by Abby Angel
I smile and get up from my desk, preparing to leave now that the documents have been signed, and waving to the press, when one reporter speaks up, stopping me.
"Mr. Trask," he says, one arm outstretched to slow my exit and capture my attention, "with your stepdaughter facing charges of sex trafficking as her business is being closed down, will her being labeled as a sex offender cause a strain on your family?"
What the fuck?
I can hardly believe the words coming from his mouth. My head is fucking spinning.
"What did you just say to me?" I ask, turning to address him.
I'm being civil. Hiding frustration and anger that's bubbling to the surface. But honestly, I could wring his neck.
Is this a blatant question to sabotage me in front of the press? Or is there a nugget of truth to this? Is Amy hiding something from me?
Your guess is as good as mine.
The reporter looks at me with a confused look on his face. "You do know about this, don't you?" he says.
"Excuse me, but I don't understand the question," I say. I can feel my pulse increasing, and the room is beginning to feel twenty degrees hotter. What's going on? I think to myself. Is Kate behind this?
I'm having a full-body reaction to this reporter's accusations, but before he has a chance to speak again, Megan places her hand on my elbow.
"Let's go Parker," she whispers, gently guiding me out of the room so that no other exchange of words can transpire. I can tell she's trying to make a strategic exit.
I raise my shoulders and shake my head. "I really don't know what the fuck is going on Megan," I say to her, leaning in and whispering. And that's the truth.
"I know, but right now, we need to get out of here," she replies, her face serious and stoic.
She continues to lead me out of the building, as a few reporters try to follow behind us. I can hear the continued snap of cameras and raised voices, all vying for my attention and for more information. They're clamoring for my thoughts—anything to grab onto and throw into tomorrow's headlines, I'm fucking sure of it.
"Here we go," she says, pointing to our black limo waiting for us at the curb. The drivers is holding open a rear door of the car and we both slide into the cool leather seats, reporters nipping at our heels. The door slams shut behind us, and we are now completely shielded from the outside world.
The windows are deeply tinted, and while we can see out, we are safe from the prying eyes of all of the photographers. Even their shouts are muffled, and almost a distant memory at this point.
I turn to Megan. "What the fuck was that all about?"
She doesn't say anything, and just shakes her head, her curls bouncing.
I continue. "I'm serious, Megan. I need to know what in the hell is going on," I say again. "That reporter made one hell of a statement back there."
I watch as she pulls her cell phone from her purse.
"I don't know," she says, holding up a finger to silence me, "but I'm going to find out. Just give me a second."
She's holding her phone to her ear, and I watch as she begins speaking to whoever her source is on the other end of the line.
And then it hits me. I don't have another second to give.
I need to see her. I need to see Amy for myself—right now.
"Mike," I say to the driver, "I want you to turn this motorcade around to 43rd Street and 8th Avenue."
"Sir?" he asks. "You're redirecting us near Port Authority. Am I understanding that correctly?"
"That's right," I reply. "And hurry. We need to get there quick."
"Yes, sir," he says, and I watch as he presses one foot on the brake and turns the steering wheel, making a sharp U-turn. Cars are honking at the sudden maneuver. No doubt he just cut a bunch of people off. Megan and I slide to the right side of the car with the momentum of the turn.
If Amy's really going out of business, I need to see it for myself. I'm going straight to the source, her place of business—Kinky Amy's.
"Okay," Megan says, ending her call and breaking my train of thought. "I just got off the phone with the State Attorney General."
She stops for a moment and pulls a stick of gum from her purse, carefully peeling off the wrapper and placing it into her mouth.
Way to leave me hanging, I think.
"And?" I say. "Don't hold me in suspense. What did he fucking say?"
"Well, it's true—the State Attorney General has charged Amy as a sex trafficker," Megan says.
"So, the reporter was right?" I ask, slowly putting everything together in my mind. "Fuck, I can't believe this." My head is spinning.
"And not only that," Megan continues, "but the state troopers are coming right now. They're on their way to shut her business down."
Fuck. We have to hurry. I need to be there.
"Mike," I call out to the driver. "Step on the fucking gas now!"
Amy
"No!" I cry out, crossing my arms and standing right in front of the entrance to my office building. The sidewalk is swarming with state troopers in grey uniforms, all of them eager to storm into my office. "This is bullshit, you can’t simply --"
"I have a court order right here, ma’am," one of them, the one in charge, says. He steps forward and picks a folded piece of paper out from his jacket. He shoves it toward me and, with a frown, I snag it from his fingers.
Jesus Christ, what the hell is going on? I think to myself as I glance over the document. I’m being charged with sex trafficking, and the state troopers are here to shut down my business. The document is signed by one Judge Andrew McGill, a name that rings a bell. If I’m not mistaken, he’s one of my mother’s political allies. Which makes perfect sense—since I’m tied with Parker, my ruin will surely mean his ruin.
"This is bullshit!" I say again, stomping my foot against the floor and standing my ground. If these troopers want to take down my business, they can do it over my dead body. No way I’m going to let them in over some phony charges.
