by Lee Winter
“I’m really sorry. But at least you still have Tad in your corner. And me. And, oh, a million Kings.”
“Yes.” Catherine dearly wished that that alone could will away the hurt still churning in her stomach.
Chapter 30 –
Farewell, Iowa
Honeymoons were not long enough, Catherine decided, as a cab drove them back to the Kings’ place to farewell the family.
She had drawn into herself these past few days. Catherine had spent longer in bed, making love to Lauren, showing how much she meant to her, and Lauren had responded in kind.
They both knew what it meant. Catherine wanted to show the person in her life who appreciated her most how much she mattered. That Catherine was now investing all her energies and focus only on those who cared about her in return. That list was presently standing at two—Lauren and Tad.
Not quite true, a voice whispered in her head. And you know it.
She gazed out the window, unwilling to give that thought voice. She might have been overcome on her wedding day and had claimed Lauren’s family as her own. But it was still hard for her. She’d spent so long protecting herself. Ironic, really, since the betrayer who’d hurt her just as much as Michelle had been inside her walls all along. Phoebe had probably hurt her more.
Her thoughts shifted to the documents. Lauren had sent them to Lesser. He had called them fake and spread them to the whole world. It was a clever gambit, because a guilty man would never spread around incriminating evidence. Somehow, that cunning little eel kept sounding like the honest one in this entire mess. Every single official at that think-tank meeting was now squirming and slithering like a worm on a hook.
Ansom had hit back with its now standard “racists can’t be trusted” line. And that’s when Lesser had pulled out his ace card. He’d called a news conference.
“It’s well known from Lauren King’s story that I’m a whistleblower,” he’d said, injecting every bit of emotion into his outraged voice, “and this racism claim is all part of a terrible and cruel campaign to discredit me by a dishonest corporation.”
Catherine had to hand it to the slippery piece of work. It was genius. The moment he’d done the deal to be named as their informant, he’d clearly worked out where all this was heading. He was always intending to spin himself as a martyr, even if his white-supremacist secret caught up with him. He simply supplied a motive, suggesting anyone who attacked him or called him a racist had an agenda to bring him down.
Shares had been dropping steadily at Ansom all morning.
Hickory was having mixed fortunes among his constituents, with opinions divided. His rage at Ansom closing the Iowa factory had prevented his approval ratings from going through the floor.
Only Lesser had somehow emerged smelling sweet. My Evil Twin was yesterday’s calamity, virtually forgotten, especially with much bigger fish to fry. He was setting the agenda and pointing fingers away from himself with his usual smug prowess.
And in the middle of it all, my own family tried to ruin me.
Catherine exhaled. She turned. Lauren’s expression was wistful as she studied the flashes of fields passing by. “How are you doing?” she asked.
Lauren shrugged. “I’ll miss us having this quality time together. I’ll also miss being home. I know you like to make fun of it, but it really… It makes my heart lighter being here.”
The green of the farms whizzing past caught Catherine’s gaze. It all screamed solidness. Sustenance. Basic needs and comfort. All the things Lauren was, too. Everywhere, there were people with dust on their jeans, comfortable boots, easy grins. Catherine was in a land of big, black pickup trucks, horizons of endless stars, and proud growers of prized legumes.
She had been born into obscene wealth and had wanted for nothing, materially. She’d also been surrounded by cynicism, cunning, and elitist condescension.
The divides between her and Lauren’s worlds were enormous. She tried to work out what it meant. How to resolve who she had been and who she was now. Who she loved.
They pulled up into Lauren’s driveway and deposited their bags by the front door. They’d be leaving soon enough for the airport. Not much point hauling them in.
There was a slap and bang of the screen door flinging open as Meemaw came flying out, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“Ah! I thought I heard you.” She rushed over to Lauren and enveloped her in one of those trademark hugs—all squeezes and butt wiggles and feet off the ground.
Then, before Catherine could object, she was swept up in one, too.
