by James Dobson
“Be honest. What do you think?”
Another, deeper sigh. One that she recognized.
Troy was agitated.
“Say something.”
“They sold their babies on the black market?”
Julia felt relieved knowing she had appalled her first reader. That was the purpose of the feature, after all. To put a human face on dark zone trends. Although, in the case of Austin Tozer and the woman Amanda called Hen, inhuman might be the more fitting word.
Troy continued. “The guy convinced his fifty-eight-year-old mom to transition just so he could avoid getting a job?”
“I didn’t say he said that, did I?” Julia asked, fearing she had misrepresented Austin’s rationale.
Troy glanced down at the tablet to rescan a section of the article. “No. I guess I read that between the lines.”
Good, thought Julia. The story had accomplished both of her goals. First, give the facts as presented. Second, show the truth as observed.
“And I didn’t call what they did ‘selling on the black market’ since it’s legal to sell a fetus. Right to privacy.”
“But I specifically remember a provision in the Ethical Embryotics Act stating companies can only accept donated embryos from unsuccessful in vitro implantation.”
“True,” Julia said. “But that law only applies to companies supplying materials for medical uses. It never mentioned cosmetics, health supplements, or a dozen other product categories.”
“Health supplements?”
“Embryotic-enhanced protein powder. Bodybuilders add it to shakes.”
Troy’s face took on a greenish hue. “We ingest human embryos?” he whispered as if asking forgiveness.
“Soylent Green come to life,” Julia said.
“Soylent Green?”
“An old movie where human beings became part of the food supply due to overpopulation. Too many people for too little food.”
Troy winced, then sighed. “Too many people? Oh for the days we worried about that problem.”
“Austin Tozer and his partner fit the dark zones themes to a tee,” Julia said. “They took two thousand dollars per potential kid to spend on video games and Pop-Tarts, clueless to how badly we will need those kids a few decades from now. How badly they might need them. I thought their story was poetically appropriate.”
“Tragic poetry,” Troy scoffed.
Julia waited for more.
“You did good, babe,” Troy said as he kissed her forehead. “It captures the ugly side of dark zone trends. I can’t imagine anyone reading this piece without questioning common assumptions behind the Youth Initiative.”
“Thanks,” Julia said. She sensed he wanted to say more. “And?” she asked.
He hesitated before speaking. “Well. I also can’t imagine RAP Syndicate publishing this story as is.”
“I have a deal with Paul. He promised to run what I deliver. No changes that I don’t approve first.”
“That’s good,” Troy replied. “But can we trust him?”
Julia knew what was behind the question. Paul Daugherty was the same editor who had radically altered Julia’s Breeders feature a year earlier. He had merged Julia’s work with a smear piece by Monica Garcia, a rising star at RAP thanks to great legs rather than winning prose.
“No, we can’t trust him,” she said. “But that’s a risk we take.”
He nodded in reluctant acceptance of the gamble. “Regardless,” he said, “it’s one of the most powerful things you’ve written. I’m proud of you.” He gave her another kiss, this time on the lips. “And I’m grateful to you. I think this will help Kevin.”
“Wait till you see my second story. Polar opposite of this one. My first bright spot family.”
She began describing an interview she had done the prior afternoon: a couple married almost twenty years, with three kids, running a software support business they operated out of their home. The oldest son, seventeen years old, worked in the business part-time after school. The grandparents lived in the same house. Or rather in an apartment that adjoined the main structure and provided easy access so the younger kids could get Grandpa’s help with homework or assist Grandma chopping vegetables. Her favorite part of the story, she explained, was how the older and younger couples had pooled their resources after the crash, an ideal arrangement that enabled the younger pair to launch the business.
Midway through her description Julia realized Troy was nodding his head without really listening. She stopped talking, folded her arms with a huff, and waited the ten seconds it took for him to notice.
His distant stare finally saw her scolding face. “Sorry, babe,” he said. “I’m listening.”
“No. You’re trying to listen. Not the same thing.”
She was right.
“You might as well tell me what’s on your mind,” Julia insisted. “You’ll find out what I was saying later when you read my second story.”
He smiled sheepishly before he groaned. “I’m not sure you want to know.”
Her mind jumped to Troy and Kevin’s business. Another setback? Had the needed venture capital deal fallen through? “Now you have to tell me,” she insisted.
“I spoke to Kevin about an hour ago. He said it seems like Senator Franklin may be up to something.”
“Something bad?”
“Not necessarily bad. More like calculated. Franklin encouraged Kevin to approach a guy named Dimitri to help us fund getting the Center for Economic Health off the ground.”
“Evan Dimitri?” she asked. “Isn’t he the brains behind the Saratoga Foundation?”
“The brains and a big chunk of the cash,” Troy said. “He’s a major player behind Franklin’s campaign. He even gave a large gift to Kevin’s reelection PAC last year. That’s why Franklin suggested Dimitri as a potential source of seed funding.”
“Makes sense. So why the concern?”
“There’s more. Kevin said Franklin is acting all chummy again, like he did before…”
Troy stopped.