"This is the law, ma’am," the man who handed me the court order barks, his fingers resting on the butt of his revolver. Just perfect. "Now stand aside," he says, lowering his voice until it becomes just a whisper. The threat is implicit; if I don’t move out of his way, the troopers are going to use force.
There are at least twenty of them, all of them standing in a half-circle around me, a scowl on their faces. They came in their SUVs as if I were a terrorist, jumping out from their cars and establishing a perimeter around me as if I had a bomb strapped to my chest. Not a happy sight when you’ve just woken up half an hour ago and your brain's still rebooting.
"No," I growl, opening my arms wide and blocking their path. "Over my dead body," I whisper back at the trooper in front of me, and I see a hint of a grin flashing on his lips. He pulls his gun free from his holster belt, and he’s about to point it at me when the loud sound of engines grabs his attention.
I look over his shoulder just in time to see a limo parking in front of the building, two NYPD cars flanking it. The cavalry has arrived, and just in time.
"What the fuck’s going on here?" Parker cries out as he steps out of the limo, buttoning his jacket and walking toward me in a straight line. He shoves two troopers aside and then comes up to me. "You okay?" he whispers, and I just nod, running my tongue between my dry lips.
"Yeah, but this is… This is complete bullshit."
"I know. Don’t worry; I've got this," he says, and then turns on his heels to face the troopers. "Care to explain exactly what’s going on here?"
"Uh, sir, there’s a court order," the tall trooper says, pointing at the document I'm still holding in my hand. "We’re here to shut down whatever’s going on in here, and a judge has signed off on it."
"A judge?"
"Yeah, Judge McGill," the trooper continues, taking his hat off and wiping the sweat off his brow. He thought this was going to be a clean operation, and now he’s being stared down by the mayor. "Governor Meelios ordered this investigation, and the
judge has approved of the proceedings."
"Governor Meelios, uh? Well, trooper, I must ask you to get back to your cars and get out of here," Parker tells him, a deadly expression on his face. NYPD officers have started climbing out of their cars now, and they’re hanging back around the limo, hesitantly watching the scene unfold right in front of them. A crowd of onlookers has also started to gather on the sidewalk, a voyeuristic kind of confusion washing over everyone’s face. They were mildly interested in the commotion the state troopers were causing, but now that the Mayor has stepped onto the scene, everyone’s hooked. This beats reality TV, I guess.
"Sorry, sir, but… Uh… We can’t do that. Governor’s orders. We must go through with this," the trooper continues, and I notice his fingers tightening around the butt of his gun. This isn’t good.
"Fuck the Governor. I’m the fucking Mayor," Parker shoots back, and then raises his hand up in the air and waves at the NYPD officers. They stand up straight and walk toward both Parker and I, cutting their way through the troopers and standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Parker, the palm of their hands resting on their still holstered guns.
"Sir, I don’t think that’s wise," the head trooper hisses, looking at the wall of NYPD officers that has just formed in front of him.
"Well, I don’t think that you being here is wise either. So that has us at an impasse, trooper," Parker growls, and then turns to the NYPD officers. "Don’t let any of these troopers through. This is a political vendetta, and I won’t let it happen in my city."
"We’ll use force if necessary, sir," the trooper threatens Parker, his voice hesitant but icy at the same time. Big mistake. Parker takes one step forward and, now towering over the trooper, he simply smiles.
"Go right ahead," he whispers, and hesitation washes over the trooper's face. Nervously, he wipes the sweat off his brow once more and then turns on his heels, creating some distance between him and Parker.
"Form up!" he barks at the other troopers, assuming his position in their straight formation. He raises his gun up in the air, and the other troopers do the same, pointing their guns at Parker, me, and the NYPD officers.
"You’ve heard the Mayor, boys," one of the NYPD officers shouts, and they all get their guns out at the same time. Oh, God, this is going downhill fast. I wasn’t exactly expecting a shootout when I woke up this morning.
"We’ll use force, sir, final warning!" the trooper shouts at Parker. The expression on Parker’s face hardens; and he walks straight toward the line of troopers, only stopping when the muzzle from the head trooper's gun is pressed against his chest.
"Then what are you waiting for?" Parker growls, and I feel nauseous for a very long second, imagining the sound of a gun going off. Then, moving fast, Parker grabs the troopers’ gun and takes it out from his hands. "Thought so," he says, emptying the gun’s chamber and then throwing it to the ground. "Now get the fuck out of here."
With one deadly last stare at Parker, the trooper’s pale lips tightly purse into one thin line, and he finally turns on his heels and orders his subordinates to follow after him. In a matter of just a few seconds, they get back in their cars and disappear, almost as if they were never here in the first place.
I was right; my mother is more than willing to go to war.
And this is just the beginning.
New York Daily Journal
Mayor to Governor: Over My Dead Body, Honey!
All the politics, scandals, and dirt...just the way you like it!
Political commentators, observers, and citizens were left in shock and awe yesterday as one of the most bitter and divisive Senate races spilled out into a near civil war.
