A Powerful Secret

by Dr. Kevin Leman

  “How so?”

  “Thomas told me once that he felt displaced, with his family stipulating his path in life. After all, he was the firstborn son of a prominent family who’d long ago made their mark in presidential politics. He didn’t want to follow that path merely because it was expected of him. But once he realized that he really did want it, the stormy restlessness I saw in his eyes changed to passionate purpose.”

  “So that’s when he went after presidential politics.” Will nodded.

  Ava leaned forward. “I see that passionate purpose in Sean’s eyes when he talks about his NGOs. But for him, building Worthington Shares isn’t enough. I’ve talked with Bill about the restlessness I see. But because Bill has always known what he wants to do, he never understood that part of Thomas, and he doesn’t understand that part of Sean. He thinks Sean’s role at Worthington Shares should be enough for him. You?” She lifted a hand in question. “You’re different. He thinks you should run Worthington Shares and do something else to make your mark on the planet.”

  Will shook his head. “I’m still working on that. I thought I knew where I was headed, but twice now recently that’s changed.”

  Her expression turned sad. “Son.” She clasped both his hands in hers. “I am so sorry for the role I played in you having to turn down the Senate race. I know you did that to protect Sean, to protect me, to protect our family. I will be forever grateful to you.”

  “Mom—”

  “No, let me finish. I’m also sorry for the way in which Sean arrived in our family, and the impact it will have on the Worthington name and the Rich name if the truth is ever revealed. But I am not sorry Sean did arrive. Someday he will blaze his own path, maybe even find a woman who will love him for him, like Laura does you. Then he will become a shooting star for the world to see, even more than he is now.” Her chin lifted. “I’m sure of it. That’s why I called him Sean, which means ‘God has favored’ in Gaelic. I knew that someday the truth might be revealed, and I wanted his very name to show him how much I loved him from the beginning, in spite of the circumstances in which he was conceived.”

  As she sat there, looking so blue-blood regal yet simultaneously fragile, his caretaking side and his problem-solving skills warred for control. “Somehow we’ll figure this out,” he told her.

  But when he walked away, he felt weighed down. Too many secrets. I hold too many secrets. How could he ever tell his mother that her son might be implicated in a domestic terrorist bombing?

  12

  KATHMANDU, NEPAL

  Sean strode through the Kathmandu airport with his carry-on. He had 15 minutes before his meeting with the young CEO of GlobalHealth SMS, who had been on the ground the day after a long-anticipated mega-earthquake had devastated the country and killed thousands. GlobalHealth had gotten its start in Haiti after an equally devastating earthquake had destroyed that country’s information infrastructure. The organization had been instrumental in delivering timely emergency information in Nepal based on lessons learned in the Haiti disaster.

  With his plans and questions stirring, Sean hadn’t been able to sleep on the overnight flight. He headed for a local coffee shop. A quick cup or two of coffee would give him the zip he needed to combat the jet lag and sleepless night, and then the adrenaline of meeting his contacts would take over.

  One idea had surfaced about 2:00 a.m. as his first-class seat neighbor snored. Sean had just started to hit his stride in the political arena in Will’s campaign when the rug was pulled out from under him. Maybe I should consider taking a run myself at the governor of New York.

  The brainstorm seemed tenable. The press often compared the Worthingtons to the Kennedys, Bushes, and Clintons. All three families were like royalty in national political circles. Siblings, wives, and husbands from all three families had made runs at political offices, even the presidency. Sean too had deep financial pockets and was already a well-known figure.

  Maybe that was his next move. Make Dad proud. Be the Worthington to break in.

  He chuckled. Wouldn’t that be ironic, if it were me instead of Will?

  NEW YORK CITY

  Sarah met Jon Gillibrand this time for dinner at the Four Seasons. Tucked into a corner where they wouldn’t be overheard, they kept their conversation mutually light until the waiter had placed their entrées and stepped away.

  Then Sarah asked Jon, “Are you heading back to the Arctic anytime soon?”

