by Laura Hayden
“But we can’t hide it, M.”
Emily continued to pace, her face screwed up in concentration. Kate watched in dread and fascination as her friend’s expression revealed her inner workings. She’d come up with an idea, work through its ramifications in her head, then either improve upon it or discard it.
It was a process that Kate had learned long ago to not disturb. The consequences of interrupting the process were far less appetizing than the solution or resolution she ultimately divined.
Finally Emily held up two fingers. “As I see it, we have two choices. Choice number one: We go scorched-earth and eradicate all the records that connect Dozier with Pembrooke.”
Now it was Kate’s turn to weigh in as a devil’s advocate, pointing out all the flaws to the solution, whether she approved of it or not. In this particular case, she definitely didn’t approve.
“That would be impossible. There’s no way you can guarantee you’d access all the records, especially if he used any offshore companies.” Kate studiously avoided the use of the word we and put the onus on Emily herself. This was a solution Kate wanted no part of, whether it would be effective or not. It was unethical.
Emily nodded. “True. We’d also need to be wary of the scorched trail back to the White House. I think you’ll like choice number two much better.” She offered a terse smile. “We do nothing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that. Nothing. We can’t hide the truth because we’re not actually sure what the truth is. Dozier was a sick man. Who knows what he was raving about on his deathbed.” She pushed into Kate’s face. “Who else can confirm what he said to you?”
“No one. I was there alone.”
Emily failed to hide the gleam of triumph in her eyes. “Maia’s dead and no one overheard his confession to you. No witnesses.”
Kate closed her eyes. But I’m a witness. . . .
“Tell me you haven’t started any investigations into his financial records or reviewed his financial disclosures?”
“Not yet. I wanted to tell you about it first.”
“Excellent. Then we’ll choose door number two. And your job is to not look.”
The order took her by surprise. “What do you mean?”
Emily dropped to the stool. “Just that. Don’t look. Don’t investigate. Don’t ask, don’t tell. Forget what he told you. He was a confused old man who was raving as he was dying. He had no idea what he was saying.”
“Emily—”
“If we start digging into his finances now, we could be accused of trying to start a cover-up, even if all we’re actually trying to do is uncover the truth.”
“But—”
“But nothing. If we actively look for the information, then we open ourselves up for accusations of wanting to whitewash his memory or, worse, covering our own rosy red rear ends. If someone else finds it, all we do is haul out all our extensive reports that showed him clean and clear. After all, the FBI looked into his finances and they didn’t find anything, right? If someone discovers he was a principal owner of a bunch of bogus holding companies—which is how I assume he hid it all this time—then we put the blame solely where it should be placed—on Dozier himself for hiding the truth from us.”
“How can you suggest that we do nothing?”
“Because it’s the answer that contains the maximum amount of truth.”
“Except for the fact we learned about this yesterday.”
“Then forget what you heard. Discount it. Lose it in the emotions of the day.” At Kate’s expression of dismay, Emily added, “Don’t look so shocked, K. The old man would have given me this advice himself if the tables had been turned. But the beauty of it is that it’s mostly all true. We had no idea Dozier had positioned himself to illegally profit from O:EI. However, there’s no real difference between learning about it now or learning about it three months from now. No one’s going to profit from it now that he’s dead.”
“What about his family? They’ll inherit.”
Emily’s lips curled into a glacial smile that the American public had never seen, but Kate had, too many times to count. “There’s no one but Jack, and don’t worry about him. Considering the bad blood between them, I sincerely doubt he’s even in the will. And if he is, I can take care of him. So—” she laced her fingers together and stretched her arms out as if to signal the end of the discussion—“are we clear?”
A battle warred inside Kate, part of her wanting to argue with her friend, the other realizing that the president’s mind had been made up.
“Yes, ma’am.”
IT WAS TOO CLOSE TO MORNING for Kate to bother going home again, so she spent the next couple of hours in her office, stretched out on the leather couch with Buster curled around her feet. Indecision wouldn’t allow her to sleep for more than a few fitful minutes at a time.
By dawn, she’d mapped out what she thought was the best strategy to work in the background and clean up behind her president. Despite Emily’s edict that their best plan of action was no action at all, Kate knew full well that overt inaction was counter to Emily’s natural programming. Her need to be proactive would lure her into activating either the scorched-earth method or at least a modified version of it.
Kate’s plan was to preserve the original evidence, which she believed would prove—even to a doubtful America and beyond—that Dozier had lied to everyone about his holdings.
If Emily was determined to scorch the earth, Kate would resow it with the same crop, essentially making sure she could replace the missing files with the untouched originals. It was ambitious at best, but no more so than Emily’s plan.
But the key to success was getting there first. And to do that, Kate had to find a way to reopen Dozier’s financial records without tipping off Emily or a scandal-hungry press. That meant Kate had to find a way to get the information that didn’t utilize her usual manpower so that absolutely no trail led back to the White House.
Luckily she had an idea or two how to make that happen.
