The Peace Maker

by Michele Chynoweth

  “So research companies like RA are turning to poorer countries, where young women are happy to make a few hundred dollars for their eggs. And if their country forbids egg harvesting, they go to countries like Cypress, where the practice is booming. Eastern European women are actually being recruited for their eggs. Sometimes the ovaries of these women are hyper stimulated so that they produce thirty or forty eggs at a time, which greatly increases the risks they face. But the money to them is huge—even if it’s just a hundred bucks, which is more than they can make in months working in slave labor camps, in the fields or factories, or as prostitutes.

  “Which is why what we found at RA is important,” Charlie said, draining his energy drink. “The huge increase in egg shipments points to one thing.”

  “Human egg trafficking?” Leif asked astutely.

  Charlie nodded with a tired smile. “These young women overseas are obviously being recruited, or more accurately, exploited, for their eggs. Most are being lured by the money and aren’t told of the long-term effects. But we found through our research—and this is really sad—that some young girls are actually being forced into it. In fact, in some of the poorer, war-torn countries, their own families or governments make these girls undergo the procedure as soon as they become of child-bearing age—as early as twelve or thirteen-years-old. By the time they reach their twenties, these girls are used up and usually wind up handicapped or dead. It’s ironic— they give up a part of themselves so that new human lives can be created or people can be healed, and then their own lives are crippled or destroyed—all in the name of research.”

  Leif, Logan and Jordan sat quietly, taking in all of Charlie’s grim information.

  “And you think that RA is practicing human egg trafficking?” Leif asked somberly.

  Charlie rubbed his eyes, weary from his research and his presentation. “I would say it’s more than possible. These documents are a good start, but proving it is another story.”

  “Ah, don’t worry about that; we’ll prove it, all right.” Leif stood and resolutely crossed his arms. “Leave that one to me. Thank you, Charlie. You deserve an A on that paper of yours.”

  “I just want justice for other women,” Charlie responded. “So they don’t go through what my friend went through.”

  After the gentlemen left one by one, Leif retired to his private office. He looked through the file on his desk that held newspaper clippings of the articles that had subsequently gone viral on the Internet stating his ex-wife had an abortion, destroying the baby that was his.

  He felt sick to his stomach all over again, but took a deep breath, held down his breakfast, and looked for the article that had broken the story. It was in the New York Times with a byline by a reporter named Amy Darlington.

  Leif wanted this Amy Darlington to have the same opportunity to write a piece about Darren Richards.

  He picked up the phone, trying to keep his rage at bay.

  Amy called Chessa early that Sunday morning as she was getting ready to go to the local corner market for a few groceries. Luckily she had left her cell phone on vibrate so Darren, who was sleeping, kept right on snoring.

  “You won’t believe it, but I got a call yesterday from Governor Mitchell! He sounds as sexy on the phone as he looks on TV. And he wants me to investigate a big story. I almost fainted!”

  Chessa went downstairs to the kitchen, cell phone to her ear, and listened as Amy confided that the story involved RA Technologies.

  “What about RA?” Chessa immediately came to attention, her senses on high alert now.

  “Well, he didn’t elaborate. He just said that the methods they’re using on one of their current research projects may be immoral and unethical, and I might want to check it out. Since I’m your best friend, I thought you should know about it before you read it in the headlines.” Amy’s tone changed from schoolgirl excitement to real contriteness. “I’m sorry. I know it’s your family’s company. But I hope you understand. I’m a news reporter. I’ve got to do my job. And if I don’t do it, somebody else will. It sounds like a big deal.”

  Chessa knew what her father-in-law’s company was working on, and she knew how they were accomplishing the task. Darren had told her about it proudly one night when he had been drinking and loose-tongued. He had said that he was hoping they could reveal the cure right before the election, and then swore her to secrecy. The only people who knew about the top-secret diabetes cure research were Donald Richards, his CEO and CFO, a handful of scientists directly involved, Darren, and now Chessa.

  She had done her own little investigation online about stem cell research and egg harvesting and didn’t like what she had seen. After all, she worked at a job where she was constantly defending women’s rights.

  But she also believed that the cure for diabetes was a noble one, and if they were really close to finding a cure like her husband said they were, perhaps the effort and the donations of all those young girls would not be in vain.

  Alarms went off in her head now as she listened to Amy, and a fire burned inside urging her to stop her friend before it was too late, or at least delay her until she could have a chance to think this through.

  “Amy, I need you to do me the biggest favor you’ve ever done for me,” Chessa chose her words carefully. “You know that Leif Mitchell is just trying to get even for the abortion story Darren capitalized on. No offense, but why else would he have singled you out?”

  “Because I’m a great reporter.” Amy sounded defensive.

  “And we both know you are. Still—how many reporters work at the Times? Don’t you think he singled you out to use you?”

  “Okay, you’re probably right that he picked me for a reason. But I still have an obligation to look into this.”

