A Primary Decision

by Dr. Kevin Leman

  But this time they would meet in person. Will would lay all his cards on the table. Thomas had come through before.

  Will had no doubt he would do so again.

  A SECURE LOCATION

  The phone call was abrupt. “The ante just got upped. You know what to do,” the man declared.

  “We go after the unholy trio.”

  “Yes. You’ve got 48 hours. Make them count.”

  The call ended.

  It only took six hours to ferret out the information. It was amazing what greasing the right palm could do—or holding a bit of information over someone’s head. With unlimited funds, it was easy to find a low-level lackey who had seen something, overheard a conversation, or been asked to run an errand that might seem insignificant but revealed a big piece of a puzzle.

  Through his web of contacts, he struck pay dirt.

  14

  NEW YORK CITY

  The waiting was over. The Senate Judiciary Committee vote had been in Sarah’s favor. Now it would be a few weeks before the full Senate vote.

  Sarah smiled. The sunny Thursday couldn’t be better. She’d crossed the first major hurdle. One more to go in the prize she sought—to become the People’s Lawyer of the United States.

  She reached for her cell and, almost without thinking, called her father first.

  “Dad, I’m in,” she said as soon as she heard his voice.

  “The AG vote?”

  “Yes—15 to 3 in my favor.” She held her breath, waiting for his congratulations.

  There was a big pause, as if he had been mid-project on something when she called. At last he said, “A big step on the way. And a big job, especially dealing with President Rich. If you’re approved, it won’t be long before you’ll be going head-to-head with him and his policies—even if he is the one who nominated you for the position.”

  Not even a congratulations. Just questioning her next steps.

  “Then again,” he added, “people have reasons for everything.”

  Sarah’s hackles rose. “You’re saying that with the $25M quid pro quo in the balance, he’s trying to buy me off?”

  “That isn’t what I said,” her father shot back in his authoritative voice.

  “No, but it’s what you meant, isn’t it?”

  Her father sighed. “Princess, I just worry about you. You’re stepping into one of the biggest jobs in the nation.”

  There it was again. She was in her midthirties, and he still called her by one of her many pet names.

  “And I’m still the little girl playing in the sandbox, with the big wide world around her she knows nothing about—is that what you’re trying to say?”

  “No. I didn’t say that. So get off your high horse,” he commanded.

  The phone was muffled for a minute. In the background, Sarah could hear her mother’s warning. “Bill, change your tone. That’s your daughter you’re talking to.”

  Her father came back on the line. “All I’m trying to say is, be careful,” he said more gently. “Far more events than you could ever imagine are at play here. And people aren’t always what they seem.”

  “You got that right,” she replied, still in full steam.

  “And neither are positions that hold a lot of authority.”

  When will Dad ever believe in me? That I can do what I set out to do? Haven’t I proven it in my present job?

  “Dad, I have to go.”

  “Sarah—”

  “We’ll talk later.” And she ended the call.

  When would she learn that she could never do enough to please her father?

  That was a role only Will could play. So why did she always fall into the trap of hoping she could?

  WESTCHESTER COUNTY AIRPORT, NEW YORK

  Thomas Spencer Rich II’s private plane landed precisely on schedule early Friday afternoon. He had bypassed the busier Teterboro Airport in New Jersey for the convenience of the Westchester County Airport in White Plains. Will met him on board his plane, as agreed. There they could talk in complete privacy.

  “Thomas.” Will shook his hand. “Thank you for coming.”

  The older man’s eyes met his squarely. “Will. At last we meet officially.”

  “We have much to discuss.”

  “Then I won’t waste time.” Thomas turned to the steward. “Serve the drinks and hors d’oeuvres, then take your leave onto the tarmac until I call for you again.”

  The steward nodded.

  Soon the two men were settled into the luxurious white leather seats.

  Will spoke first. “The Worthington family needs your assistance again.”

  “Oh?”

  “Thomas, I know. I know you’re Sean’s birth father. I know about your affair with my mother at Camp David,” Will said bluntly.

  Sadness, but not surprise, flickered across Thomas’s expression. “You don’t know how many times I have replayed that night, crafting a different ending. Bill and Ava were my friends.” His eyes begged for understanding. “But I loved Ava. Always. Still do.”

  Will held out his hand. “I don’t think I want to, or should, hear more.”

  “I understand. But there’s something you do need to know, Will. I respect your father. I would never have chosen to betray him.”

  “Yet it happened, and you didn’t stop it from happening.”

  “Yes,” Thomas said. “I can’t change that path. Correct it. It’s too late.” He gazed out the window of the plane. “But without that path, Sean wouldn’t be alive. He wouldn’t have influenced the companies and people he has across the globe. I’ve watched—”

  Will waited for his words. Watched what?

  But Thomas didn’t continue. He fumbled with his napkin and took a sip of his drink. Finally, he said, “I wish I could change the pain that has resulted for all of us. One night changed the destinies of both our families, inextricably weaving them together.”

  “Does Victoria know? Spencer?”

  Thomas shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’ve never told them, or anyone else.”