The second step in her plan would be to learn more about Dozier’s will. If his son, Jack, was in line to inherit his father’s properties, Emily would have to convince him to forfeit potential millions. How likely was that? Then again, Jack and Emily had known each other for years. What Jack Marsh might not be willing to do for his estranged father, maybe he’d do for Emily’s sake or at her request.
Until she learned more about Jack Marsh, he would remain an unknown variable in her calculations.
Usually such uncertainties left a bad taste in Kate’s mouth and a rock in her stomach. The only thing that kept her going was the bottom line—that neither of them had realized or had prior knowledge of Dozier’s involvement in Pembrooke. No one did, including a team of trained, independent financial investigators who had failed to uncover any inkling of his involvement.
But would a jaded American public believe their protestations?
She doubted it.
Much too soon, Kate began to hear occasional muffled voices from the hallway outside her office, signifying that the West Wing was starting its day. She rose from her makeshift bed and freshened herself, changing into the spare suit she kept hidden in the armoire. Buster began to sniff the furniture, a sure sign that he needed to relieve himself.
“Not in my office, you don’t,” she warned him. Once he was leashed, they headed outside together, where he examined and rejected every column of the pergola that sat outside her office, forcing her to take him toward the more spacious Rose Garden. After sniffing and subsequently ignoring what seemed to be every bush, he finally picked his target.
While he was busy, Kate heard a tap on the window and saw Emily, framed in one of the Oval Office windows. She crooked her finger and Kate’s stomach began to churn.
Once he’d completed his task, Kate led Buster to the door leading from the garden to the Oval Office, telling herself she was shivering only because it was a chilly morning.
They had hardly
stepped into the room before Emily pulled her over to the fireplace, where small flames licked the ceramic logs. “You must be freezing. Here, warm up.”
While Kate rubbed life and feeling back into her hands, Emily squatted down to pat Buster, who responded with his usual declaration of undying love.
“You two need to let me apologize for calling you out last night.” When she glanced up at Kate, a rare look of sadness filled Emily’s eyes.
Or was it simply the lingering signs of her hangover?
“I never felt as alone in my life as I did last night in this big old house. I didn’t think Dozier’s death would have hit me that hard. I really needed the company.” Her sigh was somewhat ragged. “But I sure didn’t need that much wine.”
I tried to distract you from drinking is what Kate wanted to say. But instead, she took the accommodating coward’s way out. “That’s okay.” After a second, she added, “Buster enjoyed getting out of the house.”
That made Emily smile. “Did you like your cookies, buddy?” She rubbed his ears. “We have more.” She rose, walked over to the side table closest to the fireplace, and retrieved a white pastry box tied with a red ribbon. “Here.” She handed it to Kate but addressed her comment to Buster. “In case you get hungry today, little man.”
She turned and faced Kate, the brief flare of amusement fading from her eyes. “Although I was more than a little tipsy last night, I do remember everything we talked about. I’ve spent most of the morning reexamining our conversation. I think I was wrong.”
Kate tried not to betray her inner thoughts.
“We can’t take the chance that no one will look into Dozier’s finances now that he’s dead. We need to find out the truth for ourselves, immediately, then present it to the public.”
Emily’s suggested course of new action caught Kate by surprise. A sudden flare of guilt fired up inside of her, one that condemned her for failing to believe her friend could make the right and moral decision. But another part of Kate whispered in warning that Emily was merely saying what she thought Kate wanted to hear.
Unaware of Kate’s turmoil, Emily blithely continued. “I called Jack a little while ago, and he’s flying in for the funeral. We’ll have a chance to talk to him and figure out how to present our findings.” She paused and pierced Kate with her sharpest eye contact. “Don’t worry. This will work out. I promise. But I need to ask you this—don’t do anything yet. Don’t start delving into Dozier’s records; don’t start investigating how he hid this from us. Let me talk to Jack first. He deserves to know what’s happening before we start digging up Dozier’s sins. I promise we’ll do the right thing.”
She reached for Kate’s hand and squeezed it.
“Promise.”
Four days later, when Kate was introduced to Jack Marsh after the funeral, she’d expected to meet either an irate man, angry to have been pressured into attending his estranged father’s funeral, or a relieved man, glad to embrace the fact that the strained relationship had finally ended.
Instead, he was quiet, polite, and far more forthcoming and circumspect about the family discord than Kate expected. After the service and interment at Arlington, they returned to the White House, where Emily ushered Jack into the Blue Room and offered him one of the chairs nearest the fireplace. Although the sun had shone during the graveside service, the cold air held the usual bite of the last days of February. While plenty of people had attended the services, only a handful had been invited back to the White House. Burl and his wife had been pressed into service, making nice with a trio of Dozier’s remaining contemporaries on the opposite side of the room.
After Emily, Kate, and Jack all got settled in the chairs, Kate tried to hide her surprise when Emily reached forward and grasped the handle of the ornate silver coffeepot sitting on the low table between them. She poured a cup of coffee, offering it to Jack Marsh. The action was uncharacteristically domestic, meaning Emily either was extremely distracted or was working an agenda she’d failed to mention to Kate.
