by Hart, Stella
“No. Only you.”
I narrowed my eyes. “If she received medical attention just a few hours earlier than when she was finally found by a random passerby, she might’ve actually been okay. You know that, right?”
Mom frowned. “Yes, I know that now, but at the time, the fixers thought she was dead. One of them checked for a pulse and couldn’t find one.”
“So they just left her there?”
“They didn’t have a choice. They were helping me. Not her. If they brought her in with you, dead or otherwise, we’d have to tell the truth about what happened. I couldn’t have that.”
“Why not?”
“You know exactly why.”
“No, I don’t.”
She rubbed her forehead again, brows drawn. “It would’ve ruined everything for us,” she said. “Do you think my career would’ve progressed any further if everyone found out that I had a daughter who mowed down her classmate in the street? Do you think I’d be sitting in the White House right now?”
“It was an accident!”
“That doesn’t matter. It’s all about public perception, and it would’ve looked terrible,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “I couldn’t have a stain like that on my image. Especially if Chloe had actually died. You could’ve been charged with murder or manslaughter. Imagine how bad that would’ve made me look.”
“I was sixteen, Mom. People would’ve understood that I lost control of the scooter.”
She scoffed. “No, they wouldn’t. Chloe was your high school nemesis. No one would ever believe it was an accident.”
“They would. Also, if you’d helped Chloe, she’d probably be fine now, and she could’ve testified that it was all an accident. Did that seriously never occur to you?”
Mom let out a sigh. “I didn’t have time to consider what might happen,” she said. “When I got that call from you, I had to make a snap decision. I chose to protect your reputation and my career over Chloe, assuming she was already dead anyway. I know it was wrong now, but at the time, I felt like it was the right thing to do.”
“If you say so,” I muttered. “What happened after the fixers picked me up?”
“They took you to the hospital and met me there. At that point you were unconscious,” she said. “I told the ER doctors that you crashed your scooter in our driveway. You had a severe concussion and lots of cuts and bruises, so they admitted you.”
I bit my bottom lip and leaned forward. “Why don’t I remember any of that?”
Mom nervously shifted her weight in her chair. “The fixers and I took care of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I asked the doctors if you would remember the accident despite the concussion, assuming they’d say no, but they said yes. It was bad, but it wasn’t that bad. As soon as you felt better, you’d remember everything.” She paused and slowly shook her head. “I couldn’t let that happen.”
“Why?”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “Because I know you, Willow. You would’ve wanted to do the right thing. You would’ve wanted to contact the police and let them know it was you who hit Chloe. Then I’d be screwed for trying to cover it up, wouldn’t I?”
“So what did you do? How did you make me forget?”
Mom briefly squeezed her eyes shut and scrubbed a hand over her face. “One of the fixers had a contact in the hospital,” she said. “A doctor who could help us for the right price. He arranged for you to be transferred to a smaller private facility, and then we started the process.”
I leaned back, eyes narrowing again. “What process?”
She rubbed her chin and sighed. “The doctor put you on a small but regular dosage of fentanyl.”
I stared at her, aghast. “Fentanyl? Isn’t that like heroin?”
“It’s ten times stronger than heroin, actually.”
“Holy shit, Mom.”
“The plan was to get you hooked on it until you finally forgot what happened,” she said, pointedly avoiding eye contact with me. “It took a while. Every time we woke you up, you seemed to remember, so we had to keep giving you more and more. Then it finally worked. You woke up one morning with absolutely no idea what happened. I asked you what your most recent memory was, and you described the day before the incident.”
“What happened then?”
“We started weaning you off the drugs. That was the hardest part,” she replied. “People get addicted to fentanyl very quickly, and the withdrawal process is awful. You had terrible fevers, sweats, and aches, and you kept having nightmares, too. You’d wake up moaning and kicking every few hours.”
I grimaced. “I remember some of that part.”
“When you were lucid enough, we told you that you had a bad case of mono. A lot of kids from your school had it at the time, so it seemed like a good cover story.”
“Did anyone else know apart from you and the fixers?”
Mom shook her head. “No. Your father had no idea. He was away on that business trip to LA when the incident happened, and when he got back, we told him the mono story.”
I shook my head slowly. “I can’t believe you did all of that just to protect your own career.”
She leaned forward, eyes wide. “Honey, you have to—”
“Don’t call me honey,” I snapped.
“Okay.” She held her palms up again. “Just… please try to understand. I didn’t have a choice.”
“Yes, you did. You could’ve told the truth and helped Chloe.” Unless you wanted Chloe dead all along, because you set the whole thing up in the first place, I silently added.
“No,” she hissed, slamming a hand on the desk. “Your life and my career would’ve been destroyed. I already explained that.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s such bullshit. There’s a ton of politicians out there who’ve gone through scandals, and their careers are still alive and kicking.”
“Yes, but they’re all men.”
“Huh?”
Mom narrowed her eyes. “I said they’re all men. That makes it different.”
“How?”