Two weeks ago, she’d have endured it with a grimace, her mind supplying an acerbic commentary about personal boundary issues. Instead, she allowed it. Her hands slid around Meemaw’s broad back and squeezed her thoroughly in return. It was like soul food, a hug from this woman. Encompassing, soft, and warm.
And it actually felt…good.
She was deposited back on her patch of dirt. Meemaw sized her up, then produced a broad, knowing smile. “Family now.” She pointed to the glitter of her wedding ring. “So you get the hugs that come with it.”
A smile tugged at Catherine’s lips. “Ah.”
“Come in, come in. The boys are having an early lunch before they take you to the airport. There’s pork sandwiches if you’d like them.” She glanced at Catherine. “Also made you a salad. In case my signature dish isn’t to your tastes.”
Catherine’s felt warmth flood her at the gesture. “Thank you.”
“Lauren, can you go on in, turn the pot off on the stove? I think I left it on. And my legs aren’t what they used to be.”
With a nod, Lauren headed through door. The moment she was gone, Meemaw rounded on Catherine.
“Well?”
“What?”
“What’s going on? Are you two okay?” she asked. “I’ve seen happier cattle in the slaughterhouse.”
“A lot’s happened. Not between us. We’re fine. In the wider world, I mean.”
“That it has. Your sister came by here to find you. Did you sort things out with her?”
“Yes.” Catherine’s fingers clenched into fists. She offered a tight smile. “I believe I did.”
“Good. That’s good.”
Not really.
Meemaw’s smile was encouraging. “Come inside. There’s someone who misses you. Well…someone else.”
Catherine eyed her. “Who?”
“You’ll see.”
She followed Meemaw past the wooden screened door, which shut behind them with a satisfying slap. Immediately, Miss Chesterfield leapt from a stand near the entry and began to wrap herself around Catherine’s ankles.
“Been sitting there every day since you’ve been gone, sulking, waiting for you. I was highly offended, I don’t mind telling you.” Meemaw’s eyes crinkled.
Catherine bent down and gave the white-haired feline a thorough scratch behind the ears. “I’ve missed her, too. Turns out I’m a cat person.” Rising again, Catherine glanced at her. “Is John okay?”
“He’ll be fine. Better question is, will you? And whatever’s going on with you?”
“I’ll be fine. Eventually.” Catherine half convinced herself it was true. She looked around the living room, taking in the care-worn furniture and timber floors. Simple but homey. She could smell the pork on the stove, could hear Lauren’s laugh, followed by louder masculine ones.
“You know, I think I’d like to come back sometime, if it’s okay with you.” Catherine paused. That was not what she’d meant to say at all. She wondered if her confusion showed. Her words felt right, though. No taking it back now, anyway.
“Good. Christmas?” Meemaw suggested.
Catherine had an astonishing moment of realizing just how much she was looking forward to it. She nodded. “Assuming Lauren can get time off work, too, then yes.”
“That’s settled, then. Come on in and join us for lunch. You must have worked up an appetite.”
Surely Meemaw wasn’t alluding to their honeymoon? Catherine peered at her. For the first time since the nineties, she blushed. “Yes, quite an appetite. It was a long drive.”
“Oh, yes. Ten whole minutes.” Meemaw sounded amused.
Catherine cleared her throat and glanced behind her. “Come on then, Miss Chesterfield, food’s up.”
Miss Chesterfield mewed, stuck her tail in the air, gave it a dramatic swish, and trotted after them.
Chapter 31 –
Clean-up on Aisle 12
Lauren stared at the rear wall of the CEO’s office at Lesser Security. It was now stripped of all the signs and symbols she’d seen the first time she’d been here.
“Lauren King,” Lesser said, as smarmy as ever. “Back in DC so soon? Congratulations on the wedding.”
She fidgeted and tried not to be freaked out that he knew they’d gotten married early. DC really was a fishbowl. She hoped that’s how he knew, at least. “Redecorating, I see?”
