The Castle: A Ripped-From-The-Headlines Thriller

by Jason Pinter

  Blum shook his hand and left.

  Remy turned back to Alena. “How’s Paul?”

  Alena sighed. “Paul is Paul. He’s still shaken up. He’s normally at these meetings but decided he needed to take a little break. I’m sure he’ll be back.”

  “Well, give him my best. You guys have been through a lot,” Remy said. He noticed Murphy looking at him. “I’m being summoned. It was great to see you, Alena.”

  “You too.” She kissed him on the check. “I’m sure we’ll see you soon.”

  Remy watched Alena leave. He could still smell her perfume, feel her hands around his neck. He forced it from his mind. She was gorgeous. Smart. Perfect. And very, very married.

  Remy went over to Murphy. “How do you feel?”

  “Like my brain has been hooked up to a car battery and driven to ninety.”

  Rawson walked over. Remy stood at attention. Rawson said, “Time to talk.”

  Rawson, Murphy, and Remy walked to the private elevator and they went back down to the fifty-third floor. He followed them to Rawson’s office. Murphy extended his hand and said, “Good to meet you, Jeremy.” Then he left Remy alone with Rawson.

  “Come,” Rawson said, and led Remy into his office.

  Rawson’s office was not quite as ominous as Remy expected given his combat-ready apartment. No Iron Throne. No heads of his enemies mounted on pikes. Instead, there was simply an old mahogany desk covered with papers. A few degrees, citations, and awards hung on the walls, but nothing too ostentatious. Function over form. Some sort of bronze head sat on the windowsill. It took Remy a moment to realize it was a bust of Rawson himself. Incredible. Remy wished he could one day be rich and crazy enough to own a bust of his own head.

  There were two chairs in front of the desk. No couch. Rawson’s office was meant to hold more intimate meetings.

  Rawson sat down and motioned for Remy to do the same.

  “Do you drink coffee?” he asked.

  “I do,” Remy said.

  Rawson pressed a button on his phone. A minute later, a woman appeared with two steaming cups of coffee on a tray with small pitchers of milk and cream and a tin of sweeteners. She was in her early sixties, hair snowy white and pulled into a bun. Very little makeup. She wore a black suit and demure earrings. She had an elegant, motherly demeanor, and for some reason her presence alone put Remy at ease.

  She sat one cup in front of Remy, and another in front of Griggs.

  “Cream? Sugar?”

  Remy poured a dollop of cream and a packet of Equal into his coffee. Rawson kept his black.

  “Thank you,” Remy said.

  “Jeremy, this is Wanda Lefebvre. Wanda has worked for the organization for, what is it now, eighteen years?”

  “Nineteen,” Wanda replied with a scolding tone. “Thank you for what you did for Alena and Paul. I’ve known that girl since she had pigtails and braces.” She looked at Griggs. “I believe I’ve seen that girl almost every day of her life.”

  “She’s grown, my daughter,” Rawson said. “One day she’ll run this country.”

  “I don’t doubt it. Anyway, it was a pleasure to meet you, Jeremy. Don’t let Rawson scare you. He only eats live humans at breakfast, and he’s already had his breakfast.”

  Once Wanda had left, Remy turned back to Rawson.

  “I bet you’re wondering why I asked you to come here today,” he said.

  Remy thought for a moment. “Actually, I’m pretty sure I know exactly why you asked me here today.”

  Griggs cocked his head, a faint smile that seemed to say do tell.

  “You’re running for president,” Remy said.

  “You’re perceptive,” Rawson said. “But why did I ask you to come here?”

  “Because you want me to work for you. I’m guessing you want me in some sort of role on your campaign.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes,” Remy said. “You think I have some sort of value. And you’re right. You want to be able to say that the Upper East Side hero supports Rawson Griggs. Endorses him. That this hero, or whatever the media wants to call me upended his life to work for you. You saw the reactions when I walked into that conference room. My support is worth something. I don’t know exactly how much, but I know in every campaign, a prominent endorsement is worth something. Right now, my value is pretty high. But you think you’re buying low in an effort to later sell high.”

