by Lee Winter
“The tech has more uses than you can possibly imagine.”
“Such as?”
“Security enhancement.”
“You mean the FBI’s interest in it?” She snorted. “That plan?”
His eyes became guarded. “You don’t know what the plan is.”
“Is that so?” She injected every bit of smugness into her tone and hoped like hell she was convincing. “You know that I’m a good journalist. What makes you so sure I don’t already know all about it?”
He wagged his finger at her. “I do believe my girl’s lying.”
“Am I? I know the Fixers paid some Mexicans to cross the border to get fake-arrested, fake-data-chipped for the benefit of the media and your company. All so the FBI can tap its chin and announce in a few days’ time it should get into bed with Ansom’s revolutionary data chips.”
His startled face confirmed every word Michelle had said.
“Look, I know what’s happening,” Catherine said, leaning forward, “so show me a little respect and don’t bother with all the fake surprise and denials. I am a little disappointed you’d get involved with a man like Douglas Lesser, though. Do you even know what he’s up to?”
It was a bluff, something Michelle had said in passing about him being a knuckle dragger, but she prayed it would pay off. She’d learned early in her career that suggesting she already knew something yielded a surprising number of people who coughed up more information.
“Of course I know exactly what Lesser is. We all do. But this is business. It’s always business.”
“You knew and hired him anyway?” Catherine wished she could just ask straight out what Lesser’s secrets were. But that would end the conversation abruptly.
“Yes, I hired that prick anyway. Despite his noxious little hobby, it doesn’t change the fact he’s still the leading expert in his field, and that’s why we hired him. Anyone who could help build the FBI’s biometric database could handle our far smaller biometric software needs.”
Catherine waited, a curious expression affixed to her face, hoping, as always, her father would fill the silence with his usual self-aggrandizement.
“Lesser proved he was worth it,” he said. “In so many ways. And my God, the idea he came up with? I’d be a fool not to go with it. It’s a case of mutual back-scratching. Everyone wins.”
“Why keep giving Lesser the kudos? It’s not your style.”
He gave her a slow-curling smile. “I’m playing it smart. They say success has many fathers, and failure’s an orphan. Not for me. Failure will have two fathers.”
“Fall guys,” Catherine deduced. “In case it blows up in your face.”
“You know how much I like to look long-term. I don’t mind kicking a bastard and a fool to the curb if I need to later. Not like Lesser and Hickory don’t deserve it, let’s face it.” His laugh was mocking. “They’ll be first ones I nuke if this project self-destructs.”
“You laid down all that money to build a factory in Iowa just to keep Hickory in reserve as a fall guy? Just in case? For insurance? That’s…”
“Audacious? Visionary? Smart? Yes.” He looked pleased with himself. “But, to be fair, Iowa did pass the cost-benefit analysis anyway. Cheap land and labor, an at-will state? A few malleable politicians? I might have invested here sooner anyway if I’d known.”
“I suppose I can see why you’re so proud of the plan,” she suggested, waiting for him to resume gloating. He was nothing if not predictable.
But judging from his sudden head snap, she knew she’d overplayed her hand.
Suspicion coated his features. “A minute ago, you thought I was bringing in an Orwellian future. Now this scheme is something to be proud of. Which is it?”
Oh, damn. “I can disapprove and admire a thing at the same time.”
“No, you can’t. Not you.” He tilted his head. “My devious daughter is playing me.” His voice had a dangerous tone to it. “Tell me, Catherine, what is Douglas Lesser up to? Share in detail his genius idea that you claim to know all about.”
The temperature in the room cooled. Catherine sifted through and discarded several answers.
The door opened from the bathroom, and Catherine turned to see her mother emerge in a white hotel robe. In an instant she forgot about her story, about trying to pry details from her father, and just saw a woman who’d made her childhood hell. A woman who had also stood by her husband when he’d kicked Catherine out. Suddenly, all she wanted to find out was how complicit she’d been in everything since.
“Did you know?” she croaked out. The words fell out of her mouth, surprising her.
“Catherine?” Her mother turned and floated over with her usual grace. “Know what? And it’s early. You might have called first. Did we raise you to ignore decorum?”
“Did you know?” Catherine’s voice was stronger. “What Dad did to me?”
“What am I supposed to have done?” her father asked, tilting his head.
“Destroyed my career.” Catherine swallowed. “Paid someone at the Fixers to ruin it.” She looked at her mother. “I’m curious. When Dad paid for me to be ruined, did you know how they’d go about it? Did you know the Fixers sent an employee to start a relationship with me? She got me to lower my guard until I trusted her. And then she crippled my career by planting a fake story for me to run.”
Her mother’s face turned an interesting shade of gray. “They were only supposed to befriend you to carry out their assignment. Not… Nothing more!”
So she’d known. Catherine felt ill. “Oh, she befriended me all right. About three or four times a week.”
“Disgusting.”
“You paid for it, not me. I suppose that makes you both johns by proxy. Or my pimps? What is the right word? Won’t that be a fun one to debate with the ladies at bridge club. Christ, you barely even admit you have a second daughter, let alone a lesbian—”
“Don’t use that word, I swear—”
“—and now you admit paying a woman to bed me.”