“I’ve decided I like the less personal touch.”
“You mean if Catherine could spot your little racist shrine, others might, too?”
His smile didn’t even falter. “Actually, I have new plans afoot. Enough about my décor, what do you want?”
“I saw the profile on you today in the Wall Street Journal. It made for interesting reading.”
“Ah yes, ‘America’s Rogue Privacy Hero.’ Great headline. Even better kicker line—‘The man who brought down Ansom and the FBI’s chief.’ I did like that piece. They captured the essence of my renegade streak.”
“Brought down Ansom? Not quite.”
“No, not yet. Give it time. Rumor has it there’s a secret treasure trove of complaints against Lionel Ayers from the secretarial pool. Not that I’d know anything about where that is or whether a dossier on those outrages will make its way to police soon.” He coughed. “Busy boy, your father-in-law. He’ll be forced out before too long.”
“I see.”
“Your lack of surprise is interesting.”
Lauren ignored that and folded her arms. “What’s next for you?”
“Am I being interviewed? Is this a cozy off-the-record background chat?”
“Sure, we can do that. Look, the Wall Street Journal article was vague, and, really, I’m here because I’m curious. The story implied you were let go from your consultancy firm, if ‘at a loose end’ is a correct interpretation.”
He shrugged. “The Fixers don’t take betrayal well for some reason. When I became a heroic whistleblower and tipped the dirt on a few of their clients, I got my marching orders. I expected it, but frankly, they’re lucky to have had me as long as they did. I have many prospects.”
“Which clients?”
“You know I did actually sign a nondisclosure agreement.” His eyes narrowed as he seemed to weigh up his options. “But then they fired me. So payback is only fair. They don’t scare me.”
“They might not, but aren’t you afraid of payback from some of the security agencies you’ve upset?”
“They wouldn’t dare. I can tip dirt on everyone and have made provisions that all my files be released if my death is untimely. So I’m untouchable. So…the Fixers’ clients that were involved? Ansom, the FBI, and Senator Hickory.”
“The FBI was a client?” Lauren was staggered. “Why? Couldn’t they do whatever they want themselves?”
“Well, to be specific, it was only the director who used the Fixers, and even then it was mainly for making business connections. Although he did love that they could meddle in gray areas where the FBI was legally hamstrung. So the Fixers did a few small things off the books, here and there, that the FBI had deniability on.”
“And Hickory? How’d he end up on their client list?”
“He dragged himself in to see the Fixers in 2012 after your lovely wife had trashed his reputation the first time. He asked the Fixers to find a way to give him more credibility and to kick start his career. Michelle Hastings was assigned as his advisor and told him he had to hitch his star to someone or something on the rise. Around about then, Ansom approached the Fixers for the first time, saying it had some controversial new tech in the works and they needed someone on the Hill to champion it for them. Someone loyal but not too bright. It was a match made in heaven.”
“But how—” There was a mechanical whirring sound, and Lauren turned. “What the…”
A white, squat robot was rolling its way toward them. It was identical to Antonio’s delivery bot.
Lesser beamed proudly. “Ah, my secretary’s sending in lunch. I know, I know, it’s a silly gimmick, but I am fond of it. I do like to show off. So sue me.”
Lauren blinked. “That’s the… I mean, ah…where did you get that?”
“A pizzeria owner sold it to me. I’m fairly sure you can guess which one.” His eyes were positively gleaming now. “Said it had done what he needed it to, but he didn’t need two of them anymore. One’s plenty.”
“Um, what did he need it to do?”
“A publicity stunt. He’d reported one stolen and then stashed it away.”
“It wasn’t even stolen?” Antonio had played her? Why, that little…
Lesser laughed at her. “I thought the media were a special kind of stupid the moment you told me that Fiona Fisher story. How could an autonomous delivery unit that live-streams its whereabouts be stolen in the first place? That didn’t set off alarm bells?”