She looked away, focusing her gaze on a framed photograph on the right side of the desk. “It’s hard enough to be a woman in this world,” she began. “But trust me—being a woman in this line of work is even worse. If a male politician screws up in some way, people judge him as an individual. They say stuff like, ‘Wow, that guy sucks at foreign policy’ or ‘Urgh, that guy is a sleaze who can’t keep it in his pants’. It’s not like that for women. We get judged as if we’re one singular entity.”
I raised an eyebrow. “We do?”
“Don’t be naïve, Willow. Of course we do,” she snapped. “You’ve heard all of this before. If a man is bad at math, people say ‘Wow, that guy is really bad at math’. But if a woman is bad at it, they say ‘Wow, women are really bad at math’.”
“I guess.”
The hand on the desk tightened into a fist. “It’s the same with everything else. If I screw up, people say things like ‘Women are obviously no good at this, and they don’t belong in positions of power’,” she said bitterly. “That’s exactly what would’ve happened if I did the right thing and let the world know that my daughter ran over Chloe Thorne that night. People would’ve used the scandal to ‘prove’ that women don’t belong in government positions, and I would’ve never risen as far as I did. I couldn’t let that happen. I knew my potential, and I didn’t want to set women back in politics. We’re already so far behind.”
A snicker escaped my mouth. “Oh my god… this can’t be real,” I said, shaking my head. The snickering quickly turned into full-blown laughter, and within seconds I was gasping for air, shoulders shaking like mad.
“Why on earth are you laughing?” Mom said in an indignant tone. “This isn’t funny.”
Laughter kept bubbling up in my chest, no matter how much I tried to stifle it. “It’s just so ridiculous,” I said, throwing my hands up. “You’re acting like you’re a saint who did this in some sort of
crusade for equality, but the truth is, you left a girl for dead on the road and shot your own daughter up with opiates to make her forget the whole thing. That’s probably the most anti-woman thing you could’ve possibly done!”
She stiffened. “I know how it sounds, but I thought I was doing the right thing at the time,” she said. “Besides, it wasn’t all about me. I was protecting you too. I didn’t want you to become known as the girl who tried to run over her high school enemy. I didn’t want you to lose your future.”
My laughter finally dried up, and the earlier exhaustion started creeping back in. I sighed and put my head in my hands. “What happens now that I know the truth about that night?"
Mom was silent for a moment. “I don’t know. Are you going to tell anyone?” she finally said, raising her brows.
I stared at her, nibbling on the inside of my cheek. If Logan was right and she really was Q, she would probably hurt me or kill me in order to keep my mouth shut about this whole Chloe thing.
I couldn’t risk that.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I won’t tell anyone. You’re going through enough with the Rutherford scandal and dad’s death.”
Mom frowned. “You really won’t say anything to anyone?”
“My lips are sealed,” I said, affecting a sweet tone. “I’m not happy that you drugged me and refused to help Chloe, but it was a long time ago. Coming clean now wouldn’t achieve anything positive. It would only do more damage to everyone.”
Mom smiled, shoulders sagging with relief. “Thank you for keeping it to yourself. You have no idea how much it means to me.”
“It’s fine. I just hope we can start being more honest with each other now.”
“Of course.” She glanced at her watch, and her smile faded. “Dammit. It’s been twenty minutes. I’m sorry, but I really have to go now.”
“I understand.”
She stood and gathered some of the paperwork on her desk. “The White House Christmas party is on Saturday night,” she said as she stuffed some papers into a black case. “I didn’t tell you about it before now because I assumed you’d want more time alone to grieve, but if you’re feeling up to it and you’d like to come, you’re more than welcome. It would give us another chance to chat.”
The party she was talking about had to be the same one Jamie mentioned earlier. I nodded and pasted on a fake smile. “I’ll be there.”
“Great.” She stepped around the desk and planted a soft kiss on the top of my head. “Thank you for making me talk to you today,” she murmured. “It needed to happen, didn’t it?”
“Yes.”
She smiled again, but this time it didn’t meet her eyes. “All right, well… I’ll see you again on Saturday. I’m looking forward to it.”
I gritted my teeth and held her cool gaze. “Me too,” I replied. “I can’t wait.”
20
Willow
“Ho, ho, ho!”
Santa rang his bell as he greeted party guests with a jovial smile at the foot of the stairs going up to the White House’s main floor. I nudged Logan as we headed past him and made our way upward. “Think he was talking to me?”
Logan chuckled at my bad joke, and a stiff-looking older couple turned their heads over their shoulders to shoot me withering looks. When they turned back around and stalked away, I let out a small giggle. It was the first time I’d been able to laugh or smile in a real way since my father’s death nine days ago, and it felt good.
Logan pressed his warm hand against my lower back as we made our way into the Lower Cross Hall. There was a table set up on one side with glasses of water, champagne and eggnog, all set on napkins with the Presidential seal embossed in gold. A few volunteers were hanging around a white Christmas tree on the other side, putting the finishing touches on the decorations.
Logan grabbed me a glass of sparkling water before guiding me out of the hall and into the Grand Foyer. The space had been transformed into a festive wonderland. Several tables draped with red linen stood in the center, and a band was playing a swing-style song on a small stage beyond them. Miniature fir trees lined the walls, their branches woven with sparkling lights that looked like snowflakes, and above them, decorated wreaths hung on gilded mirrors.