  “And why do you think that?” Rawson said. He was clearly testing Remy.

  “You’re a businessman,” Remy said. “You know you don’t buy an asset at its highest valuation. You buy with the assumption that it will appreciate.”

  “And you think your value will appreciate.”

  “I do,” Remy said, “and so do you. Having the endorsement of the man who saved your daughter’s life says that I trust you. That I believe in you.”

  “You’re not wrong,” Rawson said. “I do believe your endorsement is worth something. But it’s not just your endorsement I’m after. I want you to work for my campaign. Officially.”

  Remy laughed. “I have a job.”

  “I know. With Pulaski. A solid firm. At least for someone who wants to hide in the shadows, making just enough money to live but never enough to ever be noticed. Barely on the right side of satisfaction. Oh, you’ll regale your children one day about all the luxurious Admirals Clubs you got to visit at the greatest airports around the world.”

  “You’re a real sweet talker,” Remy said.

  “I’m not saying anything you don’t already know, Jeremy.”

  “Maybe so,” Remy said.

  Griggs continued. “Very few jobs are worth your time and talent. summa cum laude from Yale with a degree in political science. Letterman on the Bulldogs baseball team—shortstop, no less—until Tommy John surgery your junior year ended your sports career with a .277 batting average and twenty-seven RBIs in fifty-nine games. You wouldn’t have sniffed the pros. But you did have a three point nine grade point average. Thankfully, you were a better student than you were a hitter. And then you go to work for Pulaski.”

  “How do you know all this?” Remy said. He felt unnerved, like he was being shown a movie of his life.

  “Oh, Jeremy, that’s the tip of the iceberg. I know everything. I know that your mother, Margaret, passed away when you were in high school. Breast cancer. A horrible, cruel disease. I lost my wife to cancer as well. And your father…”

  Remy shot out of his chair.

  “Don’t say another word about him. You say his name out loud and I walk out that door right now.” Rawson appeared moderately startled. “I’m not just a packet of information to digest. Now look at me. Tell me I’m bluffing.”

  Griggs put his hand out. An olive branch.

  “Please,” he said, gesturing to the chair again. Remy sat down. “I didn’t mean to flick an exposed nerve. But I need you to know that I’m not coming to you uninformed. There is no cynicism in what I have to offer you. You could add tremendous value to my campaign. But I care about my legacy far too much to allow weak-minded people to work for me. I believe you have fortitude. You have tremendous potential that is woefully untapped. You are a race car doing laps at fifty-five on a track to nowhere.”

  “Again with the sweet talk,” Remy said.

  “You want flattery, enter a beauty pageant,” Rawson said sharply. “Only narcissists care about glitter and tassels. You want access. And access is what I have to offer. Whether or not your current value is at its apex depends on how you play the hand you’ve been dealt. I’m offering a chance to see how high you can rise. With me.”

  Remy sat there, thinking. A week ago he was at a bar drinking alone, and now he was being courted by one of the most powerful men in the world.

  “I understand what you’re saying,” Remy said. “But you’re asking me to uproot my life. Everything I have, I’ve earned. I’ve fought for. Nobody gave me anything.”

  “You think I’m giving you something?” Rawson
said, amused. “What surprised me was not just the courage you displayed that night, but it was your carefulness in the days following it. You had every opportunity to cash in. But you haven’t done a single interview. You haven’t taken any money. Most people would exploit their moment in the sun. But not you. You held back. That speaks of a strategic mind.”

  Griggs lowered his voice. He leaned forward slightly and placed his hands on his desk. They were wrinkled, rough, calloused. They were not the hands of a man who sat around counting his money and minding an empire.

  “This country is broken,” Griggs said. “Our leaders are not leaders. I have no interest in letting the status quo remain. I aspire to do great things. To make great things. To inspire people. To change. To lead.”

  “So where do I fit in?” Remy said.

  “Maybe one day you’ll be a great leader. But right now, you’re a pawn.”

  “Again with the flattery,” Remy said.