  “I know you do. So here’s the favor. I’m going to ask you to just hold off for twenty-four hours and embargo the story so I can find out more information myself. I do know the company is getting close to making a huge scientific breakthrough that will make whatever story Leif Mitchell is trying to dig up look like it belongs buried on the back page in comparison. If I find out they’re close, I promise to share the news with you so you can break the story. And if they’re not, then I will give you all the inside information you’ll need to really do a good job on it. But if I don’t get in there while they’re unaware there’s a story brewing, then chances are they’ll be on red alert and nothing will get out. And then all you’ll have is a bunch of conjecture by a bitter candidate who’s trailing in the polls.”

  “Well, it is Sunday and there’s no one I can reach anyway.” Amy reluctantly agreed to embargo the story and give Chessa a twenty-four-hour reprieve based on her trust that her friend would never deceive her.

  As soon as she turned off her phone, Chessa began pacing the kitchen floor, trying to think her way through this. She had just bought herself some time to take a look at this latest development and hopefully do something about it. She just wasn’t sure what that should be. She walked back and forth, pondering her options.

  On one hand, she thought, if I just do nothing and let Amy go ahead and cover the story, maybe that will truly lead to Darren’s downfall and he’ll lose the race. Then, once the pressure of all of this is off, maybe I can quietly divorce him and be free. On the other hand, if I find a way to stop Amy from investigating this and Darren wins, at least I will have hopefully saved a whole bunch of people from suffering and dying from diabetes and I’ll become First Lady.

  And I will be stuck in this marriage forever.

  Chessa realized she had been thinking on and off about divorcing Darren for quite some time. Always it came down to a mixture of wanting to do the right thing, which in her mind meant staying married no matter what, and lacking the courage to go for it.

  She had come to realize through Al-Anon that she was ‘co-dependent’ and a ‘people pleaser’—both considered potential ‘defects of character’ among people in the program. Chessa knew she had always justified her a
ctions—whether it be as a child trying to step between her parents and keep them from fighting, or as an adult trying to please and support her husband no matter what—as “keeping the peace.”

  But looking back, she realized there was a fine line between being a peacemaker and a people pleaser—maybe she was a bit of both—and that it had come at a great cost.

  I’ve lost myself along the way, she thought sadly, standing in her kitchen, immobilized now by regret, resentment, remorse.

  Chessa felt her head was so full right now it might just explode, then it struck her that she needed to ask for help. For the first time in a very long time—since she was a little girl, in fact—she folded her hands in prayer and closed her eyes. “Dear God, please help me do the right thing. Please help me to know what that is.” She desperately wanted out of the marriage and was beginning to realize she didn’t even care if her husband became president of the United States and she became First Lady. It just wasn’t worth it anymore.

  Suddenly the answer came with an intuitive thought that she realized must have been from God. Go to church and pray about it.

  Chessa hadn’t been in a church since she had gotten married. She quickly pulled out her smart phone and looked up the service schedule at Christ Church. If she hurried, she could just make the nine-o’clock service. Her bodyguard had already been waiting to follow her to the grocery store. He would just have to tag along.

  She arrived a few minutes after the Methodist service started and sat in the last pew. A woman cantor was just finishing singing a beautiful song about God’s call.

  Chessa’s mind drifted between her own thoughts and the minister’s words of welcome. She snapped back to attention when he read the gospel.

  “… you know the way to where I am going.” The minister read from the Gospel of John Chapter 14. “Thomas said to him, ‘Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?’ Jesus said to him, ‘I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you had known me, you would have known my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.’

  I do not know Him, Chessa thought as a tear rolled down her cheek. Why have I stayed away so long?

  ‘… whatever you ask in my name, this I will do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If you ask me anything in my name, I will do it.’

  Can I really believe that? Chessa wordlessly asked the God of her limited understanding.

  ‘… If you love me, you will keep my commandments…’ the minister continued.

  Chessa’s mind reeled on that part. Do not commit adultery. I know that’s one of them. She remembered being taught the Ten Commandments as a child in Bible school. And I know that the Bible teaches that divorce is wrong and remarriage after divorce is a sin because it’s considered adultery…

  ‘… Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.’

  My heart is troubled and afraid. Chessa knew she had to give up any outcomes or expectations and pray only for God’s will, for His peace, which He alone could give. So she prayed the only prayer that came to mind. God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference.

  And suddenly Chessa heard a still small voice inside offering a possible solution—that she seek out Leif Mitchell and warn him not to give Amy the story, and then hope beyond hope that his goodness in refraining from stooping to Darren’s level may curry the favor of the people—and of God—and he would win the election.

  The thought of that outcome sent an immediate icy fear through her being. For suddenly she knew that if she somehow kept Amy from reporting the story and Leif won—and Darren found out, which he would inevitably do—he would be so furious he would come after her in all his rage, seeking revenge. He will want to kill me.

  Her fear, she knew, was real. So now she had a choice. She heard the words from someone she had heard in the rooms of Al-Anon talking in her head. “We can choose to act out of faith or act out of fear.”

