Darcy strode into Sarah’s office and plunked a newspaper on her desk. “And there we have it,” she stated with her usual flair. “Sews it up nice and tidy, doesn’t it?”
Sarah followed Darcy’s pointed finger to the large-print headline: POLAR BEAR BOMBER DEAD. She skimmed the article. No surprises there. And no, they didn’t yet list his name. “Well, as my father says, if something stinks like a dead fish, it probably is one.”
“You got that right.” Darcy waved the coffee in her hand. “Speaking of Bill, how did he take Will stepping away from the campaign? Can’t imagine that went over too well.”
Sarah frowned. “Now that you mention it, Dad has been pretty hard to reach. Maybe he’s as confused as the rest of us. He’s been pushing as long as I can remember for one of us—well, the demigod in particular—to get into politics. Save the country from the mess it’s in, as Dad would say.”
Darcy sat on Sarah’s desk. “Ouch. Do I detect a little disgruntlement in paradise?”
Darcy was one of the rare straight shooters Sarah could confide in. Yes, she was rough around the edges, but Sarah had seen her friend’s kind heart over the years. Darcy didn’t see Sarah as just a member of the privileged upper class. Both were extremely hardworking and determined to make America a better place. Plus Darcy had an older, “perfect” brother, at least in the eyes of her father.
Furthermore, tell Darcy a secret and it wouldn’t go anywhere, unless that secret had to do with anything illegal. Then she’d go after it with guns blazing, like an Old West gunfighter. For all her brassy exterior, Darcy Wiggins was an honest, moral soul who had seen the worst of humankind’s ugliness. It had morphed her into a rocket-powered agent who upheld justice and never allowed a perpetrator to walk away. Investigative experience had also given her a sharp instinct for when even small things weren’t right.
Now Darcy cocked her head, waiting.
“Sometimes I get a little tired of Dad not taking me seriously. Of him only considering Will”—Sarah paused to put air quotes around her next words—“‘leadership material.’ Especially when his two other kids could just as easily run things on a national scope.”
“You? At the White House?” Darcy laughed. “I’d pay to see that.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“Wouldn’t you have to figure out which party you were in?” Darcy teased. “I mean, they’re generally friendly to Christians in the Republican Party, so you’re fine on that score. But they’re also the party of big business, and you’re now in charge of the federal office that’s beating the daylights out of that wing of the party.”
“Well, maybe it’s time the Republican Party stopped allowing corporate America to lead it around by the nose,” Sarah said guardedly. She rarely discussed her own political views—even with a trusted someone like Darcy. She especially didn’t talk about her own politics around the family dinner table. “They could use a bit of populism and corporate reform. We need more Main Street and a whole lot less Wall Street.”
“So you’re a Republican, then?”
“I didn’t say that,” Sarah answered.
“A Democrat?”
“I didn’t say that either. But Daddy’s a Democrat. So is Will, sort of. Maybe I’m . . . something else. I am working for a Republican president, even if it is a career appointment.”
Darcy laughed. “Well, well. Daddy’s little girl doesn’t want to be so little anymore. I get it. Been there. Still there.” Then she added, “But you’re tough. Resilient. What you’re doing now matters. What you’ll do tomorrow matters. And what you’ll do someday . . . well, you’ll blow ’em all out of the water.”
“Okay then, pity party over. Back to work, huh?” Sarah reached over and nudged her friend.
“You got it. We’ve tightened the noose around Sandstrom, so now we need to squeeze a bit harder.”
“We both know he’s dirty. But, as Jon said, we have to prove it. Real proof, not guesswork.”
Since Sean’s return from the Arctic, he had connected Sarah again with his friend Jon Gillibrand. The intelligent reporter wasn’t one you’d pick out of a crowd at a party, but Jon continued to impress Sarah with the way he assembled complicated pieces in any puzzle and handled confidential information with sensitivity. Like Darcy, he was completely trustworthy. The three were now sharing whatever information they could legally with the common goal of connecting Sandstrom to the bombing of his own building.
