by T. K. Leigh
I shot my eyes to Bradley, a new wave of nausea filling me at the fact that this man had betrayed Dante like this, had betrayed both of us. Maybe his behavior the past few days was just an act, a ruse to convince me to share what I knew. I didn’t know what to believe anymore.
“I wasn’t privy to his side of the conversation and, sadly, he refused to share that information with me. He probably should have.” Our eyes met. “Now your friend, Quinn, is going to have to find a new investigator.” She shook her head, feigning compassion.
“What did you do?” I pressed, dizzy from her insinuation.
“What I had to in order to protect what’s mine.” She glowered at both of us, her jaw clenched, her nostrils flaring.
I bit back a sob, my limbs trembling at the thought that Blake had lost his life because of me. I never should have asked for his help. I never should have opened this can of worms. Maybe this was fate’s way of saying I’d been looking into something I shouldn’t have.
“Well…” She adjusted her composure once more. It was like she had an internal switch. Once she flipped it, she was calm, collected Marjorie Wilson Crenshaw, the woman she always was during her famous dinner parties, where she would put on a show for the world to see. “Where are my manners? This is a celebration, after all. Maria!” she called over her shoulder in the direction of the swinging door leading to the kitchen. “Please bring out the main course.”
My stomach churned when I saw my parents’ housekeeper scurry into the room, her eyes bloodshot. Her hands shook as she placed each dish in front of us, stopping when she was about to put the fourth plate in front of the empty chair. She gasped when she noticed she was standing in a pool of Brock’s blood.
“Is there a problem?” Marjorie asked.
Maria knew enough not to say anything. “No. No problem.” Unsure what else to do, she placed Brock’s meal in front of the chair that was supposed to be his, then lowered her head and rushed from the room.
“I’m not quite sure what’s gotten into her,” Marjorie said in a low voice, acting as if there was absolutely no reason for Maria to be acting like she did. Obviously irritated, she grabbed the open bottle of champagne and walked around the table, filling each glass. She even filled Brock’s. This all reminded me of a scene out of Hannibal. Except she was obviously more psychotic and delusional than Hannibal Lector ever was.
Once she again took her seat at the head of the table, she plastered on that same fake smile, raising her champagne flute, waiting for us to follow suit. I looked at my father, unsure what to do. He simply gave me a nod of encouragement, then lifted his own glass with trembling hands. I imitated his gesture, not looking away from him. I needed his strength, his support, his reassurance that we’d get out of this. If we did, I swore I’d tell him every day for the rest of my life how sorry I was. That I’d always believe him. That I’d never doubt his love for me again.
“To another successful campaign and another six years of having a Crenshaw in the Senate. Next stop… The White House.”
We both remained silent, neither my father nor I wanting to respond.
“How about a little excitement over the prospect!” she shrieked, flipping the switch into her other persona.
“Of course, darling,” my father said in that pacifying tone I’d heard him use with some of his political opponents. He always insisted you could catch more flies with honey than vinegar. He rarely got worked up over things, but still maintained his position. This unwavering determination combined with his soft-spoken nature made him a force to be reckoned with in the halls of Congress. I prayed this skill would help us get out of this situation, too. “Congratulations on another well-run campaign.”
“Thank you. Now, I hope you enjoy your dinner.” She reached over, squeezing my father’s forearm. He jumped at the contact. “I know how much you enjoy halibut.”
“A very thoughtful gesture, dear.”
She smiled, then drew back, placing her napkin in her lap as she picked up her knife and fork, exhibiting all the proper etiquette she’d taught me over the years. I looked back at my father, wondering what to do. His expression blank, he placed his napkin in his own lap, then cut into his fish. He brought it to his mouth with a shaky hand. I watched as he chewed, half-expecting him to choke, turn red, something to indicate he’d been poisoned. But that didn’t happen.
“Ellie, aren’t you going to eat?” she asked.
“I’m not hungry,” I shot back.
“Ellie,” my father warned in a low voice, his tone almost pleading. “Just eat.”
I looked between him and this woman who was a complete stranger to me now, then to Brock’s body lying on the floor a few feet away, surrounded by a pool of blood, then at Bradley standing off to the side, his gun in his hand, ready to shoot if either of us tried to get away. I didn’t care about dying anymore. I was done playing along with this entirely fucked-up scenario.
“No, Dad. I’m not going to sit here and pretend everything’s normal, that this woman who wanted the world to think she was my mother isn’t completely delusional!” I shot up in my chair, my chest heaving as I glared down at her.
Bradley reacted quickly, rushing toward me and forcing me back into my chair. He pushed the gun between my shoulder blades. “I don’t want to shoot you, but if you can’t follow orders, I’ll have no other choice,” he growled. “Understand?”
“Perfectly,” I hissed, sneering at him.
“Good.” He released his hold on me, then stepped back. The instant his weapon was no longer pressed against me, my father visibly relaxed.
It was silent for a moment while we all sat at the table, me refusing to eat, my father taking a few timid bites every few seconds, Marjorie enjoying her dinner as if there were nothing wrong.