  He shook his head. “No point in it. Can’t get anywhere near the AF platform. The site’s locked up tight with Sandstrom and President Rich controlling what information goes out to the media.”

  Sarah caught the glint in his eye. “But you’re on to something?”

  “I just talked to Elizabeth. I’m going to be in Seattle for a few days working on a story and thought we might be able to finagle a dinner. She updated me on the research. As you might already know from Sean, before Elizabeth and her father were booted from the USS Cantor, they dropped a buoy and infrared camera right in the middle of the oil mess.”

  Sarah nodded.

  “The Shapiros and their colleagues have been tracking the data from the geosciences department at the University of Washington ever since.” His intelligent eyes intensified. “They can prove scientifically there’s more oil beneath the ocean than anyone knows about.”

  “Which makes an uncapped geyser shooting up from the bottom of the ocean even worse. Will was against drilling in the Arctic without AF doing a lot more research first. But Sandstrom and the rest of the AF board vote went against him. Will said it was foolhardy to jump in with so many unknowns in a fragile ecosystem. He doesn’t often get heated.” She shook her head. “In fact, he’s often so calm it drives me crazy. But that situation really bothered him.”

  “Sean told me.”

  “We’re well on our way to proving fraud and criminal negligence. Sandstrom is named repeatedly in the documents we’ve filed. We’ve made President Rich nervous.”

  “Good. The media release that Mark Chalmers obviously crafted makes the White House look stupid—or inept.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Or reveals them as downright liars.”

  It had been Jon’s New York Times firsthand account that had blown the White House and Chalmers, the president’s chief of staff, out of the water. Chalmers had thus far rescued the White House by claiming they were going on information filtered through AF’s media officers.

  “Or all of the above,” Jon said. “Chalmers is really in Rich’s line of fire now. He’s running laps around the White House to put out new Fact Sheets, saying they’ve received updated information from AF.”

  “Hoping to cover up the cover-up. But we’ve got to prove all the connections.”

  “Exactly. I managed to blow two of the White House’s four main points—that the oil was only leaking, not gushing, and that the platform wasn’t toppled.” He toyed with his water glass. “Hopefully soon I’ll have enough from Elizabeth and Leo’s research to blow another of their points out of the water—that there is no evidence the oil is moving beyond the Arctic.”

  “And point four of the media brief—that AF is cooperating fully with the White House to resolve the problem ASAP—looks like it’s on the rocks too.” Sarah grinned. “Now President Rich is backtracking a bit in his support of AF. Sandstrom has made some pretty heated comments about fair-weather colleagues in AF’s time of need, though he hasn’t mentioned the president in particular.”

  Jon raised a brow. “I know. Especially with all the money Sandstrom and AF funneled Rich’s way for his presidential campaign. The two aren’t happy bedfellows right now.”

  “No, and it’s about to get worse for each of them. Between you, me, Darcy, and the wide net we’ve cast, we’re going to find that elusive piece that will connect Sandstrom and the Polar Bear Bomber.”

  Jon chuckled. “Stated like a stubborn Worthington.”

  She winked. “No, a determined Worthington.”

  LANGLEY,
VIRGINIA

  It was late evening. At last he was alone.

  He unlocked his right desk drawer. After removing an envelope, he opened it and shuffled through the photos of Sean Worthington snapped from around the globe—in Dubai, in Malawi, in London.

  At that moment a strident female voice interrupted. It grew louder as the woman progressed down the hallway. Right before she opened his study door, he stuffed the pictures back into the drawer and quickly locked it.

  He couldn’t let her know his intentions. Everything about this had to remain a secret, even from his wife. Far too much was at stake.

  13

  KATHMANDU, NEPAL

  It had been months since a 7.9 magnitude earthquake had struck Nepal, killing thousands in different parts of the mountainous region, but the country was still suffering terribly from its aftermath. Aftershock tremors had continued to topple buildings. Food, water, and medical supplies had been sparse for months. Aid workers had struggled to bring stability to the region.