  “You’re twenty-eight years old,” Griggs said. “You’re smart and you have a spine. More often than not, it’s one or the other. But you don’t know the world, the complex system of pulleys and levers that keep industries and communities and economies running. Not yet. A pawn must know his limitations. Pawns do not go up against more powerful pieces alone. They pave the way. They create lanes. They make barriers. Occasionally, they must sacrifice themselves for the greater good. A single pawn rarely changes the game, but a phalanx can make a difference. Pawns are soldiers. You are a soldier.”

  “So you want me to be a part of your pawn brigade,” Remy said.

  Griggs nodded. “Pawns can also become targets. For click-bait driven journalists. Women blinded by celebrity. Zealots who support our enemies. I’m offering you the chance to be a part of something great. And in the process, prepare you for something even greater.”

  “Alright,” Remy said. “Let’s cut to the chase. What exactly are you offering me?”

  “Specifics. Alright. You’re currently earning a hundred and ten thousand dollars a year.”

  “How do you…never mind. That’s right.”

  “My offer is this. One hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars per year. Your title will be communications aide. You will work directly under Jerry Kapinski, my director of communications.”

  Remy had to take a breath. That was a sixty percent pay increase.

  “There’s one problem,” Remy said. “Even if I’m interested, I’m under contract with Pulaski.”

  “Yes. For another seven months, which means Pulaski owes you a little over sixty thousand dollars pro-rated. I will offer Andrew Pulaski enough on top of that to convince him to let you out of your contract. I know Andrew. He tends to hire people smarter than he is, which is why you work there. He’s also a pragmatist. If he thinks you’ll be gone in seven months anyway, he’ll take the money. He also has a terrible gambling problem, but that’s another issue.”

  Remy looked around Rawson Griggs’s office. He marveled at the lifetime of experiences, of opportunities, of luminaries met and bested, who bowed down to him and sought his counsel, influence, and money.

  Rawson Griggs had built himself up from nothing. There were no schools that could teach Remy what Rawson could. No job that could offer the opportunities this one did. And yet, Remy hesitated. If he accepted, his life would never be the same. For better or worse.

  He could stay with Pulaski. Get his yearly bonus, eventually buy an apartment in Tribeca, get a hybrid car, summer in the Hamptons, have a mid-life crisis and an affair with some yoga instructor twenty years younger than him. He could live an unremarkable, clichéd life, running along well-paved roads, his footprints unrecognizable.

  “Let’s say I accept,” Remy said, “and you’re somehow able to buy out my contract from Pulaski. When do I start?”

  “One week from today. I could have your contract bought out in an hour.”

  “Can I take a vacation before I start?”

  Rawson was not amused.

  “If you accept, you’ll be here next Monday morning at four a.m. Jerry Kapinski will brief you on the details beforehand.”

  “Four a.m.? Are you serious?”

  “If you accept my offer, you will work hours that may seem ungodly now but will become routine. As you learned, we have a rather large announcement to make at nine that morning and I need everyone at the Castle early for a full walkthrough. Showmanship is part of the game. And no good show goes on without preparation and diligence. Having you there, at that announcement, would please me.”

  “It would help the show.”

  “Yes,” Rawson said. “It would.”

  “I need night to think,” Remy said. “You’re not someone who makes potentially life-altering decisions lightly. Neither do I. Give me until tomorrow. I appreciate your offer, and lord knows a week ago this office was the last place in the world I would have ever expected to be. One night won’t change anything. But it’ll change my world. I think that’s a fair request.”

  Griggs thought for a moment, then said, “I can respect that. I’ll expect to hear from you by noon tomorrow. If I don’t, I’ll be briefly disappointed. But by this time next week, I’ll have forgotten your name.”

  “You’ll hear from me either way,” Remy said.

  Griggs stood up and extended his hand to Remy. Remy shook it. Rawson clamped down as though attempting to crush Remy’s knuckles to dust.

  “‘One secret of success in life is for a man to be ready for his opportunity when it comes,’” Rawson said. “A wise man said that.”

