The Voter File

by David Pepper

  They swapped information on other Appleton voters for the next twenty-five minutes, discovering the same disconnect. As with Stiglitz, Ned’s voter file was wildly inconsistent with the conversations I’d had.

  “Guys, your eggs are gonna go cold,” I said as they completed the list.

  While Tori’s and my plates were spotless, they hadn’t touched a thing since taking out their computer.

  “I can’t eat,” Ned said, swallowing hard. “I’m going to be sick.”

  CHAPTER 26

  LONDON

  The door swung open and Drac burst into Katrina’s office.

  Just back from her Ukraine meeting, she looked up from her monitor, where a map displayed all their target states in blue.

  “The Republican campaign in Wisconsin accessed their database,” Drac said. “For the first time in weeks—”

  “And what are they searching for?” She hated wasting time on information she already knew.

  “It’s worse. They accessed their database at the same moment that RUGBYDEM accessed his database.”

  He didn’t have to say another word.

  “Were they examining the same voters?”

  “Yes. They were clearly comparing notes, one voter at a time.”

  She folded her arms as her pulse sped up. Drac should never have been so sloppy in Wisconsin in the first place.

  “Then we have no choice. We need to spike the files.”

  “But that will only draw their suspi—”

  “Their suspicion is already drawn. We can’t afford to have them dig deeper.”

  “But once we spike them, won’t they . . . ?”

  She picked up her phone and dialed. “They won’t be around to tell anyone.”

  CHAPTER 27

  APPLETON, WISCONSIN

  What’s wrong, Cassie?”

  I was sitting on the bed in my Hampton Inn room when I got a call from the one person at Republic who’d never let me down.

  “You can tell?” she asked.

  “I can tell.”

  “It’s about work. Things are—”

  “Are you on your work cell?”

  “I am.”

  “Well, call me back from a landline or Rachel’s phone.”

  I’d never told her any details. And she was the one I’d been most tempted to tell, for her own sake. Because I’d recruited her there, I was protective of her career. Then again, my departure opened much more opportunity for her.

  The phone rang again. An unfamiliar 202 number.

  “Jack, this place is scaring me.”

  “Cassie, I had to sign a nondisclosure agreement. I can’t say much.”

  I cringed, realizing how unhelpful that was. Then again, the nondisclosure didn’t prohibit me from listening to her complaints. “Let’s try this: What are they doing that scares you?”

  “The coverage against the president is over-the-top. Every day, I’m supposed to parrot some anti–Janet Moore script they spoon-feed me, but then I don’t feel like a reporter at all.”

  “All I can tell you is be careful with how you handle it. And read your contract closely.”

  “My employment contract?”

  Reporters didn’t usually think about their contracts until it was time to negotiate a new one. And even then they focused only on how much they were paid and for how long.

  “Yes. The fine print.” That was as far as I could go down that path. “What have you been trying to cover?”

  “Honestly, I’ve just been aiming for balance. Between her and Paxton.”

  “How can you balance out those two?” I asked. Since he’d taken over the House, Elmore Paxton had pinned Moore down. As far as I could tell, the guy was well paid by big business to crush the president’s agenda.

  “Every time I try to be neutral, give her perspective—anything—they shut me down. I had an exclusive interview with her the other day, but they cut out all the parts where she stated her case.”

  “Let me guess: her economic agenda.”

  “Exactly. They butchered it to make her come across terribly. And it turned me into their hatchet man.”

  “And what did you do in response?” This was the moment when I’d screwed up, and Cassie was at least as hotheaded as I was.

  “Nothing yet. I’ve been stewing for a day. That’s why I called you.”

  Good.

  “Cassie, go read your employment agreement. For now, I wouldn’t say anything. Play the long game.”

  “But it feels so wrong.”

  “I understand. But trust me: Tread carefully. That’s all I can say.”

  The call ended, but before I put my phone down, a new message arrived. From Tori.

  Jack. Call me right away. Someone nuked their voter file.

  Tori picked up on the first ring.

  “What do you mean the file got nuked?” I asked.

  “It’s wiped out. Flannery’s data is now a mishmash of nonsense.”

  “So it’s only their data?”

  “Yes. That guy Ned called and told me about it. Our file is fine.”

  I sat down on the bed.

  “Jack, this is really weird.”

  “The timing is definitely strange.”

  “It’s the timing and it’s specifically what happened. Ned and I talked through it. We’ve seen system screw-ups in our voter files in the past. Bugs come up all the time. But nothing where an entire file is wiped clean of any useful data.”

  “Could he tell if other candidate files were impacted?”

  “He checked with the state party and no one else in Wisconsin had any problems.”

  I stewed for a second. About the timing.

  “Can people see when you guys log on to the voter files?”

  “Yes. Each state party has data people who manage the state’s voter files. National parties have the same. A few people have a high enough level of access that they can access every candidate’s file.”

  “And what can they see you doing?”

  “When we log in, when we export data, when we run reports. You name it, they see it all.”