  Sean had visited Nepal several times in his life. He was constantly drawn to the beautiful country. Its people were colorful and friendly. Even now, despite the destruction wrought by the earthquake that officials had long anticipated and dreaded, Kathmandu was still jammed with more than a million people. Its narrow lanes were lined with numerous brittle brick buildings. Some of those structures had managed to remain standing during the earthquake. Most had collapsed.

  The countryside was slightly better, Sean observed. Many of the humble stone and mud-walled homes of farm families had likewise suffered some form of damage. These homes were more easily rebuilt, though not without some pain and toil. Sean marveled at the resilience of the Nepali people.

  In such a place, surrounded simultaneously by majesty and tragedy, Sean imagined what life for Homo sapiens might have been like 12,000 years earlier—when they clung to parts of the earth where the ice allowed them to hunt and gather their food. Then the ice receded, and water flooded in from surrounding oceans. Humans had to fight once again for survival—much as the Nepali people did here, encircled by towering mountains and forced to provide for themselves from the land however they could.

  From the moment Sean landed at Kathmandu airport, as often happened when he journeyed outside the confines of America, his troubles receded as he focused on the immediate task at hand—to provide aid and comfort to people who thought that all Americans had wealth and resources at their disposal like the Worthington family.

  Sean sometimes felt he should just give away all of his money—literally empty his bank accounts—and spread his vast wealth across the landscape to every family and person he met. The Nepali people expected so very little. They were happy to share their homes and their dinner with Sean and his entourage. They asked for nothing in return.

  And what do I offer? Sean wondered. A few million dollars of a wealth that is incomprehensible to every single person I will meet in this country. It makes no sense. I have so much. They have so little. How can I possibly justify what I’ve been given—even if it carries with it a burden that so very much is also expected?

  At times like this Sean felt humbled in the presence of the indomitable spirit of the human species. There was something wholly other about human beings. Even in the midst of their pain and chaos, the Nepali people were still able to give, care, love, and offer a kind, generous word to a stranger who wanted nothing more than to help them in any capacity he could.

  Sean could see that infinite spirit in the faces and the lives of the Nepali people, who were surviving and moving forward in the face of a devastating earthquake that had literally shaken the entire countryside to its foundations. Who am I? What can I do as just one person in the face of all this? Sean thought over and over as he made his way throughout the city with the aid workers from GlobalHealth at his side.

  It made the life of American wealth, privilege, and politics seem so small, so inconsequential 10 time zones away. And so, as he often did when confronted with the realities of need in a place such as this, Sean determined that he simply had to do more, to give more. He decided that three million wasn’t enough to make a difference. He resolved that he would give ten times that amount to GlobalHealth in ways that would matter. The cares and worries of his life in America could remain on hold for the time being. There was work to be done here.

  After dinner with GlobalHealth’s team at one of the few restaurants in Kathmandu that had managed to come back to serve foreign aid workers, Sean was glad to go back to his room at the lone hotel also still serving the aid workers. Since his arrival more than two days ago, he had packed in as many meetings and trips as he could. He wanted to see everything, because it would help him understand where the greatest need was. He was satisfied, in the end, that GlobalHealth was more than worthy of his investment. They were relentless and seemingly everywhere. They networked with every group. They were known as the organization most willing to do whatever it took to make things work, to bring normalcy back to a land that seemed anything but normal.

  He kicked off his shoes and collapsed on the bed. It was also at times like this, when Sean was alone with his thoughts about his place on earth and what was expected of him, that he wished for a companion who would understand what he needed to do, what was expected of him in a family like the Worthingtons that had been given so much. He wished for a bit more connection to another life beside his own. He wished for . . . Elizabeth.

  He sat up. Why did Dr. Elizabeth Shapiro always come to mind? After their Arctic expedition, she was back at the University of Washington with her dad. Dr. Leo Shapiro, chair of the geosciences department, was on the hot seat with both the university and the US government. Wondering how that was going, he shot her a text.

