A Powerful Secret

by Dr. Kevin Leman

  “I could guess.” Drew pursed his lips. “But I could be wrong.”

  “Come on, Drew.” Will waved his coffee cup. “Your gut?”

  “Carson is the leak. Word is, he’s feeling the heat now that the DOJ and DHS are turning it up. Would make sense for him to go straight to the president to try to cut a deal. Especially since the president has a lot to lose if all of AF goes south.” He shrugged. “But you know Carson. No scruples. No patience.”

  Will lifted a brow. “So you’re saying when he didn’t get what he wanted fast enough, he thought he’d get some fire insurance to protect himself?”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  Will straightened. It made sense. “Then Sarah’s poised in the middle with the Polar Bear bombing case. And Darcy’s right there with her.”

  “Those two will never give up a prizefight like this until there’s a knockout.”

  “So he’s desperate.” Will narrowed his eyes. “Trying to save his own hide.”

  Drew nodded. “And he must have a pretty big get-out-of-jail-free card to play.”

  The idea of Jason Carson living on edge was a little bit of justice for what he’d put Will through, but it wasn’t enough. He hated that Carson was still on the loose, pulling strings, and worse, that he had that photo of Sean with the Polar Bear Bomber as collateral.

  Will wished he knew if there was any connection between his brother and the bomber and, if so, what kind it was. With his sister investigating, he only hoped his brother wouldn’t be implicated in whatever she uncovered.

  But maybe, just maybe, Will thought, this new wrinkle for Carson will sidetrack him from thinking about taking down Sean—and the entire Worthington family.

  Then again, Will had found out the hard way that bullies usually came back for more.

  LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

  His contact was hedging, and he’d called at an unusual time—early morning. The man behind the mahogany desk knew what that meant—his source had news he wouldn’t want to hear. But the man didn’t care for delays of any kind. Even if the information was unpalatable, he had to know. “Out with it,” he barked.

  “Evidently Sarah Worthington has been calling the White House nonstop since the news leaked. She won’t give up.”

  If she doesn’t, the man thought, she might get a lot more than she bargained for—like her brother implicated in the Polar Bear bombing.

  He couldn’t let that happen. He knew what he had to do.

  A simple call would take care of it.

  22

  NEW YORK CITY

  Sarah sat scowling in her desk chair at the DOJ. The Washington Post’s lead story revealed Jason Carson as the good guy who blew the lid off the Polar Bear bombing—risking all by telling his story. A quote from him proclaimed:

  I have done things I’m not proud of, things I wish I could change in my desire to assist Eric Sandstrom and American Frontier with their mission to provide bountiful, economic fuel for our nation. But none of my actions were illegal. However, I became convinced now was the time to tell about the events behind the scenes. My conscience won’t allow me to do anything less.

  Conscience? He has a conscience? Sarah dropped the newspaper on her desk in disgust.

  As far as what had really happened, no details were revealed that could be supported or rebutted. Just a bunch of general information to raise the noise level.

  Furious at not being notified by the White House of these events, Sarah again phoned Chalmers’s staff there. Again she was stonewalled with a song and dance: “I’m sorry. As you can imagine, Mr. Chalmers is rather busy at the moment but will return your call as soon as he is able.”

  She slammed down her office phone and called Darcy. “I smell rotten fish.”

  Darcy took over. “A whole barrel full of them. DHS wasn’t informed either.”

  The next several hours flew by as Sarah pieced together details with the DOJ investigators and made multiple calls to the White House.

  At 3:00 she was summoned to her boss’s office. John Barnhill, Criminal Division chief of the Department of Justice, was a political appointee in a Republican administration. At first he wasn’t keen on a blue-blood trust-fund baby working for him, but he’d grown to trust Sarah and her instincts. In fact, Sarah had served as a very useful shield for him on key cases like American Frontier. It looked good to have a member of one of the country’s wealthiest families working for him and the president, especially when her family was known for supporting the opposing party in power.

  Barnhill was ambitious. The current attorney general had announced months earlier that he was leaving. Sarah knew, from Drew and Jon alike, that her boss was angling for the job. It made sense, actually. Barnhill had done everything that was asked of him. While jobs like AG usually went to those who were closest to the occupant of the Oval Office, they sometimes went to deserving and talented political appointees like Barnhill. But not always. Sarah knew that as well as anyone.

  She assumed that her boss had news about the White House and that he’d give her a difficult time for her relentless badgering. This time, though, when Barnhill was silent, studying her, she had a feeling she was in deep trouble. So I’m going to be keelhauled for annoying the White House. She steeled herself for the onslaught that usually followed silence from John Barnhill.

  “I just got a call from President Rich,” he announced. He looked at some papers on his desk, then up at Sarah. There was a glint of anger in his eyes, and perhaps a bit of resentment. “He wants to vet you as a possible candidate for attorney general. When he puts it that way, who am I to say no?”

  Sarah opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. She honestly had no idea what to say. This was totally out of left field. “I’m not qualified.”

  “Yes, you are,” Barnhill replied. “As much as anyone is qualified for jobs like this. AGs are political appointments. They serve at the pleasure of the president.”

  “But you . . .”