  I cringed. Someone might’ve watched everything Tori had done since I arrived. But her work alone had not spurred any repercussions.

  “Well, either it’s a sheer coincidence, or the fact that you and he logged on at the same time triggered his data being wiped.”

  “Sounds right to me. But, Jack, think about it. Someone in the Democratic Party can see when I’m logging in. And someone from the Republican Party can see when they’re logging in. But who—”

  I finished the sentence for her.

  “Who in the hell saw that you both logged in at the same time?”

  CHAPTER 28

  AIR FORCE ONE

  The Washington Monument shrunk, then disappeared, as Air Force One ascended before banking west into the setting sun.

  Every few weeks the president traveled to her small ranch near Aspen, Colorado. In the summer, in between meetings, she’d get in a few hours of horseback riding or hiking. In the winter she’d ski for a day or two on Ajax Mountain, Snowmass, or a smaller resort nearby. The spectacle of Secret Service agents trying to keep up with the president, a former competitive skier, as she bounced between moguls was creating a public relations nightmare for the White House. And Cassie’s bosses at Republic made sure to highlight the overall cost of each trip. But the president insisted it kept her head straight amid all the pressures of Washington. Plus, she’d made a deal with her husband when she decided to run.

  For the press that accompanied her, the Air Force One flight to Denver was a luxury—the cuisine especially—but the jaunt to Aspen from Denver could be a bear. Either they loaded onto a small charter plane and rode the roller coaster of mountain breezes into Aspen Airport, or they took a van
or bus and drove for more than three hours. In bad weather, neither was a good option.

  Cassie was in the small pool of D.C. reporters assigned to this weekend’s trip. Once the 747 hit cruising altitude, she removed a manila folder from her laptop bag.

  She hadn’t looked at her employment contract since signing the final page a couple years back. And even then she’d counted on her agent to review the fine print. But, heeding Jack’s warning, she now scrutinized every word.

  Three sections stuck out.

  The first was the section on news content. “Republic News has the exclusive right to determine the content of every communication by EMPLOYEE while on air, and owns the exclusive right over the appearances and images of EMPLOYEE. Refusal to communicate news content accordingly shall be deemed a violation of this agreement.”

  Cassie stared at the back of the seat in front of her, contemplating the words. She had always assumed that the company had the ultimate right to dictate what she said and how she appeared. But seeing it written in legalese was jarring.

  “Hey, Cassie, your contract up soon or something?” The mocking voice came from the seat behind her. Brady Jones was a young NBC White House correspondent who always nosed around her business. The skills that made for a good reporter often were the recipe for an annoying colleague.

  “Not at all, Brady.” Gossip spread so quickly in the business, she wouldn’t want that rumor out there. “Is yours?”

  Brady’s shock of blond hair appeared in the gap between the seats. “So you’re just checking out your contract in your free time? Sure, I buy that!”

  She waved off his nosiness, but he kept pushing. “My agent says that Republic has the most onerous contract in the business. So you better read every word closely.”

  “Hey, Brady, I know this is your first. Why don’t you sit back and enjoy the flight?” She moved over in the seat, obstructing his view.

  She dove back into the agreement.

  A section on the second-to-last page was labeled “Liquidated Damages.” While she didn’t recognize the term, the description spoke for itself. “If EMPLOYEE quits Republic News prior to the contract term, or is terminated for violation of this agreement prior to this contract term, EMPLOYEE will owe Republic News 40% of EMPLOYEE’S annual compensation.”

  Cassie drew in a long breath as she twisted her wedding ring. That was serious money. Paying that out would devastate her young family. She’d worked too hard, mostly alone, to climb out of poverty and crushing debt to tumble all the way back down.

  “That bad, huh?” Brady now stood in the aisle, smirking at Cassie.

  “Brady! I’ve got work to do. By any chance, do you?”

  He shrugged and walked away.

  She examined the contract one more time, rereading its noncompete provision, which kept her from working with any of Republic’s competitors for twelve months. Her agent had assured her that was standard and that any new employer would pay the penalty incurred for violating the noncompete. But Jack’s situation gave her pause. There were only a handful of employers in the industry to begin with. And if she was fired in controversy, as Jack had been, none of the others would pick her up, let alone take on such a penalty.

  “Ma’am?”

  “What?” she asked before lifting her head, tired of the interruptions.

  “Hello, ma’am. Chicken Parmesan or steak?” A man in a crew cut and sharp blue suit stood above her, a presidential pin on his lapel.

  “I’ll take the chicken. And can I have a glass of wine? Rosé?”

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  She placed the contract back into the folder.

  The man laid a full plate on her tray, but Cassie went for the rosé first. She sipped it slowly, staring out the window as towering gray thunderheads fired up to the south. Storms that ominous would normally make her stomach churn, but she ignored them. Her stomach was already fluttering.

  Jack was right. She was trapped. She had to do what Republic said—to appear as they commanded her to appear and say what they told her to say. They could fire her if she acted otherwise, and then she’d owe them tens of thousands of dollars and be jobless for the ensuing year.

