“Where is he now?”
“Writing up a statement after being asked some rather targeted questions. Then he’ll be en route to DHS, with a couple of guys who mean business, to tell his story.”
“Ah, to the legendary Ms. Darcy Wiggins?” The man gave a deep chuckle. “Don’t envy him being in that interrogation seat.”
“Impersonating a NYPD officer is the least of his worries.”
“What was his story?” the man asked.
“Said a guy he only knows as ‘Mr. F’ by phone and has never met approached him about another job.”
“So he’d done previous jobs for Stapleton,” the man said.
“Looks that way. Stapleton said Simms would get half of the 10 grand up front and half when the job was done. Said he’d need a friend to carry it off. The job was simple. He’d be supplied with two uniforms. All the men had to do was go to the roof of a specific building in Times Square, wait for a call, and then do what they were told. Afterward they only had to keep their mouths shut. Simms says his friend got nervous when he saw the uniforms were NYPD and wanted to back out. He didn’t want any trouble. But both needed the payday, so they went to the rooftop. Mr. F called them once they were there to say that their target was on his way to the roof.”
“Were they supposed to kill him?”
“No, Stapleton said to detain him. He warned them that the guy was dangerous and needed to be off the streets. They were supposed to take him to a warehouse. Someone else would take it from there.”
“But then things didn’t go as planned,” the man reasoned.
“No. Simms said the kid didn’t look dangerous—just seemed off-kilter and scared. Before they could close in and grab him, he dove off the building. Simms said he and his partner stood there in shock for a minute, then realized they had to get out of there. They ran down the stairs and caught the first flight they could out of the country. Simms said Mr. F didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would be forgiving if a job went bad.”
“Why is Simms back in New York then?”
“Waited it out in South America for a while. Then his girl said she’d break up with him unless he returned home. He arrived last week. While talking with a friend at a bar, he came up with a lame excuse for why he’d been out of touch. One of our contacts heard him, put the pieces together, and called me.”
“Wonder what Stapleton was going to do with the kid,” the man said.
“Simms didn’t know. But I have a hunch Stapleton knew Justin Eliot had psychological issues and was scared of being trapped.”
“You’re saying there was no way that kid was going to make it off that rooftop in one piece,” the man replied.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. And since a suicide note was found, supposedly signed by Eliot but likely penned by Stapleton, it’s clear that at the end of the day, Stapleton was cleaning house.”
“That kid never had a chance.”
“No, he didn’t.”
NEW YORK CITY
Sean phoned Thomas. “I’ve read some of the journal. I’m beginning to understand what you did, and why.”
Thomas was quiet. At last he said, “That’s good. I wanted you to know why I stayed away for so long. But also why I watched over you.”
“I didn’t need you to do that,” Sean shot back.
“Maybe not,” Thomas replied. “But I didn’t want you or your family hurt in any way, especially in connection with me. Now that you know the truth, you can choose what path you’d like me to follow in that regard. That’s the least I can do for you.”
Sean drew in a breath. “I’ll need to think about it.”
“Take all the time you need.”
56
Will waited for his office door to shut, then made a private call.
“I need to know something,” he said as soon as the phone was answered. “Awhile back, you made me a promise. Will you still do what I asked? Honor the request I made of you? Even if that means hurting someone dear to you?”
There was a pause on the other end, and then a solemn, “I will.”
Will ended the call, then stood in front of the large glass window overlooking Madison Avenue. So it had been confirmed. But carrying the plan through might prove more difficult than any of them could imagine.
Will had been in business long enough to know that every outcome, even if promised, was not guaranteed.
The day after Bill and Ava returned from Australia, the family gathered at their place in New York City. Drew and Jon were also present.
Per Sarah’s wish, now there were no more secrets among the group. Her parents knew about the way Carson, Stapleton, and Spencer Rich had set up the photos with Sean and the Polar Bear Bomber to take care of Will’s run and control all three of the Worthingtons. Ava had been predictably herself at her queenly best—flint-eyed, but with a spark that declared no one was going to mess with her family.
Bill was glowering. “Stapleton. The old fox. At times I wondered if I could trust him. Seemed too smooth. I heard of some of his dealings but dismissed them as gossip. After all, Will, he took you under his wing at American Frontier. But now I know. And Spencer Rich. I never did like that boy, even when he was young. I’ve liked him even less as president.”
With Darcy’s permission and Jon adding his notes, Sarah also filled in the group about the research they had done on the Polar Bear Bomber and who he was.
Bill looked incredulous. “So you think Justin Eliot is Stapleton’s son?”
“No,” Sarah said, “we know he is. A DNA test proved it.”
Drew, who had at first seemed startled by the news, nodded slowly. “That makes sense. Stapleton’s other son is bipolar, and he’s kept him off the grid.”
“And bipolar disorder has genetic connections,” Jon added. “That, I know from research and from what Justin’s friend Michael told us.”
