by J. L. Brown
“Any visual on the perp?”
“No one got a decent look at his face. He was wearing a dark coat, slacks, and a hat. Might’ve attended the event.”
“Katz doesn’t know?”
“Not confirmed yet.”
“Anyone see anything else?”
“No,” he said.
They had watched the recording of Carr’s murder earlier. As Blanchard had warned, it hadn’t yielded much. The perp’s back was turned the entire time. He appeared to be about five ten, medium build. The dark-gray hoodie didn’t have any recognizable markings or logos. It was impossible to see in which direction he had run.
“So… one vic stabbed three times in the chest by a homeless guy. The other once in the back by a possible fundraiser attendee. I presume Scofield was also white and wealthy.” Jade waited for him to nod. “Both of them probably attracted a lot of haters. Why does Blanchard think these cases are connected?”
“The knives were left in both victims,” Dante said.
She shrugged. “Still.”
“They were the same brand.”
Chapter Fifteen
The White House, Washington, DC
The following morning, Whitney and Sasha stood close together in front of the television on the credenza in Whitney’s private study off the Oval Office. She did the majority of her work in this room, the Oval being reserved for meetings and photo ops.
On the TV, men and women of the US House of Representatives walked to and from the podium to cast their votes in a synchronized process. At the bottom of the screen, in a large archaic font reminiscent of the halftime score of a seventies college basketball game, were the words H-5861, Repeal of the New New Deal Coalition Act. Underneath, the count: Yeas 86, Nays 63, the numbers ticking up by the second.
The two women didn’t speak, knowing what was at stake: Whitney’s signature legislation that would define her presidency and preserve her legacy. Everything that Whitney, Sasha, and her entire team had worked for during the last year would be for naught. As would Blake’s personal sacrifice.
“How’s it going?”
An African-American woman wearing a black dress and a gold brooch stood at the door, her expression grim. Her straightened hair, high cheekbones, broad forehead, and strong physical features, coupled with her inner strength, gave her a presence. She was the kind of person who, when she walked into a room, everyone stopped talking. A woman not to be messed with.
Whitney waved her in.
After forcing Vice President Xavier Fernandez to resign, Whitney had nominated Josephine “Jo” Bates to replace him. In accordance with the 25th Amendment, a majority in both houses of Congress—despite Republican control—quickly confirmed Jo. Everyone involved realized the urgency of filling the role to ensure a smooth presidential succession.
A popular senator from California, Jo chaired the Congressional Black Caucus. She was a former lawyer and fierce advocate for gender equity. She and Whitney had cosponsored the Equal Rights Amendment, the watershed legislation that finally gave women equal rights in the United States. They had become close while working together on the ERA, and because of them, federal and state laws were changing to eliminate bias toward men.
Equal pay was now the law of the land.
Whitney chose Jo because of her qualifications, not her Northern California constituents. Their party had a lock on those. Jo was intelligent, a savvy negotiator, fearless, a smart political operative and insider, and she didn’t hesitate to speak her mind. She also possessed a rare trait for a politician these days: integrity.
Now the first woman, the first black woman to hold the second-highest office in the federal government, Jo—like Whitney—understood that a lot rode on her performance. The same opportunity for all the women and women of color that came after her would depend on her success.
Crossing the room, Jo stood next to them. “This Congress didn’t waste any time.”
The Yeas maintained, then grew their lead.
The final vote count: 389 Yeas, 146 Nays.
“That’s it then,” Sasha said.
Whitney remained silent, afraid her voice would betray her roiling emotions.
“It still needs to pass the Senate,” Jo said, always the fighter.
The camera cut to a man standing in a hallway of the Capitol, a Corinthian column behind him. Senator Eric Hampton, his slicked black hair parted on the side, wore a dark suit and his ever-present red tie.
Jo said, “He’s smiling as if he won the lottery.”
“He probably did,” Sasha said.
“Turn up the sound,” said Whitney.
Sasha grabbed the remote off a nearby table. “I can’t stand his whiny voice.”
“You and me both,” said Jo.
In answer to the commentator’s question, Hampton said, “This is a wonderful day for democracy, individual independence, and capitalism. Supply and demand should determine winners and losers in the marketplace—not the government.”
“There shouldn’t be winners and losers among the American people,” Sasha said, her eyes not leaving the screen.
“Senator,” the commentator said, “when will the bill be voted on by the Senate?”
Hampton smoothed his tie. “We’ve promised a swift vote all along. This will be on the docket tomorrow.”
Whitney gasped. “Tomorrow!”
“He’s not wasting any time either,” Sasha said. “The little twit.”
“Mute it, please, Sasha,” Whitney said.
Sasha retracted her shoulders, preparing to strike.
“Not you,” Whitney said, “the television.” She moved to the chair behind her desk and sat heavily.
“I’m sorry, Madam President,” said Sasha. “I know how much this legislation means to you.”
Whitney picked up a letter opener made of wood and pewter and gently tapped it against her hand. “It’s not about me. It’s about all the people who would have been positively affected by this legislation.”