  “Then it’s time to take control. Shape this in the direction we want it to go. If we don’t get on the front end, what results might change a lot more destinies than merely the Worthingtons’ and the Riches’.”

  “You’re talking about the photos.”

  “Yes.” Will leaned forward. “I have no doubt they will rise again. Mom and Dad don’t know yet. We need to tell them, but as you can understand, this is a fragile time.”

  Thomas nodded. “I regret that I am a big part of that.”

  Will’s next move was most difficult. It felt like a betrayal of his sister. But he had to say it. “Sarah doesn’t know about Sean—that you are his birth father.” Will rushed on. “Dad doesn’t want her to know. Wants her protected. Especially because she’s vulnerable right now with this potential move to attorney general.”

  “I understand. Bill always was protective of Ava. It makes sense he’d also want to protect his daughter.”

  “Then you understand why I’m asking for your help. No one in my family has any idea I’m meeting with you. But for Mom’s sake, and Sarah’s, we need to act before those photos surface. Because if they do, the digging that results may lead to more revelations about the connections between our families than either of us wants public.”

  “So what do you want from me, Will?”

  “First, I want an honest answer. Will you help me do what it takes? Even if it means taking a stand against Spencer?”

  Pain ridged the older man’s brow. He looked down for a minute. But when he raised his eyes, Will saw the calm resolve there.

  “Yes,” Thomas said with a level gaze. “I will do what I can, and what’s right.”

  “Okay then. We are agreed.”

  Together, in the privacy of the plane, the two men struck a deal that had the potential to change not only the destinies of two families but of American political history.

  15

  NEW YORK CITY

>   Sarah had worked extra long days at the DOJ in the two weeks since the JC vote. She was determined to finish as much of her work in the Criminal Division as possible and, where she couldn’t, to leave a clear trail for her successor to follow. Though she was still waiting on the full Senate vote, chances that she’d be confirmed were fairly high, considering the JC vote.

  Still, she was a Worthington through and through. That meant she went after new opportunities with gusto but didn’t bank on anything until it was a done deal. As a result, she hadn’t even started looking for apartments in D.C.

  In the middle of the heavy workload, though, two things had weighed on her mind.

  The first was that her brothers seemed to be ducking her phone calls. Sean—well, that was normal. He’d go off the grid for a while, especially if he thought she was trying to wangle information out of him.

  She grinned. Which she was.

  But Will? He was like clockwork. She knew exactly when she could reach him, and she always did. Except for the past couple of weeks. She’d only received a few terse text responses to her phone calls. No calls back. That alone was suspicious. Will preferred face-to-face meetings, and then calls over texts. He said it was easier to interpret what someone was really saying if he could hear the inflection of their voice.

  She narrowed her eyes. If all else failed, she’d call Laura and ask her to tell Will to call her. That always worked.

  The second thing that weighed on her was the missing pieces in the Polar Bear Bomber’s story. She, Darcy, and Jon still hadn’t been able to dig up anything else about Frank Stapleton that could link him to Justin Eliot.

  She exhaled, frustrated. Why did this particular case bother her so much? She found herself thinking about it even during her other cases. Was it the fact that someone had tried to hold it over her brothers’ heads? Yes, that was one reason.

  But the other was stronger—that someone with enough power had taken advantage of a guy like Justin. Justin had clearly had enough odds stacked against him to make his life difficult. The person or persons who had used him had likely discarded him like a piece of trash.

  Everything about that scenario caused Sarah’s strong sense of justice and compassion for the underprivileged to rear its head. She couldn’t stand by and let the perpetrators slide unpunished.

  She sighed. There was nothing she could do about that case at the moment, so she tackled the easiest of her problems first. A glance at the clock told her it was past quitting time anyway. She’d phone Sean. He should be home from Malaysia. If he didn’t answer her call, perhaps a surprise stop by was in order.

  The Worthington women had a way of getting what they wanted. If not one way, then another.

  Sean was lounging in sweats when his sister’s number popped up on his cell. He chuckled. He’d been waiting for her to wind down from their last conversation, when she’d been digging for information. The brothers had secretly agreed that was the best strategy for now.

  “So you’re talking to me civilly now.” He smirked.

  “All right, so I was a little impulsive the last time we talked. I can get that way sometimes,” she replied.

  “Impulsive? Now there’s an under—”

  “You know you love me anyway, so let’s cut to the chase. What exactly did that guy in the bar say to you? It might give us some clues as to who hired him.”

  He padded in sock feet toward the kitchen. “You’re back on that trail again, huh? Seriously, sis, sometime you’ve got to let go.”

  “Hey, this is my family he messed with.”

  “People try to mess with us all the time. But this time whoever did it treated a troubled guy like a dog that could be used and kicked aside. That’s really what’s bothering you, isn’t it?”

  He’d been by her side multiple times as a kid when she stepped in to rescue cats, dogs, birds, and younger kids from the bullies of the neighborhood. Nobody messed with his sister, even the bullies. Sarah Worthington was one tough cookie, and she never crumbled.

  “Yes,” she breathed. “How did you know?”