  Sean

  How’s the heat?

  Elizabeth

  University’s ticked again. Says our protocol wasn’t to collect oil samples. Not like they haven’t told us that before, but the heat had died down. Then the White House got embarrassed with their dirty laundry aired. Chalmers was all over the university president for having a rogue scientist who can’t follow the rules. Dad said we were there to study marine life, which includes collecting water samples to test their habitat. “How exactly can you collect water samples without oil in them, if there’s oil gushing into the water from the bottom of the ocean and that’s part of the water?” he asked.

  Good one.

  They’re threatening to pull gov’t funding for the new science lab if Dad doesn’t back off his research and shut up. You know Dad never will. He’s an old goat, he says. Since he has tenure, he’s hard to let go.

  How are you doing with all this?

  They don’t have any control over me. I don’t work for U of WA, only Dad does.

  Sean chuckled. The world was much richer in flavor with people like the Shapiros in it.

  Nobody will ever tell you what to do, that’s for sure.

  You’re darn right.

  He laughed again, imagining her face. The last time he’d seen her was on board the ship in the Arctic. Her anger over the dying marine life because of the oil and the lack of research that had gone into the drilling had made her normally pale skin glow with intensity. Simply beautiful. The thought arose, unbidden.

  Elizabeth Shapiro was the real deal.

  Like Laura.

  Like Jean.

  Like Sarah, whom their father underestimated.

  Elizabeth cared about the planet—the environment, the animals, the people. She had committed her life to making her mark wherever she could. Her tenacity and arrow-like trajectory were admirable. But there was something else about Elizabeth that he couldn’t put his finger on. Was it simply because she was so different from the social climbers who loved to be seen with him?

  His phone dinged again.

  Jon will be in Seattle for a couple of days soon, and we’re going to do dinner. Wish you could be here too.

  Sean flinched as if he’d been stabbed. What’s wrong with
me?

  Suddenly he knew. For the first time ever, he felt jealous. Jealous because he wanted to be the one spending time with her. She stirred his mind, yes, but also his heart. Have I finally found the right woman for me?

  Maybe it was time to make a move, to put the rumors swirling about him—about why he was still single in his mid-30s—to rest. Make his mom happy.

  He needed to give that angle a little more thought once he was back in the States. For now, he texted Elizabeth one last time.

  Enjoy that dinner.

  But he knew he wouldn’t relish the thought of even his best friend spending time alone with the woman he might be in love with.

  LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

  The call was quick, to the point, and on a secure line. “Jason Carson just walked into the White House and demanded a private audience with President Rich.” There was a slight pause, then the caller continued, “At least Carson thought the conversation was private.”

  “Go on,” the man behind the mahogany desk said.

  “Carson basically told the president that if he doesn’t tell the DOJ to save him when Sandstrom is taken down, he’s going viral. He’ll not only embarrass the White House but make it highly unlikely that Spencer will stay in his cushy job.”

  “Any specifics?”

  “Carson knows about the $25 million quid pro quo.”

  “How?”

  “Don’t know, but I can guess. Sandstrom probably told him. When Sandstrom is hot under the collar, anything can fly out of that mouth. Now Carson wants to cut a deal to save his own neck. Says he’s not taking the fall. He’s not going to prison. That prison orange isn’t his color.”

  The man leaned back in his chair, phone in hand. He knew people like Jason Carson. They had no scruples. Didn’t care about anyone or anything but themselves and climbing up the financial ladder. If they thought they might go down, they’d come out swinging. And if they went down, they’d take everyone they could with them. That included the president of the United States, who couldn’t afford the scandal of the public finding out that his reelection campaign included a $25 million quid pro quo—funds donated by Eric Sandstrom of American Frontier in exchange for exclusive drilling rights in the Arctic. Especially now, with the mess in the Arctic. It wouldn’t take long to track any special favors the Rich presidency had done for AF to get them into the Arctic in the first place.