Income inequality started increasing in the 1970s and had widened ever since. The disparity had grown to the point that her economic advisors reported to her on the performance of the economy for the wealthiest one percent of the population separately from everyone else. During the presidential campaign, Whitney had called the gap the “Great Divide.”
Now there was nothing to stop the economic divide from continuing to grow unabated.
And becoming permanent.
Jo came to stand in front of Whitney’s desk. “The New New Deal is a worthy piece of legislation.”
“So I keep hearing,” Whitney said.
“It’s a good law,” Jo said. “We need to fight for it. Even if the Senate repeals it. A lot of people supported this bill. Inside and outside the Beltway. We might not be able to resurrect it again in its entirety, but we can implement the parts that matter. I’m willing to do whatever I can to make that happen.”
Sasha stood next to Jo. “Me too.”
Whitney’s pulse quickened as she observed the quiet confidence on the faces of her vice president and chief of staff. “Let’s get to work.”
Chapter Sixteen
Washington, DC
“Here’s the information on Carr,” Pat said.
“Have a seat,” Jade said. “Should I bring Dante in?”
Pat settled in Jade’s guest chair and said, “Updated him earlier.”
“Go on then.”
Pat opened her laptop. “Jared and Jason Carr own a real estate firm, estimated to be the fifth-largest private company worldwide. Their holdings span across the United States, with properties in Chicago, New York, DC, LA, San Francisco, and almost every major international city, including London, Berlin, Madrid, Rio de Janeiro, Johannesburg, and Singapore.”
“Sounds like beaucoup bucks.”
“Individually, they are the eleventh and twelfth wealthiest people in the world, worth roughly about forty-five billion dollars. Each. They’re not in the one percent. We’re t
alking about the point-oh-oh-one percent.
“They started a foundation called Freedom of America, a major GOP donor, that supports senatorial, house, gubernatorial, and a lot of down-ballot races: state, local, even school boards.”
Jade considered this. “They don’t leave anything to chance.”
“I think that’s the plan. The organization’s operations are shrouded in secrecy, but I found out that they fund other foundations that support limited government, lower taxes, elimination of regulation, and eradication of services for the poor and needy. For all intents and purposes, Freedom of America is the Republican National Committee.”
“Anything else?”
“They secretly fund grassroots protesters at events. Cyber believes they use Russian hackers to influence Americans on social media to support their causes.”
“And they call themselves patriots,” Jade said.
Pat clicked a few keys on her keyboard. “Jared Junior was an outspoken climate-change denier and a vocal opponent of the Department of Housing and Urban Development. During the sixties, HUD cited their father, Jared Senior, for housing discrimination against minorities who tried to rent apartments in buildings he owned in New York City. Senior fought the violations for years. The case wound up in the Supreme Court.”
“What happened?”
“He lost. His firm shelled out millions of dollars in fines and reparations. The stress eventually killed him. Heart attack.”
“And this initiated Junior’s beliefs in limited government?”
“More than that,” Pat said. “Junior never forgot what happened to his father, and he never forgave the US government.”
Chapter Seventeen
Chicago, Illinois
Dante whistled under his breath. “Worth killing for?”
“People have killed for less,” Jade said.
She hadn’t comprehended real wealth until that moment. Standing in the foyer of the home of Jared Carr Jr., she gazed at the marble flooring, the two sitting areas, and the side table, over which hung an oval mirror in a gilded frame. A massive chandelier dangled overhead. Dual half-circle staircases with shiny banisters led to the second floor. The foyer alone was almost the same size as the first floor of Jade’s townhouse.
The gray-haired African-American butler nodded at her before leading them to a spacious living room. Jade paused at the threshold.
An older woman with coiffed white hair and a plain but expensive red dress sat on a couch between a middle-aged man in a sweater, collared shirt, and slacks, and a middle-aged woman in black tights with a long, pale-blue sweater shirt. Her medium-length dyed-blonde hair was cut at a severe angle to her shoulders.
Beyond them, an expansive fireplace displayed family photos on the mantel. A grand piano occupied one corner. Heavy draperies covered the tall windows. There were two sets of French doors: one leading outside, the other to a sun room.
Jade felt as if she were on the set of Downton Abbey.
The man rose to greet them.
“Thank you, Charles,” he said to the butler. To Jade and Dante, he said, “I’m Jason Carr.”
His eyes met hers but didn’t linger. Jade shook his hand and introduced them.
“Thanks for seeing us,” she said.
“This is Jared’s wife, Lisa, and my mother, Judith. Please,” he said, gesturing to the chairs on either side of the glass coffee table, which had a ceramic vase in the middle. He returned to his seat. One glass, halfway full of amber liquid, rested on a coaster on the table. “We’ll do whatever we can to help find Jared’s killer. What would you like to know?”
“Tell us about what happened that night.”
“He and I met at the club after work.”
“Club?”
An indulgent smile. “Sorry. The Oak Club. Near our office. When we were both in town, we stopped by there a couple of times a week.”
“To do what?” Dante asked.