Kate knew she could make book on the latter.
“Where has the time gone?” Emily pondered aloud as she poured a cup for herself and, in the most surprising move of all, a third cup, ostensibly for Kate. However, Kate knew that Emily’s largesse was probably stretched past its limit and that she would be responsible for retrieving the cup herself.
Emily acknowledged Kate’s murmur of thanks with a quick nod and the hint of a wink.
The hidden message?
Don’t get used to this.
Then Emily turned to Jack. “The last time we saw each other was when? Wasn’t it Christmas? Far too many years ago.”
He took a sip, then cradled the cup in both palms as if to warm himself. “I remember that. I’d just finished working a big job in Ecuador the week before.” He colored slightly. “I never did thank you for letting me crash your family’s holiday celebrations.”
She waved away his belated concern. “No thanks necessary, Jack. The way I figure it, you’re practically a Benton.”
He took a bracing sip of coffee. “It certainly seemed like it sometimes.” He graced her with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How’s your mother? I got a nice note from her last month telling me that you’d won the election.” He chuckled. “As if I hadn’t heard . . .”
“She’s fine.” Emily added an artful sigh. “You know Mother . . . she still lives in the Dark Ages. She thinks people living in Japan might not have access to the news in America. I’ve tried to explain to her the intricacies of the Internet, satellite news organizations, and such, but it’s simply over her head. Technology is so not her strong suit.” Her laughter had a hollow ring to it. “She’s fried the last three cell phones I’ve given her. In fact, the third one lasted only a week before she completely destroyed it.”
Emily was on a real roll, her mother being her favorite subject of amused ridicule.
“And yet she lives most of her time in France and seems able to have no trouble keeping up with my life here even when she’s over there. Go figure.”
Jack laughed. “Ah, but that’s European elitism for you. She probably thinks Japan is still a quaint little country with odd-looking people making transistor radios.”
Emily took a sip of her coffee and nodded. “Probably so. In any case, she’s definitely stuck in the sixties.” She paused, then added almost wistfully, “I think Mother always resented that I grew up.”
Kate said nothing, but having gotten to know Claire Benton over the years, she thought the assessment was dead-on.
Evidently Jack did too. “I guess it’s hard to consider yourself eternally young when your children are no longer children but have become adults.”
Emily released an almost brittle laugh. “Exactly.” She leaned forward with a gleam of conspiracy in her eyes. “One time—when she was halfway to being totally blitzed—Mother actually admitted that her sense of self-identity took its hardest blow when Hepburn died.” Emily raised a wagging finger and added, “Audrey, not Katharine.
“Mother always used to preen shamelessly when folks said she looked like a young Audrey Hepburn. But now, half the journalists who interview her don’t even know who Audrey Hepburn was.”
A hint of a real grin crossed Jack’s face. “And the other half are probably thinking, ‘An old Audrey Hepburn.’”
“Ouch! Be nice to me or I’ll tell her you said that.” She all but punched him in his arm.
This time, his grin expanded to something much more genuine, reflecting in his eyes. “You always were a rotten little kid.”
Emily brushed off his statement by rolling her eyes and turning to Kate. “Don’t believe him. Jack always was and always will be a big bully.”
“That reminds me.” He turned to Kate, as if suddenly remembering she was there. “I just want to say how much I appreciated all you did for my father. The hospital visit, the funeral arrangements . . . everything.”
“It’s the least we could do,” she sai
d. “Dozier was a great friend, a formidable politician, and an invaluable mentor.” It was no exaggeration when she added, “Dozier was . . . family.” Maybe not her favorite “uncle,” but one nonetheless.
To her surprise, Jack blinked, evidently battling a tear or two as some emotion swelled inside him. He avoided any response or explanation by taking another sip of his coffee and simply nodding.
Emily busied herself by pouring another cup of coffee. Her telltale cough meant she was choking back some emotion of her own. “The old man was the last of his kind, you know. There’s no one left of his generation now.”
Jack glanced beyond Emily’s shoulder at the two old men who were ranting at Burl and Melissa, evidently taking advantage of the opportunity to impart their own particular brand of wisdom to the younger and therefore ignorant generation. The third gentleman had fallen asleep and was starting to snore. Burl still looked accommodating and interested while Melissa was starting to glaze over.
Jack leaned closer. “I can think of one or two that are still kicking around. I’m not too sure about number three.”
Emily gave the trio a dismissive nod. “I’m not talking about deaf and deafer over there. As soon as this is over, we wheel the ancient mariners back to the nursing home and reward them with pudding. But your dad—now he was different. He was an asset to my campaign, not to mention my administration, up to the day he died. Sharp as a tack but lethal like a sword.”
“That’s because you kept him young. You made him feel wanted and valuable.” Jack’s face darkened for a moment. “You were a far better surrogate daughter than I ever was his natural son.”
Kate watched as Emily struggled for the right response. The polite thing would be to decry his statement, but that might be hard to do if Emily actually agreed with him.