When she ate a sufficient amount but not her entire plate, as she’d taught me was the polite thing to do so as not to appear to have a large appetite, she straightened her back, looking between my father and me with a satisfied smile. “Well, you’re probably wondering how I intend to secure your Senate seat when you’ve just been re-elected.” She dabbed her mouth with her napkin, then placed it on the table in front of her.
“The thought had crossed my mind,” my father said.
“It’s quite the plan, really, one I’ve been developing for years now, particularly after you won the last election and I learned you were still sleeping with Lauren all these years later.”
My eyes flung to my father, passing him a questioning look. Most children would probably be upset after learning their parent had been having an affair, but I wasn’t. I studied his weary features. The spark and vitality he normally exuded was lacking. Guilt filled the lines around his face. Memories of a happier time seemed to dance before his eyes as he stared at me with admiration and respect.
“The therapist my parents forced me to see all those years ago would probably say this was a triggering event, that my ‘narcissistic and self-aggrandizing personality’…” She rolled her eyes, using air quotes, “couldn’t deal with the idea of you being happy, of having what I wanted. I always thought that guy was full of shit. Regardless, something told me it was time to finally go after what should have been mine all those years ago. Sure, I could have easily let it slip to the press that you fathered a baby out of wedlock and forced the mother to hand over that baby to you and your wife to raise as your own. Even going so far as to ensure any birth paperwork indicated that your wife was the birth mother. Even going so far as to make your wife tell everyone she’d had so many miscarriages and stillbirths that she hid the pregnancy because she didn’t want her hopes destroyed yet again. Even going so far as to threaten to kill that very baby if word about the truth ever got out…”
“I didn’t do any of that,” he growled, his lips curling into a snarl. His face reddened, his nostrils flaring, his pupils dilating. “You did.”
“Technically, Merriweather did, but I realized it was better to work with him than against him…just like
you did.” She narrowed her eyes. “Still, that wasn’t enough to vilify you. A sex scandal is a dime a dozen in politics. In order for this to work, I needed to time everything perfectly. If I was to have any chance at running for the Senate seat you left open after being embroiled in the worst scandal to ever rock politics, I needed something more, needed to show a life-long pattern of morally reprehensible conduct that grew and blossomed over the years.”
She stood up, slowly walking around the table, glancing between my father and me, a self-righteous smile on her face. I would have done anything to wrap my hands around her throat and wipe that smirk away. I had a feeling that would earn me a bullet in the chest, much like Brock, although I’d probably get one in the end anyway. She had no intention of allowing either one of us to walk out of here alive. Not after telling us what she’d done. Part of me wondered why she felt the need to put on this elaborate show. Then again, she’d probably been dying for this day since the beginning, when she could boast and brag about all the work she’d done to get to this point. Her arrogant and egotistical personality needed this.
“Imagine how the fine people of this country will react when they learn Senator Crenshaw, a man who has campaigned on the promise of legislative transparency, on ethical reform in politics, has been accepting bribes. How he used his connections in the pharmaceutical industry to wage a war of bioterrorism against the very people who put him in office. How he single-handedly smuggled billions of kilos of cocaine and heroin into this country, even though part of his campaign platform was to stem the flow of drugs into this state.” She placed her hand over her heart in a feigned show of compassion. “How I stood by your side, raised a child you fathered out of wedlock, did everything to protect and save that daughter, loved her as my own, all while you were involved in such repugnant behavior.”
I lifted my gaze to my father. Tears formed in his eyes, as if the thought that my mother could do something so evil, so vile, so destructive physically pained him. I wished I could reach out and grab his hand, offer him some sort of compassion in a world that seemed to be falling to pieces around him, around both of us. Instead, all I could do was give him an understanding look, hoping he could see how sorry I was for how I’d treated him throughout my adolescent and adult life.
I slowly tore my eyes from his, looking at my mother pacing back and forth. Her demeanor was eerily calm, despite the vengeance in her expression. “You did all of this just to win a Senate seat? To get back at him for falling in love with someone else?”
“He deserved it!” she retorted, her eyes growing wild. “I was on the sidelines for years supporting him, smiling at his constituents, holding his hand and waving, relegated to being the token wife of a powerful man, all while he went off to Washington and fucked some barely legal intern. I have a law degree from Harvard! I was one of the top prosecutors in this state, for crying out loud!” She clenched her fists and sucked in a shaky breath through her nose, struggling to regain her composure. She closed her eyes, pausing for a moment. When she reopened them, a calm washed over her once more.
“It was a fluke Francis won the election the first time, considering we live in a blue state. I doubted he’d be able to win again. But he did. He kept winning, and winning, and winning.” Her jaw tightened, her voice becoming more and more irritated the longer she spoke. “Election after election after election.” She paused, looking back at my father. “Six years ago, when the incumbent representative from our district decided to retire, I proposed running for the open seat, thinking with him as senator and me as representative, we’d be a force to be reckoned with. We could achieve some real change. Even Lucas Merriweather was on board, but instead of supporting me, your father supported Brock! I guess old army friendships are more important to him than his own wife!”
“So you decided to get back at him by setting him up on corruption charges?” I pressed.