Jason arched an eyebrow, as if he’d never been asked that question.
Many women would kill for those eyebrows.
“Our weekly dinner,” Jason replied. “Sometimes lunch. Our lives are hectic; it was our time to catch up. Or unwind. To discuss business outside of the office and away from prying ears.”
Jade frowned. “Your staff eavesdropped on your conversations?”
He crossed his legs. “Or competitors. You can never be too careful these days.”
“Did you discuss business that night?”
“Yes.”
“What did you talk about?” Dante asked.
“It has no bearing on what happened to Jared.”
“Let us be the judge of that,” Jade said.
Jason reached for his drink, took a sip, and replaced the glass. “We were celebrating.”
“What?” Dante asked.
“The overturning of Whitney’s Folly.”
“The New New Deal?” Jade asked.
“There was nothing new about it.”
“Why were you celebrating its repeal?”
“Because it righted a wrong.”
“How so?”
“It was another example of government overreach being crammed down the throats of the American people. Never should’ve passed.”
“And the overturning of it benefited your business.”
“That too.”
“So you celebrated,” Dante said, waving his small notebook. “What happened after that?”
“Jared left to come home.”
“What did you do?” Jade asked.
“Stayed for a drink at the bar.”
“Were you meeting someone there?” Jade asked.
“My assistant stopped by to deliver some papers.”
“How did you find out about your brother?”
“The doorman came running into the lobby screaming, ‘He’s dead!’ I heard him all the way in the bar. I didn’t think much of it at first. We have so many old members who, frankly, are dying off all the time.”
“Did he come find you?”
Jason leaned forward, picked up his glass, and drained its contents. “He stood in front of me, covered in my brother’s blood, and said, ‘I tried.’” In a hushed voice, Jason said, “That’s when I realized he was talking about Jared.”
Lisa glanced down at the table.
Jade directed the next question at her. “Mrs. Carr, did your husband ever mention any enemies, competitors? Anything like that?”
“Why would you ask that?” she responded. “He was murdered by a homeless person.”
“Please answer the question.”
“Of course he did,” Judith Carr interjected. “Every liberal in the country hated my son. Many in the GOP too. If it turns out to be premeditated, there would be a long list of suspects.”
The older woman sat up straight, her hands clasped casually in her lap, her purse leaning against her hip.
“‘Premeditated’ isn’t a word we often hear from civilians,” Jade said.
“I watch all those shows on TV,” Judith said, nodding with satisfaction. “Even the documentary about you, Ms. Harrington. What was it called?” She thought for a moment. “Don’t Speak. Don’t worry, I can speak your language.”
Under different circumstances, Jade would have enjoyed this conversation with Judith Carr. “Do you think it was premeditated?”
“Who’s to say? It could have been exactly as it appeared. A homeless man robbed my son for money. But it wasn’t a secret that my boys frequented the club, as their father did before them. Jared took the same route to work every day.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m a mother.” She nodded at Jason. “I told them to vary their routes. Their routines. My sons say I’m paranoid from watching too many crime shows.”
Jason sighed. “You were right, Mother.”
Jade turned back to Jared’s widow. “Mrs. Carr, do you know of anyone who wanted to hurt your husband?”
“He rubbed some people the wrong way,” Lisa
said. “You should speak with the head of security at the firm. Jared and I sent any threats we received to him.”
Jason gave Dante the security head’s name.
“What was Jared like, Mrs. Carr?” Jade asked.
The question was for Lisa, but Judith Carr answered.
“Disciplined,” she said. “Methodical. Competitive. Jared hated to lose. Sore loser, that one.”
“Mother…,” said Jason.
“When he was ten, he lost his first race ever at a championship meet. Never swam again for the rest of his life.” She touched her purse, as if to check that it was still there. “He was such an excellent swimmer.”
“Did he ever get angry?” Dante asked. “As an adult? Lose his temper?”
“Sure. He had tantrums, but if you ignored him, he’d get over it. At least, that’s what I did. You couldn’t win an argument with him. No matter what. Not like Jason here, who you can reason with.”
She patted her son’s knee.
“Jason was the opposite,” Judith continued. “Always sneaking off to be alone with his books. Jared always did what was expected of him. Jason was a little rebellious.”
“Mother, that’s enough. This isn’t about me.” Grabbing his glass, he walked over to the small bar between the French doors.
“You’re right,” Judith said. “This is about Jared.” To Jade, “Will you find the man who killed my son?”
Did they know Jared had cancer and would have died soon anyway?
“We’ll do our best. Is there anything else you can tell us?” Jade asked.
The two women seated on the sofa shook their heads.
“The answer appears to be no,” Jason said. He drained his fresh drink and set the glass down too hard on the bar. “Charles will show you out.”
*
“What do you think?” Jade said, glancing at Dante as she fastened her seatbelt.
Although the plane was accelerating for takeoff, his seatbelt remained unfastened. “Seemed nervous.”
“Like he was anxious to get rid of us.”
Dante raised an eyebrow. “How would he tie in to the other murder, though?”