Sarah enjoyed getting together for coffee at a mom-and-pop hole-in-the-wall with Jon and Darcy when they could carve a minute out of the whirl of New York. The shop, like Jon, had its own unique charm. Nothing chain or run-of-the-mill there.
Darcy waved a hand in front of Sarah’s face. “Ruminating, were we? Couldn’t have anything to do with a certain reporter, could it?” she teased.
Sarah blinked. “What? You mean Jon?”
Darcy lifted a brow.
“Yeah, I think he’s interesting.” Sarah shrugged. “Not for me, but interesting.”
“Not for you, why?”
Sarah waved away the question. “Enough of that. We’ve got to get to work. Trace the PB Bomber back to Sandstrom.”
She narrowed her eyes. And maybe in the process I’ll uncover something on Jason Carson that explains Will’s expression right after his announcement . . . and his phone silence now.
10
Sean’s best ideas came when he was on the move. So, with Will’s Senate race off, there was nothing to hold him back. After his restless night, it had taken only a couple of hours and a few well-placed calls to book a visit to a new NGO in Nepal that had sprung up after the earthquake to handle health care delivery. If all panned out, he was prepared to offer the company’s executives up to three million dollars to expand their emergency response platform.
He’d booked his usual first-class seat on a commercial flight from JFK. He easily could have chartered a plane, but he preferred having lots of people around him when he was on an airplane. It helped pass the time, especially on cross-Atlantic flights.
His flight wouldn’t depart until evening. Sleeping on planes was no fun. Sean didn’t know anyone who did it well. But he didn’t want to burn any more time. He certainly didn’t want to sit around his apartment, which was more a landing place in between trips than a home. He’d much rather people-watch at the airport and engage a few characters in interesting conversation. Within 10 minutes, he’d gain a new contact or two.
He and Jon Gillibrand kept up a healthy competition in comparing their social networking skills. Thus far, Sean had the contest nailed with Facebook and LinkedIn and his more than 1,700 mobile contacts, but Jon towered above him on Twitter.
With several hours to spare before his flight, Sean grabbed one of his well-stocked travel bags that the housekeeper kept ready for him, strode out the door of the building to the limo, and was off to JFK.
Will knew he was living on borrowed time. It had been over 24 hours since his aborted campaign announcement. It wouldn’t be long before his father, Drew, or both contacted him. When Will’s cell rang, he was surprised either had waited this long.
His father was first. “So what’s next, if not the Senate race?”
Will halted, stunned, in the corridor outside his office at Worthington Shares. He doesn’t want to know why I pulled out? Just what’s next? “I’m evaluating my options. First, though, I want to make sure I’m up to speed on Worthington Shares.”
Will was certain he’d stay at the helm of Worthington Shares, but he was also open for an additional challenge. He didn’t know what that might be, but he was confident there was a next step. He simply needed to uncover it.
“That’s good, William. Okay then.” His father paused. “Give your mother a call sometime, would you? She’s taking this little fork in the road hard.” Bill cleared his throat. “I think she needs to know you’re all right.”
“I’ll call her. Very soon,” he promised.
For any other father-son
relationship, it might have been a traditional checkup call. But it was so unlike Bill that Will was unnerved. His father had pushed for what was next—nothing different there. But he didn’t address Will pulling out of the campaign or ask why. Instead concern and gentleness had colored his father’s tone.
When Will walked into his office, Drew was sitting in one of the leather chairs opposite his desk. Guess it’s a two-for-one event, Will thought.
Drew didn’t say a word, only studied Will with his keen blue-gray eyes. Will knew that unsettling gaze. Whenever it landed on him, since childhood, he’d had no choice but to confess either what he’d done or what was on his mind. He had no choice now either. Likely the man who seemed to know everything about everyone already had some of the information Will was withholding. But how much? Which of the two secrets, or both, should Will reveal?
