.

  Kamal ordered tea and coffee from the White House kitchen, then they both sat down at a small conference table.

  “Now, we talk spin,” he began.

  Deanna’s in-box was stuffed. She clicked through message after message, filing, forwarding, and mostly deleting.

  Then she came to it. Another one.

  Her father’s email address flashed on the screen like a taunt. You know you want to open me, it said. You can delete me, but I’ll never really go away.

  Out of habit, her mouse moved the cursor over the message, hovering, waiting to click and drag to the Trash. But something happened, and before she could stop herself, that mouse had clicked instead of dragging and dropping. Then, instead of staring at her father’s email address, she was staring at his words. The first words she’d seen from him in eleven years.

  Her breath caught as she stared at the screen. Like a car wreck along the side of the cyber highway, she was unable to look away. Her eyes scanned the missive, not really comprehending the words as her heart beat a fluttering rhythm.

  Some part of her remained rational, however, and she found herself remembering to breathe, exhaling slowly as her hand moved off the mouse, and she leaned into the screen, reading the words slowly, one at a time.

  Dear Deanna:

  I never know if you read these or not. If you do, they’ve probably become very redundant. If you ever feel like responding, you can tell me to quit beating a dead horse and come up with something more creative to write.

  In the years since you left, I have spent countless hours wondering how we allowed our beautiful family to reach a place where we would choose to let anything—any fear, any worldview, any discomfort—become more important than our own daughter and her happiness.

  I think maybe when you’re blessed, as your mother and I have been, with so many benefits in life—money, respect, power, social standing—you become too used to things being comfortable, easy, peaceful, and anything that causes you discomfort, that challenges the world in which you exist, is viewed as undesirable. You become spiritually lazy, never challenging the way in which you live, the world in which you operate, the people with whom you have contact.

  Dee, once upon a time I took credit for who you were. I was proud of you because I felt that your mother and I had done a spectacular job raising a bright, gracious, spirited young woman. But if we really did have anything to do with how you turned out, it was only in the early stages, because you obviously outpaced us to such a degree, there’s no doubt that we had very little to do with who you’ve ultimately become.

  You, my beautiful daught
er, are not spiritually lazy. You went into the bigger world, the one outside of Sewickley Heights, and you challenged yourself. You learned new things, sought out new achievements, and met new people. Your successful career is a testament to your ability to open your heart and your mind to the entirety of the world and provide observations about it for those of us who might not experience those things in our day-to-day lives.

  If there is one thing I’ve learned from watching you all these years, it’s that an open heart is a beautiful heart. When I read the words you write about the people and places you’ve known, I’m convinced that my own life has been stagnant and tiny. I am so happy that you have been able to break free of that, fly higher, rise above what your mother and I presented to you.

  I read your most recent piece on Teague Roberts, and I gained hope that possibly you and he have found your way to one another again. He is obviously an exemplary man, a consummate professional, and someone who will serve our nation admirably in the Supreme Court.

  I’m looking forward to your upcoming series on the lives of single mothers in rural West Virginia. I know you will do the topic justice.

  With all my love, each and every day,

  Your Father.

  Deanna sat staring at the screen, not even realizing that tears were sliding down her face until they began to splash on her keyboard. She quickly sat up straighter, wiped at her eyes, and sniffed.

  Her mind swirled with contradictory thoughts—emotions run rampant. Never in her wildest imaginings could she have conceived of a letter like this from her father. Never could she have envisioned her father changing his view of their shared history and the world around him so completely.

  Dr. Forbes was a decent man, but a somewhat rigid one. He’d run a very successful medical practice for thirty years, as well as served on the board of the local country club, the prep school Deanna had attended, and the state medical association. He always gave his patients the best medical care possible, but the truth was his clientele was almost entirely upper middle class and white. He’d never actually been challenged as a physician or as a person.

  Until the day Deanna walked out of his house for the final time.

  And now, if his email were to be believed, it had changed him in some fundamental way, made who he was versus who he should be, focused and immediate.

  She blinked away the last tears, then dragged the message to her Save folder. She shook her head slightly as she struggled to regain her composure.

  Yes, her father had changed. She had changed him. But was it too late? She didn’t have an answer for that. At least not yet, and until she did, his message would sit and wait. Just as the man himself had been for over a decade now. Waiting for his one and only daughter to come back to him.

  Chapter 17

  In the end, Teague asked Deanna to do it. As he and the White House planned the press conference at which he would reveal his brother’s existence, he knew that they needed to give Roland advance notice. They were about to change his life enormously, even on the inside, and he needed to be warned that it was coming.

  But when Teague thought about speaking to Roland over the phone, he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t have that be the first time he heard his brother’s voice in all those years. No, Teague wanted to stand and look his brother in the eye when he told him how terribly sorry he was. When he begged Roland for forgiveness.

  So he asked Deanna to go to California ahead of him to tell Roland about the press conference, and that Teague would be coming as soon as it was over.

  Luckily, his girl was brave in addition to being beautiful, and she agreed.

  Now as he waited in the wings of the briefing room while the president’s press secretary warmed up the press corps, he reminded himself that if Roland could bear fifteen years in maximum security and Deanna could bear living without her family, he could bear admitting to the American people and Congress that he wasn’t the man they all believed him to be.