Uh. Shit.
He shook his head. “I knew immediately what Antonio had done. I’ve always wanted one of these things, so I visited the clever Italian and explained how obvious his con was. I said if I could figure out what he’d done, the cops would, too. I had Antonio half-convinced they were going to raid at any moment, find he still had both his delivery units, one hidden, then arrest him for making a false statement. So he sold his second one to me. Win-win for both of us. I got it for a song.” He waved happily at the device at his feet.
Lauren felt a headache coming on. “All this…all of it…resulted from a publicity stunt just so Antonio could spread the word that he delivers using a robot?”
He folded his fingers across his stomach and chuckled. “Mm-hmm.” Lesser smirked. “So, we’re digressing. You asked me what’s next. Well, after I finish helping officials with their inquiries into Ansom, I think I’ll run for office. I know some folks who’d appreciate a man with my particular…leanings.”
A chill flooded her. “Politics? You?”
“I’m well connected. You have no idea how well.”
“You’d lose.”
“Would I?” He leaned over the robot and unpacked a sandwich. He slapped the lid closed and it did a one-eighty-degree turn and trundled out of the room. “How do you figure that?”
“You’re a neo-Nazi who—”
“I prefer alt-right.”
“—designs apps that push a white-supremacy subtext.”
“Interesting theory. But I see no apps of mine up and running that do what you say.” He peeled back the top bread slice on his sandwich, inspecting the ham on it. “And even if true, what part of that would disqualify me from office?”
She stared at him as he bit into on his lunch, robbed of any retort.
He swallowed and smiled. “Even if my winning personality doesn’t get me over the line, let’s just say you weren’t the only one who downloaded my surprise-package PDF from the Fixers. And unlike your vanilla emails—really, King, country music mailing lists? Star Trek fan clubs?—I have enough dirt on certain people to get me far up the ladder. Who’s going to stop me?”
Lauren’s eyes widened. He wasn’t wrong.
“See yourself out, Ms. King. It’s been fun. Oh, and mind your step around my robot. I’d hate it t
o get hurt.”
Catherine was curled up in bed with a new book when Lauren came home. Her wife trudged into the bedroom and leaned against the door, exhaling heavily. “Hey.”
“Hello.” Catherine eyed her. “Something wrong?” She slid a bookmark between the pages. “And what can I do to make it right?” She added a little throatiness to the question, to expand the list of options. A girl could hope.
Lauren held up takeout bags. “Chinese—that always makes everything all right. Even hearing about douches who are running for office.” She disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.
“Douches does not narrow it down,” Catherine called out, rising to follow her. After extracting a bottle of wine from the fridge, she plucked two glasses from the shelf. “Who are you railing against now?”
“Douglas Bastard Lesser. He’s gotten off scot-free. He’s everywhere in the news, playing up the hero whistleblower saving America from privacy breaches that he was somehow forced to create. And any hint of his racist, creepy side he wipes away under ‘Oh, poor me! It’s an Ansom smear campaign!’ And if that’s not all, he told me today he’s going to get into politics. He has a big dirt file, so everyone will get the hell out of his way. Catherine, I think he could do it. He has to be stopped, but I don’t know how. He’s too damned smart and well connected.”
She pushed a container of food toward Catherine. “Don’t wait for me, or it’ll get cold. I just need a quick shower.” Lauren trudged from the room.
Catherine laid out two sets of cutlery, poured the wine, and considered the conundrum of the man at the center of the story who was, indeed, far too cunning. A man who had so far outwitted them, and everyone else, at every turn.
A few minutes later, the hiss of water stopped, and Lauren reappeared in yoga pants and a T-shirt. She slid into a chair. “By the way, Lesser hinted he’s going to be exposing Lionel Ayers soon over his secretary groping. Between that and the official MediCache investigations, one way or another, your father’s about to have all his shit blow up in his face.”