  Remy replied, “And another wise man once said ‘only fools rush in.’”

  Remy left. Wanda Lefebvre was waiting for him outside the office.

  “Mr. Griggs is quite fond of you,” Wanda said as she led Remy away. “I’ve known him for a long time and I’ve seen him around thousands of people. I can’t say he’s taken to anyone as quickly as you.”

  Remy said, “I’m really not sure what I did to earn that.”

  “Yes, you do,” Wanda said. She led him to the elevator and pressed her thumb against the keypad. The door opened, she said, “I hope we’ll see you here again soon.”

  Remy let the door close without answering.

  “I told you. I goddamn told you. He did it. The motherfucker did it.”

  “Hold on. You don’t know that for certain. Rawson has a lot of enemies.”

  “Yeah. And I’m one of them.”

  “But you’re safe now. Even if he was behind it, which you don’t know for sure, there’s no way he’d try something again. Especially not with the announcement on Monday. He wouldn’t dare divert attention away from himself.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I get hit by a bus tomorrow.”

  “Then watch where you’re going.”

  “That’s funny. Damn you for getting me into this.”

  “Me? You came to us, remember? You were the one who offered to work with us. You made that choice.”

  “Whatever. It’s done. I’m done.”

  “Now hold on. Just hold on. Let’s talk. Meet me.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “In person. I’ll pick a spot. Somewhere we’ll blend in.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Just hear me out.”

  “Alright. fine.”

  “Great. Thank you.. I’ll let you know. Oh, and, Paul?”

  “What?”

  “Look both ways when you cross the street. Just to be safe.”

  On his way home, Remy bought an expensive six-pack. He took a chilled beer mug from the freezer and filled it with one bottle. Then he gently took his sling off, flopped onto the couch, and put his feet up on the coffee table. His arm was still stiff, but getting better by the day. Thankfully, he’d weaned himself off the Oxy.

  He sipped his beer and tried to play out the next year of his life. How would it change working for Rawson Griggs? You didn’t work for someone like Rawson Griggs then just leave after six months if it didn’t work out.
Rawson was notorious for holding on to grudges like family heirlooms. If you got on his bad side, he would make you regret having ever met him.

  Remy knew enough about politics to be aware that, once he signed, his life would be torn open. The media would ravage him. Rawson’s opponents would upend every stone, open every door. Even the ones he’d nailed shut years ago.

  This was the road less traveled. Remy just couldn’t see whether it led to greatness or straight off a cliff.

  Then the door buzzer rang. Had he ordered food and forgotten about it? He didn’t think so…and Trevor would have texted if he planned to come over.

  Remy picked up the phone, skeptical.

  “Hello?”

  “Oh, hi, Jeremy? It’s Alena.”

  Remy’s heart began to jackhammer. Alena? As in Alena Griggs, Alena? Why the hell would she be here?

  “Um, hi?” Smooth.

  “Can I come up?”

  “Um, yeah, sure. One second.”

  Remy buzzed her upstairs, then hung up the phone and panicked. He surveyed his apartment. The bed was unmade but at least the sheets were clean. He’d thrown out the moldy food, put the dirty dishes in the sink. All in all, the place could have been a lot worse.

  His heart thumped in his chest. Alena Griggs.

  A minute later, the doorbell rang. Remy checked himself out in the mirror. Meh.

  He opened the door. Alena looked fantastic. She held a paper bag, and handed it to Remy with a smile.

  “My father taught me never to go anywhere emptyhanded. Are you busy?”

  “Well, the Sultan of Brunei was planning to stop by at five, but I’m free until then.”

  Remy took the paper bag and looked inside. A bottle of pinot noir. It looked expensive.

  “Um…thank you,” he said. “Not to be rude, but I was taught you’re supposed to call ahead.”

  “And lose the element of surprise?” Alena said. “Where’s the fun in that?” She waited at the door. Finally, she said, “Well, can I come in?”

  “Not many people tell you no, do they?”

  Alena smiled. “Not many. But that’s partly because I spend my time with people who enjoy my company.” She paused. “I could leave…”