  “Now, if you’ll all bear with us, Mr. Roberts, the president’s nominee for the Supreme Court, has a few words he’d like to share with you.” The press secretary stepped aside, and Teague walked to the lectern. It was a very different walk from the last time he’d stood here. But surprisingly, it felt more genuine than anything he’d ever done in his life. And for the first time in his memory, he didn’t worry about what they would think of him. He knew what they would think, and somehow he didn’t mind. Because at least he wasn’t lying. For once, he was showing them every part of him, and admitting to being imperfect was a fucking relief.

  “Good morning,” he began. Then he went on to tell a story that had weighed on his soul for years. He’d argued the details of the story for hours with Kamal, and in the end, they’d constructed a very carefully worded statement that didn’t try to dissemble the fact that Teague knew his brother was, in fact, alive, but also focused on his mother’s exact words to him, which had been “From now on, everyone needs to know that your brother is dead. He died in prison, and we are sad, but our lives will go on.”

  When Teague had finally spoken to his mother about it all, she had cried, apologizing to him for burdening him with such a terrible secret—for keeping him and Roland from each other. But he knew she’d only done what she thought best. And now he was more interested in fixing the mistakes than in punishing anyone for them.

  “Yes, Marcus Ambrose, WNN,” Teague called, pointing to Derek’s younger brother.

  “Thank you. Have you seen your brother where he’s being held in solitary confinement at San Quentin, and how do you think this will impact your ability to hear cases pertaining to criminal law if you are appointed to the court?”

  Teague couldn’t help but smile at the young man Derek was so ridiculously proud of. Marcus was one of the top political correspondents in the country, married to a charming young woman, and a damn good boxer to boot, frequently working out at Spar with the Powerplay members.

  “I have not seen Roland at San Quentin,” Teague answered. “But I’m going there to meet with him very soon. As to my ability to hear cases dealing with things like death penalty issues—the president and I discussed this issue in great depth before she chose to continue pursuing my nomination. The Supreme Court hears cases based on the issues of constitutional law. They do not rule on whether a person is guilty or not, they do not look at the death penalty and similar cases as they relate to a particular conviction, but rather whether the rulings are in alignment with the Constitution.

  “Because of this very important distinction, the president and I feel that my ability to apply the Constitution to criminal issues like the death penalty is not compromised by my brother’s situation. And I’m sure I’ll be expanding on that explanation for the Senate Judiciary Committee a lot over the coming days.”

  The press corps laughed, and Teague moved on to the next question. A few minutes later, the press secretary called time, and Teague left the lectern, making his way to the West Wing to debrief with Kamal and the president.

  He was greeted by applause when he entered the Oval Office. The president, Kamal, and Vanessa, the president’s chief of staff, all stood to congratulate him.

  “Well done,” Kamal said, shaking his hand and thumping him on the back.

  “Thanks. So you think it went well?”

  “I couldn’t have asked for a better unveiling,” the president said. “You were poised and honest, and the press didn’t go rabid, which is a sign that they’re going to give you a chance.”

  “This definitely helps with the Senate,” Vanessa added. “They’re very sensitive to the press’s reactions to things.”

  “I can’t promise anything, but we’re going to fight hard for you, Teague,” the president said.

  Teague smiled and thanked everyone as they filed out of the president’s office. The president herself had a meeting in the situation room, so he followed Kamal back to his East Wing office.

  “So, you’re off to California?” Kamal asked.

&
nbsp; “Yes, I have a flight first thing in the morning. I haven’t heard from Dee yet, so I don’t know how Roland’s taken it, but hopefully I can talk to her tonight so I know what I’m walking into.”

  Kamal nodded sympathetically. “You’re doing the honorable thing, no matter what his response is. And if he rejects you, you just keep trying.”

  “I will. I hope that he’ll let me get involved in his case unofficially—look over the specifics, hire a top-notch attorney, and file an appeal. But no matter what…” Teague had to swallow back the emotion that clogged his throat when he thought about his brother spending the remainder of his life in prison, “I will be there for him in whatever capacity he’ll allow it.”

  He and Kamal shook hands, and he left the White House. In less than twenty-four hours, he hoped to be facing his brother for the first time in seventeen years, and it couldn’t come soon enough.

  Her phone hadn’t stopped ringing since she’d left Washington, and as she glanced down at the screen while she maneuvered through the bumper-to-bumper traffic out of Oakland International Airport, she knew she was going to have to face the firing squad whether she wanted to or not.

  “Hi, Brice,” she said as she pressed the hands-free button on the rental car’s steering wheel.

  “Did you know?” he asked without preamble. “Did you know what the press conference yesterday was going to be about? Because the coincidence of you leaving town and dumping it on our junior political correspondent seems more than coincidence.”

  She sighed, fully aware that her job was balancing precariously right now.

  “I’m wondering if you knew,” she shot back. Teague had discussed her options now that he was going to go public, and they’d agreed that she needed to take the offensive rather than defensive path. “I mean, you’ve been having Roberts tailed since he was first nominated. I figured you might have known what he was going to hold a press conference about.”