At that moment, Will decided to choose the easier one, if either revelation could be considered easier. “You’re wondering why I pulled out of the race?”
Drew gave one short nod.
“It had to do with a visit in the park with Jason Carson.” Will stared at Drew, trying to judge by his response how much he knew.
Drew didn’t even flinch.
“He showed me a photo of Sean chatting up a guy at a bar. A guy now identified as the Polar Bear Bomber.”
Still no flicker in Drew’s expression. So he does know, Will realized. That’s why I haven’t heard from him. He’s been busy with his contacts. In that regard, Drew and Sean were quite similar.
Will drew a deep breath. “You know what that means—for Sean, for our family. Carson assured me the photos wouldn’t go viral as part of the investigation if I stepped out of the race.”
At last Drew spoke. “You know Sean’s not connected, right? He would never do that.”
“I know, or at least I think I know. But Sean has seemed awfully different of late, more unsettled. What if . . . ?”
Drew frowned. “It’s a setup, and you know it. Your sister’s on edge too.”
“My sister? Sarah knows about the photos?” Will sank onto his desk chair.
“No, but she called me. Saw Jason Carson in the shadows by the stage and you getting in his face afterward. Sooner or later she’s going to follow that rabbit trail. With Sandstrom and AF already in her sights, I believe she just added Carson to that list. She knows something’s up, but not exactly what.”
Will jumped to his feet and started to pace. “So we target him in our sights too.” He eyed Drew. “Just like in the old Westerns.”
The normally solemn Drew cracked a smile. “I’d hate to go up against this posse of gunfighters.”
Will smiled back. “Exactly.”
11
EN ROUTE TO NEPAL
“If there’s anything I can do to help you during the flight, or afterward, let me know.” The flight attendant’s gaze lingered on Sean. “We’ll be landing soon. I’m free for a couple of days before I have to service a flight back to the States.”
Sean nodded, then closed his eyes, ending the conversation. He didn’t open them until he heard her move down the aisle.
Sean knew what she was offering, but he didn’t want any part of it. He was used to the attention, though. Flight attendants flocked around him often, many suggesting services that weren’t on the airline’s menu. So did some models and other social climbers who would be more than happy to drape themselves over his arm for photographs at black-tie affairs.
His sister ribbed him about it. “It’s your Irish charm and swashbuckling good looks. ’Course, it doesn’t hurt that you’re a recognizable billionaire,” she’d told him once when they were on a flight to Dubai. The siblings had been sitting next to each other, and Sarah had been amused at the harem that gathered.
Some men would have been flattered, but Sean wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t interested in a one-night fling or any meaningless relationship. That’s why he was still single, though he easily acquired dates for media events when he needed them. He admired Will and Laura’s deep connection and wanted that same kind of intimacy in his life partner. Also on his “most wanted” list was someone who had a lively intellect, who cared deeply about the world and its people, and who had a natural beauty that shone through because of who she was on the inside.
Someone like Elizabeth. The thought leapt as naturally as breathing to Sean. It wasn’t the first time he’d entertained the idea of following the direction his heart nudged him—toward his good friend. What would it be like to live a simpler existence, out of the Worthington spotlight, as a “regular guy”? To travel with Elizabeth and her father, exploring the world and its oceans, pursuing solutions for the planet’s environmental concerns?
It ticked him off that now, with the Polar Bear Bomber’s suicide note discovered, the public was focused on environmentalist nuts. That meant stalwart, good-hearted Green Justicers, like his buddy Kirk Baldwin, were once again insects under the media’s microscope.
Sean closed his eyes again as the brunette flight attendant made her way back up the aisle in first class. Since he couldn’t be a regular guy for now, he determined once again to use his wealth, power, and trust fund to do good in the world.
No matter where he traveled, he couldn’t get away from the mantra “To those who are given much, much is required” that his father had implanted in his head since childhood. Nor would he want to.