Bill’s hands started to shake. “So, if we put together all the pieces, you’re telling us that Stapleton had something to do with hiring his own son to bomb a building? Maybe even had something to do with his death?”
Sarah exchanged a glance with Jon. He nodded.
“Yes,” she said. “That’s what the facts point to. But to bring him to justice, we would have to prove that beyond the shadow of a doubt. We’re missing a critical piece of evidence to tie his actions together. Will we find it? I don’t know.”
“Either way,” Will said, “Stapleton has had to retire from the business world. City Capital decided they didn’t need the bad press he was garnering. And I already had him removed from the AF board by vote.”
“Mom, Dad, there’s one last thing you should know,” Sarah said. “Jon, would you explain?”
“There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it.” Jon faced Ava. “Ava, I knew you potentially had an affair with Thomas Rich because of a note that arrived at the news office.”
“But—” Ava interjected with a white face.
“Mom, let him finish,” Sarah said.
Jon filled them all in on the note and his guesses as to why the note had landed on his desk.
“Spencer Rich doesn’t know, but he’s desperate and fishing,” Bill said. “And he’s determined to take my family down with him.” He got up abruptly. “Excuse me. I have a call to make.”
Ava waved him back into the seat. “No,” she said quietly, “we will make that call together.” She leaned toward him. “It’s time.”
Sarah frowned. “Time for what?”
“Time for an old friend to fulfill a promise,” Ava stated.
Sean felt a prickle of concern at the back of his neck at his mother’s words. He turned toward Will, who must have sensed the same thing, for both brothers shivered.
At that moment, Sarah said, “I have an announcement.”
All eyes in the room focused on her.
Sarah lifted her chin with unflinching determination. “With throwing my hat into the ring, I can’t afford to have secrets arise th
at could derail my campaign.”
“Sarah,” Bill began.
“Dad, are you going to tell me to stop now, that it’s too dangerous, after we’ve already won so much—”
Bill held up a hand and pinned her with a fatherly glare. “No, that’s not what I’m going to say.” His voice boomed across the room. “I admit at first I wasn’t crazy about the idea of you running for president. I wanted to protect you. You’re my daughter.” His tone softened. “But I know you are what this country needs. A balanced, forward-thinking president who stands on tradition but has a heart for the disadvantaged and those struggling. A person who is just as comfortable with those who are wealthy as she is helping an abused woman or a destitute family. I knew, once you decided to get serious about your life’s work in college, that you were destined for something great. I have no doubt this is it.”
Sarah blinked.
Ava’s eyes glazed with tears. She looked back and forth between Bill and Sarah with pride and joy.
So much had changed in their family, Sean thought. The revealing of secrets had plunged them all into a terrible fire, but it also was a refining one. Through it, the Worthingtons and those they counted on had forged an even stronger bond.
At last Sarah spoke—directly to their father. “So you’re really okay with your daughter being the first Worthington in six generations to make a run for the presidency? Instead of one of your sons? That no longer bothers you?”
Sean caught the plaintive longing in her tone. Dad, just say it, he thought. Say it in front of all of us. She needs to hear it. As much as I needed to hear that I am truly your son, even though I don’t carry Worthington genes.
Bill got up from his chair. He moved toward his daughter and paused in front of her. “I’m not only okay with it, I’m enthusiastic about it. Princess, you will always be my baby girl, and I’ll fiercely protect you no matter what. But perhaps I’ve done a little too much of that and not enough of telling you how much I believe in you.” He took a deep breath. “So here goes. I believe you will not only finish the run for president well but be elected as the first female president of the United States. What’s not to trust? What’s not to love? You’ve charmed everyone and wrapped them around your little finger since you were little. You’ve fought for what’s right as an attorney. You have never given up, even when the road was interminably long. You will make your mark on the planet—as the best president the United States has ever had.”
Sarah blinked back tears. “Even when I’m running as a Republican and not a Democrat?”
Bill lifted a brow. “I’m still wrestling with that part of it.”
Everyone in the room laughed.
At that moment, Sean was convinced the US presidency was indeed Sarah’s destiny. She had the star qualities of charm, intelligence, and integrity that blazed into the hearts and minds of people of all ages. What America needed wasn’t more politicians to blow smoke. The country needed transparency, honesty, a fresh approach. Someone gutsy who understood business and all echelons of society. Someone with strong moral and religious values who supported tradition and education but also the critical nature of new research. Someone who would never back away from the heat of a fire.
That was his sister.
Sarah Katherine Worthington, president of the United States.
It did indeed have a ring to it.
“Now that we’re all on the same page, we need to make careful plans for how to cut off any third-party ideas at the knees,” Sarah announced.
Sean focused immediately on the solution. “We can call a press conference. I’ll set it up.”
57
The media waited in record numbers in Tishman Auditorium, located in New York University’s School of Law. Recently, the auditorium had hosted France’s minister of justice. Reporters and cameramen were now stationed to capture a groundbreaking moment with a high-ranking Republican candidate poised for the presidency.