“Say it. Before my Breeders story tarnished Kevin’s reputation?”
A faint nod.
“Anyway, rumors are floating around that Franklin sees Kevin as a key ally to win the White House next year.”
“I thought Franklin had been trying to distance himself from Kevin.”
“He was. It appears that’s changing.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Julia asked. “I mean, it can only help Kevin to gain access and influence, right?”
“Perhaps,” Troy said warily. “But Franklin isn’t known to do favors for other party leaders, even young up-and-comers like Kevin, unless he sees how it will advance his agenda or bolster his poll ratings. I can only think of one reason Franklin would start courting Kevin now.”
Troy paused, giving Julia a moment to fill in the punch line.
“He wants Kevin’s endorsement?”
Troy appeared confused by the suggestion. “No,” he said. “Kevin’s endorsement wouldn’t mean much at this stage of the game. He’s only a second-term congressman from a medium-size state.”
“What then?” Julia asked impatiently.
“I think he might be considering Kevin for the ticket.”
Julia gasped. “As in, Tolbert for vice president ticket?”
“Exactly. Think about it. The Breeders story tapped the disdain of a large swath of the population against people like Kevin Tolbert.”
“Don’t remind me,” she said.
“But it also forced the party to face facts. They now acknowledge the existence of a sizable voting bloc that seems to be growing and that can afford to donate more than dark zone citizens.”
“Franklin wants support from the breeders.”
“Which Kevin’s smiling face and family photo would embody better than anyone in the party. Traditional marriage. Four kids. All he needs is some platform to give voice to and garner support from a constituency no one else has tapped. A large influx of cash
to establish the Center for Economic Health as a credible voice would position Kevin well.”
“But you worry it would make Kevin beholden to Franklin.”
“I’m not as worried about Franklin as I am about the guy funding Franklin’s rise.”
“Dimitri.”
“Do you know what he did during the lunch meeting with Kevin? He flashed a two-million-dollar check in his face like a puppeteer dangling strings. The recipient line was blank. Then he placed the check in front of Kevin and handed him a pen. ‘Fill in the name of your new organization,’ he said.”
“Two million dollars?”
“Twice what we had hoped to raise in seed funding.”
“What did Kevin say?”
“He thanked Mr. Dimitri for the support, wrote ‘Center for Economic Health’ onto the check, and slid the pen back across the table.”
“So you have two million to work with? That’s terrific!” She noticed Troy’s frown. “Isn’t it?”
“It would be if not for what happened next. Dimitri slid the pen back toward Kevin and handed him another document. Kevin read it, then tore up the check.”
Julia’s eyes widened. “He tore up a two-million-dollar donation?”
“The document Dimitri wanted Kevin to sign would have made us promise that the Center for Economic Health will only advocate policies that encourage increased fertility while leaving the second bright spot trend alone. ‘I’m fine with you rallying support among voters who love kids,’ Dimitri told him. ‘That’ll help us. But if you do anything to undermine the core of the Youth Initiative I’ll drop you faster than a bowling ball!’”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning hands off the transition industry. No research showing it causes harm. No suggesting there have been abuses. No proposals that would curtail its growth.”
“Did Kevin explain to him that transitions aren’t bringing the promised growth?”
“He knows. He doesn’t care.”
“Why would a fiscal conservative like Dimitri support a practice that stagnates the economy?”
“Because he doesn’t believe the evidence.”
“But—”
“Correction,” Kevin continued. “He doesn’t want to believe the evidence because his company makes a fortune as the exclusive supplier of PotassiPass, the key chemical ingredient used in every NEXT transition.”
No wonder Troy had been so distracted. So agitated.
“I’m sorry,” was all she could think to say.
“Me too,” he said, squeezing Julia’s hand. “I’ve had a bad feeling about Evan Dimitri ever since…well…since the first time I saw his name.”
“When was that?”
“A large donation check from out of the blue last year. No prior relationship. No connection whatsoever. Kevin met him for lunch alone and later with Franklin.”
Troy paused as if watching wheels turn in his head. Then he turned back toward Julia. “It took guts for Kevin to tear up that check. But he may also have turned one of Franklin’s most reliable friends into one of our wealthiest enemies.”
“Let’s hope not,” Julia said as she reached for a silver lining. Nothing came. She instead placed her hand on Troy’s tensed jaw. “Hey,” she whispered sweetly. “Where’s the man I married? The one who makes a living figuring out how to turn declining companies into thriving enterprises?”
She sensed his anxiety ease at her touch. She moved in closer, teasing his lips with her own.
“The man who discovered bright spots in an economy everyone else saw as a dark, mucky swamp?”
She wrapped both arms around Troy’s neck while sliding from her side of the sofa onto his lap. She began nibbling his earlobe.
“The man who brightens my life every day and”—she tasted his upper neck—“the man with whom I plan to join the bright spots movement.”
They kissed deeply for several seconds. Then Troy pulled his head back to look Julia in the eyes. “Wait. What did you just say?”
A sly grin followed by a fierce nod.
“So you want to? Now? Not in a few years?”