“Stop it!” Shock was etched on her face. “She was supposed to harm your image professionally until you quit or were fired. She wasn’t supposed to—”
“Victoria,” her father said, tone warning.
“Lionel, this is not what we paid for. Tell her! You said—”
“Victoria.” His tone was a bark.
“Great. You both admit it.” Catherine threw her hands up. “My parents paid strangers to destroy their daughter.” Her laugh was bitter. “I deserve an explanation.”
“We told you, asked, pleaded, and finally demanded you stop,” her mother said. “But you wouldn’t! You deserved it.”
“Stop what? Did you destroy me because I wouldn’t stop being a lesbian? Is that it? How does that even make sense in your head?”
“Enough.” Her father shot them both dark looks. “The conversation is being sidetracked. The deal had nothing to do with your mother’s…issue.”
“So it was money.” Catherine gave a soft snort. “Money trumps family. Fantastic.”
“You brought this on yourself,” he said. “You wrote so many columns attacking stored biometrics data. People were listening. In certain quarters, there was panic that this had to be taken care of. There was a fear laws could get passed outlawing what we were doing if we didn’t act quickly.”
Catherine couldn’t believe it. “I wrote a handful of columns and you had your own daughter ruined.”
“You’re talking to me about disloyalty?” His expression darkened. “Remember what you said that day you walked out of our family? You looked me dead in the eye and said ‘I don’t care how long it takes me. Every senator you’ve ever had around for Sunday lunch to grease their palms is now on my list. I’ll take them all down, one by one.’ That was personal. Your little vendetta against me? That’s what cost you your famil
y. That’s what made it so easy to put in a request with the Fixers to end you. I just reminded myself how little you cared about your own family and then it was easy.”
Catherine started laughing at the absurdity.
He stared at her in confusion.
“God, the worst thing is, the dumb thing is, I didn’t actually mean it.” She threw her hands up. “I was lashing out because you’d been such a bastard about my job.”
“Bull,” he snapped. “You went after two of my senators immediately. You not only meant it, you followed up.”
“No.” Catherine shook her head. “I didn’t. I’d been assigned both stories by my editor. I hadn’t singled your allies out, I just did my job. I never chose any of your special interest senators then or later. I followed through if any got caught, like every other reporter, but there was no agenda. You saw what you were expecting to see. God. You have no idea what you cost me.”
“Well, what were we supposed to think? We responded in kind.”
“In kind?” Catherine gritted her teeth. “Haven’t you even noticed? If I wanted to betray or hurt you, I’d have dragged Ansom through the mud years ago. I didn’t even touch your precious business. And yet you talk to me about loyalty.”
Her father eyed her and then flicked a gaze at his wife. The air seemed to go out of him.
Catherine hadn’t expected an apology. But even an acknowledgement of the pain he’d inflicted on her would be something.
Instead, he rose without a word, heading for the kitchen at the far end of the room. She could see him in the corner, pouring his coffee into the sink and starting a new one, clanging plates, cups, and spoons as he did so. She’d seen this tactic before. It was his way of telling someone they were less important than some menial task he’d seen fit to do. Silence was a dismissal.
Catherine glanced at her mother who sat still, subdued. “Have you got nothing to say, either?” She kept her voice low, out of her father’s hearing.
“What did you expect?” she replied. “You spend your life laying down with dogs, I’d expect a few fleas. In business or…” Her lips twisted. “Otherwise. And even if your father misunderstood your intentions, he was right to act. Family and business must be protected at all costs.”
“I used to wonder why you always sided with him, even when he did terrible things,” Catherine said slowly. “Even as a girl.”
Her mother didn’t reply. Her lips pressed together.
“But I understand now. Your motives. Your weaknesses.”
“Really?” Her tone was extra snippy. “Unlikely.” Her mother’s lips thinned. “You always were such a willful child. So frustrating. Disobedient. Headstrong.”
“You forgot ‘lesbian,’” Catherine added helpfully. “So willfully lesbian.”
“Stop it.”
“You couldn’t cure me, though.” Her voice was so soft. “No matter how hard you tried.”
“Is that why you’re doing all this?” she asked with an icy glare. “You’re bitter? Flinging all this nonsense in our faces? For what, revenge? Yet you’re the one doing disgraceful things. Where is your shame?”
“Where’s yours?” Catherine leveled a stony gaze at her.
“What are you talking about?”
“I looked at you in Ansom Iowa, and suddenly I saw you as you really are. Inside you’re still just an anxious nineteen-year-old girl, desperate to be accepted by the rich man’s family. You’ve always had imposter’s syndrome. You’re terrified someone will point out that you don’t belong. That you’re just the poor girl from Connecticut who married her groping boss instead of reporting him.”
The color washed from her mother’s cheeks. Her eyes became hard. She flicked her gaze to Lionel and back, as though to make sure he hadn’t heard. “I’m your mother.” The menace in her tone was undermined by the tiniest quiver in her voice. “How can you say such—”
“I just meant that I feel sorry for you.”