Will thought back to the day he’d been ready to announce his Senate run. Things had turned out differently than he’d planned, but in the end perhaps they had occurred just as they should have to allow for this day to happen. There was an interesting paradox in that.
He glanced around the crowd. From his right periphery, he spotted a figure that rocketed his blood pressure—one of Spencer Rich’s top campaign staff. So the man was on hand, maybe to see how he could turn the political tide with some further dirty dealing. It didn’t matter that Stapleton and Carson had lost their power and connections. Such men were merely spokes, easily replaced, in the wheel of a powerful man like Spencer Rich.
Such truths were why Will had placed the private phone call to his own powerful source. But now he wondered if the man was wavering in his long-ago promise. Would he truly uphold his end of the bargain?
Drew followed Will’s intense glance to Rich’s staff member. When Drew turned back toward Will, he whispered, “I see him too. But not here. Not now. Trust your sister. Trust Sean.”
Not doing anything at this critical moment jangled Will’s strong sense of justice and his innate urge to protect his family. However, he knew Drew was right. He nodded slowly and relaxed his stance.
But old habits die hard. He found his gaze still flicking to the campaign staffer. That man could be here for only one of two reasons, or maybe both.
Perhaps he was merely checking out the hottest competition.
Or perhaps he had an ace card he planned on playing.
When the man slipped in behind reporter Ethan Miles, who was known for his outspoken brashness, and leaned toward him in a conspiratorial stance, Will knew exactly why he was there.
Will narrowed his eyes. So Spencer Rich was indeed trying to play his ace card at a critical juncture in the campaign. Rich hadn’t yet figured out that if he went to war against the Worthingtons, he’d never win.
Sean scanned the crowd.
Jon was in the ranks of reporters, ready to cover the event. To ensure the best coverage for the New York Times, he’d brought along one of their lead cameramen.
Darcy was also on hand to watch how things rolled out with Sarah’s surprise announcement.
Sean looked toward Elizabeth, who was still new to the Worthington life, sitting firmly entrenched next to Ava. He had no doubt his new wife could keep up with the whirl, or that the two of them would find plenty of ways to step out of it and escape to life outside the grid.
For now, though, both had agreed that he would remain as Sarah’s campaign manager to the end. After that, he had plenty of time to figure out what was next. Sean had no doubt his sister would become the star he already knew she was. But just what would happen during the national conventions, with Sarah and Spencer Rich both still holding the ranks as the two strongest Republican candidates, was anyone’s guess.
Spotting the intensity on Will’s face, he followed his brother’s gaze to Spencer Rich’s campaign staffer and reporter Ethan Miles. At that moment, Will’s head turned. The brothers’ eyes met. The truth of the situation passed between them with a glance.
Sean touched Sarah’s elbow and inclined his head slightly.
She too caught his meaning in an instant.
He handed her the folder they had prepared, and she gave a single nod.
They were armed and ready.
The first part of Sarah’s speech about fine-tuning her running platform had gone splendidly. The crowd of political reporters had been eager to capture their own take on the story but had seemed, for the most part, very respectful and supportive of her announced positions. The first few minutes of the Q & A time had gone much as expected.
Then Ethan Miles pushed his way toward the front. “Ms. Worthington, your declarations about wanting to change America indeed seem admirable. However, I’ve just received some information that could alter the nature of the Republican campaign—your campaign in particular. I’d like your comment on these.” With a flourish, he held up a couple large photos.
As reporters rushed
forward for a peek at the photos, Miles pushed closer to Sarah on the platform. Sean stepped to the edge of the platform, leaned to take the photos from Miles, and briefly looked at them. Then he calmly passed them to Sarah.
In the light of flashing cameras, she looked at each of the photos. They were just as she and her family had expected—Spencer Rich’s desperate ace card.
“Ms. Worthington, we’re waiting for your answer,” Miles said. “After all, these photos are pretty inflammatory. I think the American people have a right to know. These shouldn’t remain hidden.”
She lifted her head and pinned the reporter with an authoritative gaze. “Mr.—what is your name?”
“Miles,” he said, his tone cocky.
“Mr. Miles, you mean these photos?” She reached under the shelf on the podium and withdrew a folder. “I believe these are an exact match for the ones you just handed me. I have no reason or inclination to hide these pictures. In fact, I brought them myself and will be addressing them later in this very press conference. For now, though, I will continue with questions that are relevant to my presidential bid and campaign platform.”
“But Ms. Worthington, I insist—”
Sarah eyed him again. “Mr. Miles, you may insist all you want. But I will follow proper protocol and answer relevant questions first before handling mere tabloid fodder. You are, of course, welcome to go or to stay until that moment arises in this press conference.” She pointed to the next reporter with his hand up. “Yes?”
58
Will sat back in his seat, watching his take-charge sister with satisfaction. In one stroke, she’d completely deflated the aggressive young reporter of his “gotcha” moment by strategic planning, quick thinking, and above all, keeping her composure.
Will grinned. He was proud of her.
A Primary Decision Page 21