New York City denizens were glued to their screens as they watched the tense standoff in the longest thirty minutes of city's history as state troopers from Albany, acting on a signed order from a State Superior Court judge, sought to shut down a business, but were stopped by the Mayor and NYPD.
Perhaps the strangest situation in all of this—the business that the state troopers sought to shut down was owned by none other than Amy Aspen, the daughter of the current Governor, Kate Meelios.
It is widely believed that the court order was signed at the behest of the Governor, who has long expressed concern and displeasure at the streaming of adult content that her daughter engages in.
But perhaps more surprising was that the savior of the moment was none other than Parker Trask, the ex-husband of the Governor and thus the stepfather of Ms. Aspen.
"The Mayor and the Governor have never really liked each other," a source within the Governor's camp was quoted as saying on condition of anonymity. "They may have been married to each other, but I doubt there was ever any real love. So it's not surprising that it came down to people pointing guns at each other with these two."
The circumstances of the encounter have left many New Yorkers, as well as citizens outside the city, understandably anxious.
Never in the history of the state has one branch of law enforcement had to draw a firearm to prevent another branch of law enforcement from doing their job.
"Don't doubt it," an NYPD police officer was quoted as saying after hours at a tavern on condition of anonymity due to being a police officer. "If those state troopers would've come an inch closer, we would've used whatever force was required to stop them."
The situation itself has quickly spiraled from what was a simple contested Senate seat campaign into a national discussion of states rights vs a central bureaucracy making rules.
While accounts vary as to the provocations that led to the Mayor stepping in, certain facts are accepted by both sides.
The heart of the matter that led to the standoff yesterday centered around a business that created adult content. This business was indeed founded and still owned by Ms. Aspen.
"There's just entirely too much family drama going on here," said a passerby as they were leaving a bar across from Kinky Amy's. "This doesn't feel like protecting the public. It feels like family members treating the civic institutions of the city and state as their personal tools to use in avenging themselves on one another."
Many New Yorkers agree, with both the Governor and the Mayor taking a dip in their approval polls. In a surprise twist, however, Amy Aspen was polled at a much higher job approval rating than her Governor mother, as well as her Mayor stepfather.
Only time will tell what the next twist in their ever-complicated road will be.
Stay tuned to the New York Daily Journal to stay up to date.
Parker
Amy and I are sitting at Gracie Mansion, sitting side by side, and watching the television without saying a word. It feels as if we're holding our breaths, and even the air around doesn't seem to be moving.
The anticipation is oppressive. We've been waiting for this moment.
I look over at her, and she seems worried—more worried than any of us would like to admit. There's a deep crease across her forehead, and her chin is resting in the palm of her hand. Her hair is hanging down one side of her face, creating an ominous shadow.
It's almost as if she's hiding something from me. But I shake that thought from my mind. It's just stress, I think to myself. This kind of stress would cause anyone to look like that.
"It's going to be okay," I say, placing my hand on her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze, but she doesn't respond or look at me. She keeps her gaze on the TV.
We watch as her mother, Governor Kate Meelios speaks into a microphone. She's standing at an outdoor podium, and the wind is blowing her hair in unruly patterns. She looks like she could be Medusa's sister, with a head full of slender, hissing snakes, and in one, long stare, it's as if she could turn you into stone. The thought of that almost makes me want to turn away from the TV, but I can't.
I keep listening. Our future depends on it.
"The events of the past 24 hours are outrageous, to the say the least," she says, and there's an edge to he voice that means she is more than ready for war to break out.
Her gaze is cool and calculating, her eyes as sharp as broken glass, as she continues. "Parker Trask has far over exceeded his authority as Mayor of this city. On that, I think we can all agree. He nearly assaulted an officer, the way he threatened to grab the officer's weapon and pushed his chest into the muzzle of the gun. He also turned the NYPD against us. That is a hostile act that can't—no, it won't be tolerated under my governorship, his blatant disrespect for the law."
I nearly choke, listening to the words pouring out of her mouth.
What the fuck? How can she in good conscience say these things?
"Can you fucking believe that? I seriously can't believe she's turning this all on me—making me look like the villain in all of this," I say to Amy, turning to her. But she's still glued to the TV.
"She's making me look like a villain too, Parker," Amy responds, just above a whisper and still glued to the TV. She still isn't saying much.
Actually, I take all of that back. I can believe it. I can believe every word coming from the Governor's mouth.
It's like deja vu.
This is Kate Meelios we're talking about, and she's quite possibly the most power hungry person I've ever met in my life, and that's saying a lot.
I've met a lot of power hungry people during my time on Wall Street, and in various political circles, but she puts them all to shame.
She'll stop at nothing to destroy anyone in her path to power.
I turn my attention back to the TV and listen as Kate Meelios continues her rant to the crowd. They seem to be agreeing to her every word, and her momentum is gaining.
"I'm preparing to send in the National Guard to close down Kinky Amy's. Sex trafficking will not be tolerated in this city, and neither will the antics of Mayor Parker Trask. If he wants to harbor—and protect—a woman who has already been found guilty of such heinous acts as sex trafficking, Parker should resign from politics and take his moral ineptitude elsewhere."