  Sean chuckled as he evaluated the contents of his fridge. “I know you. You never learned to back down. Even if the bully was twice your size, you still went after him.”

  “May I point out that I always won too,” she shot back.

  “Yes, you did. I would have hated to be the other guy.” He laughed. “Wait—sometimes I was that other guy.” He grabbed an iced coffee and shut the fridge door.

  “Now that we’re clear on that subject, what about my original question?”

  He thought for a minute. “All I can remember is the guy talking about how life can be tough sometimes, but then you get a break and things seem like they’re going to work out. Only general stuff like that, nothing specific. The guy seemed a little drunk, or maybe off his meds, but talkative and nice. He said his career was on the upswing. That’s all I can remember.”

  “So did anything else happen that was unusual either before or after that?” she asked.

  He rolled his eyes. Her lawyer interrogation mode had kicked in.

  He thought again. “Well, I did get a strange note.”

  “When, and what did it say?” she fired at him.

  “Whoa, let me think. It was after my little run to the Azores. When I got home, I found an odd note in a stack of mail. Basically said that if I decided to run for governor, secrets may come to light. Something weird like that.”

  “And you didn’t think that was relevant to tell me before?” she barked.

  “No, I didn’t. For heaven’s sake, we’re Worthingtons. We get hit with crazy stuff like that all the time. Stalkers. Weirdos. Those who want to equalize the wealth in the United States and think that since we’re rich, we’re the spawn of Satan. It’s the cost of being in the limelight. You know that.”

  Sarah was already packing her briefcase as she talked to her brother. All her senses were on alert, tingling like they did when she uncovered a critical factor in one of her cases.

  “You didn’t think that one was extra weird?”

  “Well, on a scale of 1 to 10 . . .” he quipped.

  She cut him off. “What exactly did the note say? Do you still have it?”

  “I wadded it up and was going to throw it away, but then thought I should hang on to it. Just a sec.” She heard rustling in the background. “Here it is. It says, ‘Think twice about running for governor. Secrets have a way of becoming public.’”

  “So somebody knew then about the photos of you with the bomber,” she reasoned.

  “That must have been it,” he said quickly.

  A little too quickly. What else was her brother hiding?

  She frowned. “What does the handwriting look like?”

  “I don’t know. Handwriting. Loopy. Looks a bit uneven.”

  “Like somebody was trying to copy someone else’s handwriting?”

  “Maybe. Don’t know.”

  “What color ink is it written in?”

  “Wow, is this the day for 20 questions or what? You’re on a roll.”

  “Just answer the question,” she ordered.

  “Blue. Looks like a blue ballpoint pen.”

  “Aha. Then you stay right there with that note until I come pick it up. I’m on my way.”

  16

  Sean stared at the creased note and felt a shiver of premonition. Nothing about the handwriting stood out, other than the fact it seemed uneven. Even the same letters weren’t formed the same way. He hadn’t kept the envelope but remembered it was blank except for his name and address.

  Not even a stamp. That meant someone had dropped it off. A person? A courier service?

  He received so many deliveries that he doubted his housekeeper would remember a delivery so long ago. But the bellman? Wasn’t likely anything had slipped by him. He was the best place to start. Sean might as well ask while he waited for his sister to arrive.

  Sarah swept into Sean’s apartment door and held out her hand. “The no
te?”

  “What? No hello first?” he teased.

  She scowled, and he handed the note over. After scrutinizing it, she placed a call on her cell. “Darcy, do you still have the bomber’s suicide note? And the report on the note?”

  “Note’s in evidence lockup. Still have the report.”

  “Hey, can I put you on speakerphone? I’m at Sean’s. It’s important he hear this too.”

  “No problem.” There was some shuffling in the background.

  “Are you still at work?” Sarah asked.

  “Yep, under the piles in a major way,” her friend replied.

  Sarah muffled her phone and whispered to Sean, “You can take that literally. Darcy’s big on piles. She’s a terrible filer. But she can find anything in an instant. Kinda like somebody else I know.” She grinned at her brother. “Drives her boss and colleagues crazy. Just like you used to drive Will crazy with your messes.”

  “You know I did that just to bug him,” Sean said.

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course I know that. And it worked.”

  “Okay, got it,” Darcy announced. “What do you need to know?”

  “What kind of ink did the writer use?”

  “We already established that it wasn’t Justin’s handwriting, so this is important why?” Darcy asked.

  “Remember that Michael said he and Justin always used calligraphy pens? But wasn’t the note written with what looked like blue ballpoint pen?”

  There was a slight pause as Darcy checked the report. “You’re right. Indian-blue ballpoint pen ink.”

  “Anything else unusual about it?”

  “Never had a chance to find out. Bomber wrote the note, jumped, end of story. People here at DHS had other things to deal with.”

  “Well . . .”

  But Sarah didn’t have to wheedle. Darcy caught on. “So you want me to run an analysis of exactly what’s in the ink, to see if we identify traces of anything unique?”

  “You got it,” Sarah declared.

  “Okay. I’ll have the lab guys analyze it. They can tag it with different rare-earth elements and see what they come up with. Back to you as soon as I have something.”