  There’s only one solution, she realized as the minister finished delivering his sermon and the congregation was being called on to stand and pray. I have to go to Kentucky to see Governor Mitchell.

  Suddenly Chessa felt a wave of peace and clarity flow through her whole being. The wisdom to know the difference. She wiped her tears and smiled. All I know is that I can no longer just sit by and accept the way things are. I need to have the courage to change things. To make a gesture of peace that might just make a difference.

  Who knows where it will lead? Chessa didn’t care. All she knew in that moment in time was that it would all be okay.

  The choir broke into the hymn, “Be Not Afraid,” and Chessa sang along through her tears.

  CHAPTER 15

  Chessa left two hours later that Sunday bound for La Guardia International Airport and the next flight she could get out of New York.

  Darren was still asleep when she quietly slipped back into the house after the church service, packed a few items of clothing in a carry-on bag, and went back out the front door into a waiting taxi, which was followed by a car carrying two Secret Service agents.

  She left him a note on her pillow.

  “Dear Darren,

  I’m sorry I had to leave so early this morning without saying good-bye. I have a friend who’s in trouble and I had to go help out. That’s all I can say for now, as the friend’s information needs to stay anonymous. I will tell you all about it when I return. I should be home by tomorrow.

  Love, Chessa.”

  She knew he would be upset when he read it, but she couldn’t possibly tell him the truth. And besides, this is for his own good, she justified to herself. Plus, she knew Darren had a tremendously hectic two days that lay before him campaigning in Pennsylvania.

  But inside she knew she wasn’t taking off at noon on a Sunday to fly down to try to see Leif Mitchell in order to save her husband’s campaign or even his dignity. She was doing it because she believed in her heart it was the right thing to do. She couldn’t let thousands of people suffer and possibly die of diabetes, not to mention stand by while thousands more lost their jobs at RA Technologies. The ripple effect of the repercussions of both could affect tens of thousands of innocent people.

  Most importantly, she had to stop Leif from doing the wrong thing—from doing something so underhanded that it could cause him to lose votes and possibly cost him the presidency. And he is by far the best candidate—the only candidate fit for the job, she knew. He is God’s choice.

  Chessa didn’t consciously admit it to herself, but deep down she also wanted to meet this country-rock singer her husband had claimed as his archenemy. Her old reporter’s curiosity was still very much a part of her. She wanted to see for herself, live and in person, if this man was as great as she believed him to be.

  After a two-hour flight, Chessa’s plane landed at two p.m. on October fourteenth in Lexington. There were just twenty-two days left until the election.

  She had traveled with a scarf wrapped around her head and with big sunglasses on so that no one would recognize her. A bodyguard accompanied her on the flight.

  Still, she was almost stopped by a flight attendant who looked at her long and curiously as she walked toward the end of the plane’s aisle. Luckily, the attendant’s attention was diverted when a couple behind her, dressed in somewhat outrageous drag queen attire (Chessa wasn’t sure if they were both “girls,” “guys,” or one of each) started singing “Killer Queen” rather loudly, obviously having drunk too many Bloody Mary’s.

  Chessa took advantage of the performance to slip out of the plane’s exit door unnoticed, her bodyguard in tow.

  She arrived by taxi a little before three at the quaint yet elegant bed and breakfast on the outskirts of Lexington. She had decided to stay in the six-bedroom B&B so as not to be noticed. She ha
d an old newspaper friend from college who lived in Lexington help her book the room.

  And since this same friend had made a lot of connections through his position as Editor-in-Chief at the Lexington paper, he was the perfect person to keep tabs on Leif Mitchell and inform her of where the governor would be the night of her arrival.

  It turned out Governor Mitchell had made plans to fly in from a campaign stint in the northeast that morning, meet with staffers for a briefing at his headquarters, give a speech at Churchill Downs, and then have a quiet dinner with his parents at Little River, where he might stay or return home to the mansion before flying out again the next morning for a trip out west.

  So Chessa would have a limited window of opportunity to meet him. Her friend advised her against showing up at the racetrack rally or even his headquarters, where there would still be too many people around, and thus layers of possible interference between them.

  Her best shot at actually getting face time would be at Little River, he said.

  Chessa had balked at his suggestion at first. How crass, to show up unannounced at his parents’ home and barge in on their intimate family dinner, she had argued.

  And yet, much to her chagrin, that was the very scheme she had cooked up, and now sat worrying about in the large soaking tub in the private bathroom that was part of her bedroom suite.

  Exhausted, she had tried to take a nap after arriving at the quaint hotel. The owners had allowed her to book the entire bed and breakfast so that no other guests would be around to bother her, and had agreed not to say a word to anyone about her whereabouts.

  Chessa had far too much on her mind, however, to sleep, so instead she drew a bath to try to relax before her excursion to Little River.

  She arrived at the Little River homestead in her nondescript rental sedan as the sun started to touch the treetops, which were ablaze with color, taking her breath away. Chessa had instructed the Secret Service agent who had followed her to wait for her in his car and he unhappily acquiesced, making sure she took a two-way radio with her to the house.