  “It doesn’t matter what I might or might not want. Appointments like this often serve very specific political interests.”

  “And what possible interest could I serve?” Sarah was genuinely perplexed.

  “I think you know,” her boss said softly.

  “I don’t,” Sarah answered honestly. “I mean, it’s true that our family has the resources to support a Democrat to oppose President Rich in the next election. But that’s no reason—”

  “There are always reasons. And right now, the issue with American Frontier, campaign contributions, culpability—it all presents a big problem for the president.”

  “And my appointment as attorney general helps that?” Sarah mused out loud. But she and Barnhill both knew the answer. Of course it helped. The appointment would effectively keep Sarah from pursuing things to higher levels.

  “Yes, it does.” Her boss smiled wanly. “If it works, and you’re confirmed, then at least I can say that I’ll have a boss I genuinely respect.”

  Sarah blushed. “Thank you.” She rose from her chair. “So that’s all?”

  “Isn’t it enough?”

  Sarah nodded and left Barnhill’s office. She was still reeling as she walked back to her office. Attorney general? Now? In the midst of the AF case? In a daze, she headed back to her desk and dialed Darcy.

  “Two times in one day?” Darcy quipped.

  But when Sarah told her the news, her friend exclaimed, “Good for you! But . . .” Darcy’s voice lowered. “You know I have to ask this. Why the AG job? Why now?”

  Sarah almost laughed. Her friend knew her so well.

  “Maybe you did more than ruffle a few feathers by pestering the White House,” Darcy said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ever think somebody is anxious to take you out of the picture? What better way than to put you in a place where you have to report directly to those you’re trying to investigate, and to distract you from your bombing investigation and who that somebody might be?”


  The possibility and weight of that knowledge settled in. Was the president of the United States trying to buy her off?

  Just how deep and high was that barrel of rotten fish?

  So Carson is now a good guy in the eyes of the world. Will exhaled in frustration. Drew was right, as always.

  Then he remembered what his father always said: “Those who are honest and stay honest will win in the long run, son. Those who aren’t will be revealed for who they are someday.”

  Still, Will was aggravated. He wanted that someday—when Carson and Sandstrom would both be revealed for who they were—to come soon enough that he could enjoy seeing it.

  And he hoped his family wouldn’t be hurt in that revelation.

  23

  GENEVA, SWITZERLAND

  Sean made his way to the new NGO headquartered near the World Health Organization. While his heart longed to be on the front line of where the greatest need might be—like in Nepal, helping with the aftermath of the earthquake, or in Malawi, assisting severe flooding victims—he knew that the best use of his time, wealth, and talents was to network with those who commanded the troops in the field.

  GlobalHealth was now flourishing and making even more of a difference, thanks to Sean’s generous gift. Now, in Geneva, he was doubling down on that gift by meeting with one of the key partners in their work, a relatively new NGO that worked closely with the pharmaceutical industry to take drugs about to expire and make them available across the world.

  Prescription drugs were expensive in the West, in the developed world. But this particular NGO was run by a brilliant medical doctor who’d developed a system to move nearly expired drugs quickly. It was a bit like hedge funds that used computers to track data. The NGO, Quant Medical, used big data to find gaps in sales and approach companies about making donations. Those companies could then hedge their losses through the tax benefits. Both sides won.

  GlobalHealth had introduced Sean to Quant Medical through a consultant who’d worked in some capacity for both organizations. Sean had texted back and forth with her several times prior to today.

  It had been a long time since Sean had connected with his family. Even Sarah seemed to have given up trying to contact him for a while. By now she was used to his patterns.

  “I figure you’ll pop up on the grid when you’re ready,” she teased him once when he’d been out of pocket for a month. “I can’t blame you for wanting to take a break from the Worthington craziness. I feel like that sometimes myself.”

  He could count on his sister to be honest, even if she was good at manipulating him.

  Sean hadn’t talked to Jon since he’d stated his interest in Elizabeth.

  And Elizabeth? It had been even longer since their abruptly ended call when he’d behaved so badly. Yes, he could admit it now. But with his start-up globe-trotting he hadn’t had a minute to schedule a trip to Seattle, and she hadn’t responded to his texts asking how her work was going. Maybe she was neck-deep in a research project. Maybe she was still mad at him. Or maybe she was too focused on Jon now to respond.

  The first two options he could handle. The third? He didn’t want to go there.

  Strange how being on the road so much in the last month had increased his loneliness instead of energizing him. He felt fragmented from everyone he truly loved, even while his social networking circle increased exponentially. At least the jet-setting kept him from thinking too much.

  He entered the bistro in downtown Geneva to meet his new colleagues from Quant Medical for dinner. Before he knew it, the two glasses of wine he’d had with dinner were taking a fuzzier toll on his brain than he’d expected. Sean wasn’t a drinker. Just a glass of wine with dinner sometimes, or the occasional beer after work with friends or in one of the suites at a New York Yankees game. That was all. He’d learned to nurse one drink for a long time.

  Right as their evening was winding down, an exotic dark-haired, dark-eyed woman approached. “Hi, I’m Vanessa.” She pointed a well-manicured finger playfully at him. “And you are?”