“Oh, this is so much more than corruption,” she scoffed. “Give me a little credit here, Ellie. Your father is incredibly well-respected in Washington and California. Unless there was some sort of scandal that completely shattered the people’s ability to trust him, something so bad as to put him in prison for the rest of his life, he’d keep getting re-elected. It was all pretty easy, really. Being married, I was able to leave enough evidence of wrongdoing and skew it so it would inevitably point to Francis. After all, he was the one with connections to some powerful players in Washington. My role was simply to stand at his side and smile.” She lowered her eyes, giving a coquettish look as she batted her lashes. “But all those years standing at his side and smiling, well…” Her lips turned up at the corners. “You hear things. One of the hottest commodities to trade in Washington is secrets, and I have thirty years’ worth of them.”
“So… What? You bribed people to get them to do…whatever this is.” I waved my hand around.
“I didn’t need to bribe anyone, Ellie. Blackmail is so much more persuasive…and cheaper. I simply convinced those in various positions of power to put me in touch with people who had similar interests. Of course, they didn’t know it was me. No one did.”
“What kind of people?” I asked hesitantly.
After much thought, she answered. “Terrorist is such a negative word, but I guess that’s what they are. Drug cartels, too.” She looked toward my father. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. You’ve been a very naughty boy, Francis.”
His face grew red and he shot up in his chair, losing the composure he’d been struggling to maintain for the past several minutes. “You’ll never get away with this! The truth will come out. It always does.”
Bradley rushed toward him, forcing him back into the chair.
“Tie him up,” my mother ordered.
I sensed a hint of reluctance on Bradley’s face, but he eventually reached into his jacket and produced a few zip ties, securing my father’s arms behind the back of the chair, then his feet to each leg.
I bit back my quivering lip, trying to remain strong, but it was getting more and more difficult. I began to regret all the times I avoided spending any time with my father. I used to resent him. Now I realized I’d simply transferred all my hostility toward my mother onto him.
“After coming to a sort of financial arrangement between these ‘terrorists’, who got some serious hard-ons over my proposed plan, I began a small series of biological attacks using the pharmaceutical industry you were so close with.”
“What kind of biological attacks are you talking about?” I asked, a hint of caution in my voice. In my gut, I knew what it was.
“Anthrax is a remarkable little infection.” My mother smirked, placing her hands on her hips. “The signs of anthrax poisoning are nearly identical to those of the flu and other infections that could prove deadly for those with a compromised immune system, like cancer patients. Of course, too many people are on the lookout for anthrax these days. Thankfully, I knew a few things about one of the higher-ups in the CDC, who ended up being very helpful in developing a similar toxin, one with the same effects but that no one would think to look for in an autopsy.”
I glared at her with pure hate, pure disgust, pure animosity, a new wave of nausea filling me. “You killed his daughter,” I muttered, barely able to speak through the lump in my throat.
“Don’t sound so dramatic, Ellie. I didn’t target his daughter on purpose. She just so happened to be one of the lucky…or, should I say, unlucky recipients of one of the bad batches of drugs. I didn’t really pick who I wanted to die. I just needed some people to die. Just a few at first, then more and more, each attack getting bigger and bigger. In the end, my associates would be able to claim responsibility for a large-scale attack that resulted in the deaths of hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of Americans, especially with flu season coming up, all in the name of the almighty Allah.” She clasped her hands in front of her, looking to the ceiling briefly before turning her attention back to me. “Or some shit like that.” She rolled her eyes.
“Imagine how
the fine people of this country will feel when they find out huge batches of the flu vaccine have been contaminated in exchange for a hefty payout from a terrorist organization.” She smirked, a satisfied expression crossing her face. “That part’s true, by the way. This year’s flu strain is really bad, isn’t it?”
“You won’t get away with it,” my father’s voice thundered. “Eventually, someone will find out the truth, will figure out something doesn’t add up. You used to be a prosecutor. All it takes is one small piece of evidence and your entire story will fall apart.”
“Then it’s probably best I start eliminating anyone who can contradict me, isn’t it?” Her lips turned into a satisfied smile as she reached for the gun hidden in her skirt, raising it in one quick movement. Not a single moment of hesitation crossed her face as she applied pressure on the trigger and shot the man she’d spent the last forty years of her life with.
“What did you do that for?” I shrieked, shooting out of my chair and rushing toward my father.
I didn’t care that she could easily put a bullet in me, too. Offering him comfort was more important than anything else right now. I clutched his face in my hands, lifting his head, rubbing his cheeks with my thumbs. Expecting to hear another shot any second, I tuned everything else out and peered into his eyes, which were slowly losing their vitality with each shaky breath he fought to capture.
“It’s going to be okay, Dad. I promise.” I swallowed hard through the excruciating pain in my throat as his complexion grew pale, blood flowing from his stomach. “You’re going to be okay.”
“Always the optimist, aren’t we, Ellie?” he asked in a strained voice.
I blinked back my tears, trying to avoid looking at the red stain coating his suit. “I have to be,” I choked out in a barely audible voice.
“Don’t tell her,” he struggled to say, his eyes fighting to stay open. “No matter what she does, don’t tell her where Lauren is.”
“I won’t,” I promised, wiping at his tears.