It was all so beautiful and magical that I almost forgot to be sad.
Near the wide doorway leading into the East Room, there was a towering Christmas tree topped with a silver star. I noticed several high-ranking Order members standing near it, toasting each other with champagne glasses. When they spotted Logan and me passing by, they smiled politely and nodded like we were old friends.
I wished I could grab them and shake them until their teeth rattled and all of their terrible secrets came tumbling out.
“Stay calm. Don’t let them suspect that we know anything,” Logan muttered. I hadn’t noticed how tightly I was gripping his arm until he spoke.
I took a deep breath and shot the Order members a dazzling smile as I swept past them into the East Room. Most of the magic happened in this space during each year’s White House Christmas party, and it was already packed with smiling, beautifully-dressed guests.
Four round tables in the center of the room held all sorts of delicious-smelling foods, and on the far-right side, there was another serving station for drinks. Jamie was standing by it, scooping eggnog into a tall glass. When he spotted me, he nodded and gave me a faint smile.
“Go and talk to him,” Logan murmured against my ear. His hot breath made my skin tingle, and goosebumps broke out all over my arms. “See what he knows about the Order.”
“I don’t know if he actually knows anything at all,” I whispered back to him.
“He said he wanted to talk to you about it, didn’t he?”
“Yes, but it seemed like he mostly wanted to tell me to stop looking into them.”
Logan’s brows furrowed. “There’s only one way to find out if that’s true,” he said. “Besides, isn’t that why we’re here? So you can talk to him?”
“Yes. Sorry. I’m just nervous.” I glanced at a group of Order council members sitting at a table a few yards away. “I feel like they’re watching my every move.”
“Don’t worry. They all look too drunk to notice anything. Besides, no one’s going to do anything to you at a party like this.” He turned and pointed at a window with golden silk drapes on the other side of the room. “I’ll stand over there where it’s quiet and listen to you and Jamie via the necklace.”
“Okay.”
He leaned down and planted a kiss on my forehead. “You’ll be fine, princess. You know I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I nodded and headed over to the drinks station. Jamie sidled up to me right away. “Hello, Willow. You look nice tonight,” he said loudly for the benefit of the other guests and Secret Service agents standing nearby. “Have you seen the decorations in the Green Room?”
“No, not yet.”
“There’s a Christmas tree made entirely of recycled paper. It’s spectacular,” he said. “Would you like to see it?”
“Yes, I’d love that.”
The Secret Service agents started following us, but Jamie waved them off. “We’re only going to the Green Room.”
The agents exchanged glances. Then one of them nodded and motioned for us to go.
Jamie escorted me out of the East Room and into the hall beyond. Instead of taking a left into the Green Room, he directed me into a bathroom farther down the hall and locked the door behind us.
Before I could say anything, he put a finger over his lips in a warning to stay silent. Then he pulled a small black device out of his pocket and flicked a red button on the side.
“Sorry,” he finally said. “I had to turn this on first. It’s a scrambler.”
“A what?”
“It scrambles signals. If there’s a bug in here for some reason, they won’t be able to pick up anything we say. They’ll just hear static.”
I nervously fingered my
necklace. “Will it block this?” I asked, lifting the alexandrite pendant to show him the tiny recording device nestled beneath it.
He rubbed a hand across his jaw. “Sweet Jesus, that’s bugged?”
“Yes.”
“I should’ve known. You never take it off,” he muttered, shaking his head.
I raised my brows. “So….”
He finally seemed to remember my question and snapped his gaze back to mine. “Yes, the scrambler will cover it. No one will hear anything we say.”
I chewed on my bottom lip and darted my eyes toward the door. I was worried that Logan would come after us when he couldn’t hear our conversation, thinking something was wrong. The last thing we needed to do was cause a scene at the White House while half the Order lingered nearby.
I swallowed hard and turned my attention back to Jamie. “We need to be quick,” I said. “What did you want to talk about?”
He looked down at me, concern flickering in his eyes. “I didn’t have time to tell you about this the other day, but you should know… I’ve been looking into the Order for years.”
“What?” My brows shot up. “You told me not to do that.”
“I know.”
“Don’t you think it’s hypocritical to tell me not to do something that you’ve been doing the whole time?” I said, folding my arms.
“Yes, it is, but you were being so brazen,” he said. “I had to warn you in case the wrong person overheard you talking about it.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve been careful. I only approached you because I knew you were safe.”
He nodded and let out a small sigh of relief. “Okay. Good.”
“So when did you start investigating the Order?” I asked, tilting my head to one side.
“After they tried to recruit me,” he said. “Like I said the other day, I heard all sorts of terrible rumors about them, which is why I turned down membership, but I was curious anyway. I wanted to know the truth. I started researching them as much as I could.”
“What did you find?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Nothing for the first five years. They hide themselves very well. I started thinking I’d never get anywhere at all, but I managed to find a source eventually.”