  “Sean.” He didn’t add his last name. Tonight he didn’t want to be a Worthington.

  They started chatting, and he assessed her as his colleagues drifted away one by one. She was the flirtatious, looking-for-a-one-night-stand type who scoped out bars, and she seemed to be paying attention only to him.

  Loneliness swept over him in the midst of the noisy crowd. What does it matter if I give in? No one will know, he rationalized. The woman he really wanted was quite likely gone—into the arms of his good friend, no doubt.

  Suddenly his head ached from the alcohol, and he wanted the pain in his heart to go away. He found himself walking, one arm around Vanessa’s shoulders, back to his room.

  But just as he reached his door, he heard an irritating voice in his head. Stay on the right path. He couldn’t brush it away. Even here, halfway across the world from New York City, he couldn’t escape the morals he’d grown up with.

  So he did the only thing he could. He told Vanessa, “You’re beautiful. But this is not for me.”

  She reached out one hand and stroked his face, then his chest. Her hand glided sensuously downward. “But I can—”

  He grabbed her hand. “No, you can’t. I’m going inside my room. Alone. And you are going to leave.”

  When he dropped her hand and turned to insert his key in the lock, he felt a brush in just the right place. His body betrayed him, responding almost instantly. She moved closer behind him, one arm snaking around his neck. Her breath was warm on his left ear.

  Loneliness and desire peaked, weakening his resolve. For a minute he relished the touch, the promised pleasure. The key wavered in his hand.

  Then the voice spoke again. Stay on the right path.

  He spun and gave her a little shove away from him. “No. Leave now.”

  With a swift movement that didn’t match his dulled faculties, he inserted the key in the lock and stepped inside his room. Slamming the door shut, he double-locked it.

  Then, using the door as a prop for his back, he slid to the floor.

  An image of Elizabeth, her brown eyes sparking with indignation like they had the day she’d been off-loaded from the USS Cantor during the oil fiasco, burned into his now crystal-clear mind.

  He sat on the hotel room floor, stunned. How could this be happening to him? Talk about stupid. Suddenly every muscle ached like he’d been running a marathon, and he held his head in both hands.

  Another thought struck him. People were always looking to take the Worthington family down, and he’d almost given them a reason. Talk about doubly stupid.

  He straightened. What if Vanessa had been sent by political enemies he didn’t yet know even existed, to cause him harm? Giving in would have ended the potential of him running for governor of New York before he’d even begun. Even events that seemed secret would come to light, he knew. Drew had drilled that into his head especially in Sean’s teen years, when he’d been far more prone than his brother and sister to wander down the wrong path.

  As crazy as it sounded even to himself, he truly was entertaining the idea of running for governor. It would make his father proud, for starters. What were Bill Worthington’s words when the family was gathered at Chautauqua? Sean searched his recall. “It’s about time for someone to turn this country around. Might as well be a Worthington.” Yes, that was it.

  More than anything else in the world, Sean longed to hear from his father, “Well done, son.”

  But that seemed to be his dad’s line to Will.

  LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

  The man flipped through the package that had just arrived by special courier. Multiple digital shots showed Sean Worthington and an unknown woman walking down a hotel hallway, then stopping outside a room door. Tilting his head, the man studied every detail in the photos. Next he’d turn to the video footage.

  His contact called several minutes later. “I assume you got the package.”

  “Did he fall?
” the man asked.

  “No.” There was a pause at the other end of the line. “He was tempted, as you can see—what man with a pulse wouldn’t be? But he didn’t fall. He made his intent clear by slamming the hotel room door. Bet it was the first time anyone rejected that woman. Did you see the clip of her face right after the door slammed?”

  “I haven’t watched the video footage yet.”

  His contact chuckled. “It was murderous. Gives a new meaning to the old adage about what a spurned woman will do.”

  So Sean is a good guy after all, untainted morally by wealth and position. The man nodded to himself. Bill Worthington had always been a straight-as-an-arrow kind. It would make sense he’d taught Sean to stay on the path. It was one of the many reasons the man was having Sean watched, to find out the truth behind the tabloid blarney.

  “And the woman?” he asked.

  “Top-of-the-line courtesan, flown in from London. Very expensive. Noted for getting the desired results.”

  That merely firmed the man’s resolve to do what he needed to. He leaned in toward the phone. “What about that other matter?”

  “Done,” the contact announced. “Sarah Worthington will be named the new AG.”

  Ah, so the sharp young attorney can be derailed, the man thought. But for how long?

  24

  NEW YORK CITY

  “Son, would you come to the penthouse today?” Ava’s authoritative tone was the kind Sean knew he couldn’t ignore. At least not for long.

  Less than 24 hours ago, he’d been in Geneva. Between the flight time, a delay at the airport with a plane that had to be serviced, and jet lag, he hadn’t been able to sleep for more than four hours at his place. Thank goodness his housekeeper had cleaned out the fridge and stocked it with fresh food. He’d been poised at the open fridge door when his mother called.

  “Sean? You heard me, right?”

  Of course he did, loud and clear. “Yes, Mom, I heard you. I’m in the middle of checking out my breakfast options.”