But now he had to try to sleep on the flight.
NEW YORK CITY
Will was tired. He’d had 11 meetings in one day at Worthington Shares. All he could think about was going home, putting on his favorite T-shirt and sweats, and enjoying a brain rinse in front of the television.
Then he received a call from Laura. “Okay, I set it up,” she said.
“Set what up?”
“Your visit to your mother. Why don’t you go by their place before you come home?”
It wasn’t a suggestion.
“All right. But then I may not make it home before Davy goes to bed.”
Laura’s next words were softer. “I know. But Will, this is important. I’ve never seen your mom like this. She thinks you backing out of the Senate race is all her fault and that she’s ruining your career because she was weak one day in her life. She has no clue that there are other issues at play.”
“Understood.”
“And Will? You’ll be . . .”
“Gentle. Sensitive.” He laughed. “I knew what you were going to say.”
“I guess that’s what happens to old married people.” She chuckled.
Within 20 minutes, he knocked on the door of his parents’ penthouse suite. Although they were now living full-time at the family’s summer home in Chautauqua Institution, they maintained their New York City residence so they could pop in and out whenever they wished. Tonight Bill was at dinner with a business colleague.
Ava flung open the door and hugged him as soon as he stepped inside. “Will! Are you okay?”
“Of course, Mom.”
She looked him in the eye, still holding his forearms. “Son, you did the right thing.”
He stiffened. “Maybe. Maybe not. But I did the necessary thing, for now.”
She dropped her hands to her sides and assumed her usual regal posture. “What are you not telling me? Is there more I don’t know? I assumed you got out of the race to protect your brother . . . and us.”
He switched the subject with a blunt question. “I never asked you—does Dad know that Sean is not his biological son?”
His mother sank onto the cushion of the nearest chair. “No.” She covered her face with her hands. “No,” she said, words muffled, “we’ve never talked about it.”
Will’s brain kicked into overdrive on potential scenarios, as it did in business situations. He sat on the chair opposite her.
When she raised her head, her pale skin was flushed. “As far as I know, and because your father and I were . . . intimate . . . shortly after my return from Camp David, he wouldn’
t have any reason to think Sean is not his child. He has curly hair, like Bill.” She wrung her hands. “Bill just commented at his birth that he favored the Irish side of the family more than the Worthington side.”
Thomas, Sean’s birth father, had curly, dark auburn hair when he was younger. To Will’s recollection, it was nearly a match for Sean’s now. “Do you think Dad suspects?”
Tears glimmered. “At times I’ve wondered. I mean, he loves all three of you, but he seems toughest on Sean.”
Will had to agree. Snippets surfaced of the times his father had commented on how different Sean was from his sister and brother.
“At Chautauqua, you said you think Thomas may have guessed when he saw Sean as a child and learned what his middle name is.” Will put the pieces together. Nothing like learning that Thomas Spencer Rich II, president of the United States, had fathered a child out of wedlock with a dear old Harvard friend at Camp David. Even more, that she was the wife of his best friend.
Silence hung as Will waited for information. At last he prompted, “And Sarah? Does she know?”
Fear flashed across Ava’s face. “No, and you can’t tell her. I don’t know how she’d respond. What she’d think of me, or how it would change her relationship with Sean.”
But the truth will come out sometime, and when it does . . .
“And Sean? Has he guessed?” Will asked.
“No,” she whispered. “I always told him he favored my side of the family. That you and Sarah got your father’s curly chestnut hair, but he got my family’s auburn, with his father’s curls.”
Will tilted his head. “Did he ever ask why you’d given him Thomas as a middle name?”
“I told him Thomas was a good, solid name I’d always loved and that I’d wanted his first name to be Irish because of my heritage. Sean has no idea he is Irish through and through, on both sides.” She sighed. “Or that the restlessness I see in him is very much like the way Thomas was when we were at Harvard.”
A Powerful Secret Page 4