“You feel sorry for—”
“I’m sorry that you felt you had to put your girls through hell to turn us into proper ladies, just so you’d feel good enough to sit at his table. I’m sorry that your husband cheats on you and everyone knows it. I’m sorriest of all that you’re so jealous of me.”
“Jealous?” Her mother’s blue eyes flashed. “How could you ever—”
“You’re jealous that I escaped the cage. I have freedom to be myself and you don’t. You hate me for it in a way you never could hate Phoebe, who’s so damn compliant. You hate your suffocating life that’s all about maintaining the perfect illusion while enduring a manipulative husband who trots you out like some collectible doll. So I’m sorry. I forgive you. I mean it. It can’t have been easy.”
Her mother’s eyes, laser sharp, fixed on hers. Catherine picked out the surprise mixed with rage—easy given she’d spent a lifetime attuned to watching out for her mother’s moods. To Catherine’s shock, though, she also detected a glimmer of tears at the edge of her eyes. She used to wonder if her mother was incapable of crying. Until this moment, she’d never witnessed it.
Catherine told herself she wouldn’t feel bad about it.
That didn’t help.
Gentling her tone, Catherine said, “It would be nice if you could just admit what he did to me with the Fixers woman was wrong. This is important to me. If you don’t acknowledge even that, I don’t see how we can ever be family again. It will be the end for us.” She hesitated. “Please, Mother.”
They took each other’s measure. For a moment, Catherine wondered if her mother might indeed admit to something that wasn’t in lockstep with her husband’s views.
“We did not approve any whore’s seduction,” her mother said. “Understand that. So your father should not be judged for it. He didn’t know they were going to do that.”
“But the rest? He set out to crush me just to keep his data-chip plan going. My career’s everything to me, and you knew it. It sounds like you’re fine with what he did.”
“The response was appropriate for what we believed to be true at the time.”
“I was loyal.” She raised her voice so her father could hear. “I could have hurt Ansom a dozen times. I never did. So how can it have been appropriate?”
Her mother’s eyes glazed over and she looked away. Discussion over.
Her father slowly sauntered back into the room with a new coffee. He probably thought he’d won some unseen point, controlling things. It was pointless.
All of this was.
“I never hurt Ansom,” Catherine repeated. She drew in a breath and shared a decision she’d made last night, lying in bed. “Past tense.”
Her father’s eyebrows shot up. His tone was mocking. “Is that a threat? If you expect me to beg forgiveness, don’t bother. I don’t care about the Fixers’ methods. They worked and I needed them to work. I’d change nothing. Well, I might ensure they did a more long-term job. You appear more adept at a rebound than most.”
Catherine glanced at her mother. Predictably, she said nothing. Well. That’s that, then. “I see.” She met her father’s eye. “Consider this your warning. I’m taking the gloves off. If Ansom does a single corrupt deal, I will be on it in an instant and make sure the world knows about it.”
He seemed amused. “I have teams of lawyers who’d swat you like a fly. They’d bankrupt you.”
“Only after I’ve put the truth out. And you know very well I don’t care about money.”
“You’d have to tell everyone who you’re related to,” Lionel retorted. “And we all know how much you hate admitting the family connection.”
“I hate it only slightly less than you do. But if I have to, I’ll do it. Big fat disclaimer at the bottom of every damned Ansom story. So, tell me, how many business deals will dry up on the spot when they see who I really am and that I’m gunning for you? Because we both
know they’ll assume your daughter knows where all the bodies are buried.”
“You have no proof of anything.”
“You’re so used to me ignoring Ansom in my stories that you took risks. Today you made some interesting admissions to the Washington bureau chief of the Daily Sentinel. Taped admissions.”
For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the air conditioner.
“You recorded this?” He looked incredulous. “Without my permission?”
“Your permission’s irrelevant under Iowa law, as long as one party being recorded was present and gave consent.”
“You still have nothing. You don’t even know what Lesser’s scheme is.”
“Give me time.”
He stalked over to her, leaning over her in her chair, dropping a hand on each arm rest.
“Seriously?” Catherine affected a bored look. “Is this where you try to find and destroy the recorder? I suppose that’ll add color to the story. Ansom’s CEO tries to stop story by roughing up reporter daughter. How interesting that’ll look in the headline.”
He straightened. “Fine.” He stalked back to the chair and sat. Then he smiled triumphantly. “If you do this, I’ll fire him.”
Catherine felt her blood chill. “Who?”
“If you don’t care about your own family, I know you care about hers. You think I’m an idiot? You expect me to believe you just wandered into Ansom’s open house on a whim? I called up the security footage. You and your fiancée had a conversation with an employee in the electric car room. I looked up the man’s employment records. John King. A mechanic—the same career your fiancée told me her whole family is in. I don’t believe in coincidences. So let me be clear: I will fire his hick ass if you or Lauren King write any story that says one negative word about Ansom. Also, as I fire that young man—in person—I will make it very clear that you are the sole reason why he is losing his job.”
“You can’t fire someone for that.”
“Iowa’s an at-will state. I can fire him for virtually any reason I say. See how much the new in-laws like you then. Think of how much sweet Lauren’s heart will break at you hurting her family. But that’s what you do, isn’t it? Hurt families?”