“Now,” she said eagerly, recalling Angie’s description of pregnancy and motherhood. It was like leaning over the railing at Niagara Falls, the fear overwhelmed by the wonder.
Her husband’s fingers slid around her torso. Her body tingled with anticipation. Julia knew she was about to enjoy the first unprotected sex of her life.
And it surprised her to realize nothing had ever made her feel so safe.
Chapter Thirty-One
Tyler sat in his car rereading the partially completed application he had taken from the New Day Transition Clinic. It stubbornly refused to give him even one additional clue. He took a first bite of his second doughnut before wiping the side of his mouth on a glaze-smeared napkin. He would have used the fresh napkin sitting on the passenger-side seat had it not held notes that, sadly, summarized his entire investigation.
The Facts
4 letters from “A Manichean”
3 polite. 4th seems a threat
Jeremy = most to gain from NEXT loss
Hannah hates them—possible suspect?
New Day Clinic a bit pushy but legit
He needed more. He crammed the rest of doughnut number two into his mouth before attempting to speak a command.
“Please repeat,” the device said in response.
Tyler swallowed without chewing and tried again. “Association search for A Manichean.”
“Three thousand relevant results. Please specify to narrow.”
“Within one hundred miles of Denver,” he said while licking glaze from his thumb.
“Please repeat.”
He sighed as he reached for the tablet. “I’ll just type it in!”
“Thank you,” the device said politely.
Two quick taps left a sugary smudge that reminded Tyler he still had four deliciously sticky fingers. He sucked the glaze from each while trying to clean the mess. Then he groaned at the streak left on the keyboard by the used napkin.
These notes are useless anyway, he thought while grabbing his case summary document. Seconds later the screen was legible again.
The phone rang in his ear.
“Tyler Cain,” he answered.
“Good morning, Mr. Cain.” He recognized the voice, but couldn’t immediately place it. He glanced at the dash screen: JULIA DAVIDSON, JOURNALIST.
“Oh, hi, Ms. Davidson,” he said with surprise.
“Simmons.”
“Right. Ms. Simmons.” Probably calling to thank me, he thought. “How’d it go with Austin?”
“Actually, quite well. I’m including his story in the series. Thanks for making the connection.”
“Like I told you, Austin’s definitely a dark zone kind of guy.”
“The story won’t use his real name, but you’ll recognize him. It should run in the next few weeks.”
The comment reminded Tyler to subscribe. “I look forward to reading it. Glad I could help.”
“I’d like to return the favor,” Julia began. “Something came up I think might prove helpful in your investigation.”
“Really?” he said as if spotting a sliver of light through an overcast sky. “Let me hear it.”
“During our chat you said the judge had received three letters, is that right?”
“Four, actually.”
“Four letters then. And you said the person seemed urgent to know Santiago’s opinion on the appeal?”
“That’s right.”
“Did the writer indicate whether he or she hoped the judge would decide for or against NEXT?”
Tyler glanced at the notes on his now-crumpled napkin and decided to play the odds. “Against.”
“You’re sure about that?”
He remembered Hannah Walker asking the same question. “Well, actually, the letters don’t indicate one way or the other. But we’ve assumed—”
“Don’t,” Julia interrupted. “Don’t assum
e the writer wants NEXT to lose the case. There are some very powerful people who need NEXT to win that appeal. Some of them might even go to extreme lengths in order to protect their interests.”
“What kind of interests are you talking about?”
Tyler waited. Why the long silence? Was she trying to convince herself to say the rest? “Mrs. Simmons?”
“Please, call me Julia.”
“OK, Julia. What kind of interests?”
She hesitated, then spoke. “It’s probably totally unrelated to this case, but my husband learned of a conversation that took place in Washington that sheds light on the importance of the NEXT case.”
“Go on,” Tyler said.
Julia told him about the large check Kevin Tolbert had declined to accept from a man named Evan Dimitri.
“So this Dimitri guy has the exclusive supplier contract with NEXT?” Tyler chewed on the revelation for a moment. “And he threatened Congressman Tolbert?”
“Not exactly threatened. But he was clearly upset by Kevin’s refusal.”
He let the additional information settle. “I don’t get it,” he finally said. “I imagine those kinds of lunch conversations happen every day in Washington. Why did you think to mention this one? I don’t see what it has to do with the Santiago case.”
“Maybe nothing,” she said. “But for whatever reason it made me think of you. I remembered you saying you thought those letters came from someone like Jeremy. Someone who has a lot to gain if NEXT loses its appeal.”
“And you think I’m on the wrong track?”
“I do. I think you need to consider who has something to lose rather than something to gain. Evan Dimitri, among others, could lose a fortune in sales if anything undermines the transition industry.”
“Like a wrongful death victory against NEXT.”
“Exactly,” she said.
Tyler’s mind began racing as new possibilities breathed life into a dead-end investigation.
“Anyway,” Julia was saying, “I wanted to mention it in case it could help you find the culprit.”
“Thank you, Julia,” he said. “It certainly can’t hurt.”
They ended the call. Tyler remembered his search and grabbed his tablet.