  Trapped. Controlled.

  She emptied the glass.

  CHAPTER 29

  APPLETON, WISCONSIN

  Caked in mud, Tori hobbled back from the rugby field, too stressed from the last twenty-four hours to enjoy her usual Jacuzzi recovery.

  She’d been distracted, and it had been her worst match in months: no tries for her, and they’d lost badly. Being distracted in rugby also meant you got hurt, and pain was now shooting through her right ankle as though she’d done some severe damage. But she wasn’t focused on the loss, her ankle, or the fact that the Republican voter file had been wiped out.

  Worse than all that, Ned had gone dark.

  They had been texting back and forth late afternoon about the destroyed data. She’d updated Jack, grabbed a bite to eat, then texted Ned another question right before her shift started.

  He’d never responded. She’d texted him an hour later during a break. Still nothing.

  He’d been responsive all day, so the sudden silence was odd. But she didn’t know him well enough to pester him. Plus, having OCD always made her skeptical of her own reaction to things. Was she being paranoid?

  He’d definitely be awake now. So as she walked home she took out her phone.

  Live it up last night? Let’s reconnect as soon as you can.

  She winced through her shower, discovering every new pain point pounded into her during the morning’s match. At least the throbbing in her ankle was ebbing.

  After stepping out of the shower, she checked her phone again. Twenty minutes since her text, and still nothing.

  She dialed Ned’s number. Four rings, then voice mail.

  She hadn’t talked to Jonny Yost, the campaign manager, since their meeting. But she now worried enough to call him.

  He picked up on the first ring.

  “Hi. It’s Tori Justice calling. We met the other day.”

  “Um, yeah. You’re not easy to forget.”

  She enjoyed being tall, but towering over men meant enduring comments about her height daily since she’d turned fourteen. Sometimes they came as compliments, other times as if reactions to a strange mutation. Her general approach was to ignore them all.

  “I’m worried about Ned. We’d been texting about your data being destroyed, and then he stopped respon—”

  “What do you mean our data was destroyed?”

  “He didn’t tell you?”

  “That our data was destroyed? No!”

  “He texted me yesterday afternoon. I figured he would’ve also told you.”

  “He’d reached out to meet for a drink last night. Maybe he was going to tell me then.”

  “And he didn’t?”

  “He never followed up. But Ned can be flaky like that. So I spent the evening on Tinder.”

  She also preferred to ignore unnecessary details.

  “Well, he didn’t respond to me last night, either. And I’ve texted and called him all morning. Is that normal for him?”

  “No. He doesn’t show up at things sometimes, but he’s quick to respond to texts.”

  A pause followed Johnny’s last comment, the implications of Ned’s silence sinking in.

  “Tell me more about what happened to our data.”

  She explained the details.

  “You know, this all happened after we met with you,” Johnny said.

  She brushed aside his insinuation. “Which means someone may be watching us.”

  “Watching you guys?”

  “You too. And when I say ‘watching,’ I mean monitoring our voter files. If they saw that we logged on at the same time, they know we were sharing intel about the e
lection results. Which might have triggered the data wipe and—”

  “You really think someone took Ned because of our meeting?”

  “Let’s call it the worst-case scenario.”

  “And who is ‘they’? Who in the world would be able to see us both logging on at the same time?”

  He was finally catching on.

  “We have no idea. That’s what I wanted to brainstorm with Ned about. Can you check on him?”

  “I can get to his place in less than an hour. I’ll drop by and let you know what I find.”

  The call ended and Tori got dressed. After lacing up her sneakers, her phone beeped once, indicating a text had come through.

  Ned.

  Finally.

  Sorry. I misplaced my phone.

  CHAPTER 30

  WATERLOO, WISCONSIN

  Lute Justice had said no, gruffly, to the first offer. And to the second offer. On the third, he declined again, but more politely. He really didn’t want to give up his dairy farm.

  Now they were offering nearly double the initial amount.

  “I’ve gotta give you points for persistence,” he said to Sal Pavano, the New York lawyer who’d visited his small dairy farm in western Wisconsin four times over the past eight weeks. “But this farm and my daughter are all I have.”

  Lute towered over his guest as the two ambled between the barn and the modest farmhouse he’d called home most of his life. Looking down at the mud caked on Sal’s polished black shoes, Lute chuckled. Sal had to be a real big shot back in New York City. But on a farm he’d be useless. The lawyer looked fit, so he’d be strong enough. But he insisted on wearing a dark suit and those fancy shoes on each visit. The man glared at Lute’s cows as if they were rats, and the one time Lute had showed him the milking process, the city slicker squirmed like he was witnessing open-heart surgery.

  “We know that, Mr. Justice. That’s why we’re trying to make this worth your while.” He paused. “And hers.”

  Having grown up a rabid Knicks fan, Sal had recognized Lute Justice at their first meeting. If Lute’s career had come a decade later, he’d have reaped millions for his skills, something Sal brought up again and again.