A Perfect Ambition

by Dr. Kevin Leman

As Darcy mouthed off about the executive vice president for this, that, and the other thing at American Frontier, Sarah grinned. Darcy had a thing about titles. She hated them. The longer and fancier they were, the more disgusted she was. It was why she only called herself an investigator when people asked her what she did. Not a senior investigator for domestic terrorism, which is what her actual government title was. Investigator was good enough for her.

  “That guy all but lied to me on the phone, and I know it,” Darcy said. “I tried to get the chief to let me fly to Barrow, Alaska, to find that press aide who’d pointed out the polar bear suit guy to Catherine Englewood, the CNN field producer.”

  “I’ll bet that sailed like a lead balloon,” Sarah said.

  “He said I could take my vacation in Alaska if I wanted, but that was the only way I was getting there anytime soon. So I booked a flight to Barrow.”

  “What!” Sarah was rarely shocked by anything her friend did, but this one stopped her.

  “Yeah, I got the ticket, called that guy at AF who’d stonewalled me, waved the ticket around, and asked him to arrange for a face-to-face meeting with his press aide when I landed in Alaska. I asked him for very specific instructions about precisely where I would be able to find the aide so I could interview him.” Darcy smirked. “He was shocked.”

  “I’ll bet.” Sarah grinned.

  “I don’t think he believed me,” Darcy said. “So I scanned in the ticket and emailed it over to him. We went back and forth about the address where I could find the guy. Mr. Executive VP was coughing and hacking and backpedaling the entire time. But by the end of the day, he’d miraculously located the guy and put him on the phone with me. I think he figured it was a whole lot safer to have the guy talk to me remotely than to risk what I’d learn by grilling him physically out in Alaska with no corporate suits around.”

  Sarah started laughing. “So let me guess. The guy had a lawyer present for the phone conversation?”

  “Two of them.” Darcy wiggled her eyebrows.

  “And you never actually intended to fly to Alaska on your vacation?”

  “Well, I have always wondered what it was like there . . .”

  “The plane ticket you were waving around?”

  “In the round file.” Darcy smiled victoriously as she thumbed toward the ticket she’d recently shredded and tossed away. “The airline has already sent the refund back to my credit card account.”

  “So I’m dying to know, what did the press guy have to say about the Polar Bear Bomber?”

  Darcy leaned forward in her chair. “That’s where it gets interesting, my friend. I asked him about the Polar Bear Bomber, what had caught his eye. He started rambling about how goofy the guy looked, how he’d been wandering around the plaza in the middle of the protesters for at least a couple of hours. Well, I stopped him there and asked him how he knew the bomber had been out in the plaza for two hours. The guy didn’t even take a breath. He said one of his buddies from the CEO’s suite had stopped by his office and pointed him out from the window. They’d apparently had quite a laugh. Then, for good measure, that same guy stopped by two hours later and suggested that it might be a good idea for him to meander down to the plaza and see if Catherine had the guy in the suit on video.”

  “No way,” Sarah said. “Someone from the CEO’s office basically told the press aide about the Polar Bear Bomber? He’d been keeping his eye on the bomber for a couple of hours, and then suggested the aide make sure they had the guy on video?”

  “It would seem so. At that point, one of the AF lawyers ended the interview. Right on the spot.”

  “Just ended it?”

  “Yep.” Darcy smiled. “Right then and there.”

  “So . . .” Sarah’s mind kicked into high gear, connecting the dots. “AF knew something about the Polar Bear Bomber before that backpack was ever planted, or suspected something about him, or possibly put him up to it in the first place as a diversion.”

  “Yep.” Darcy gave a single nod.

  “So American Frontier staged that whole thing? Planted their own bomber in the plaza to draw attention away from the incident that was threatening to bring their company down?”

  This would certainly impact her case against American Frontier. With public opinion turned more empathetic toward AF with the bombing of their building, Sarah and the Justice Department would have a tough go of it. But if this really was true, and the media got ahold of it . . .

  “There’s a lot of money at stake, I’ve been told,” Darcy said. “Like billions and billions. People have done far crazier things for a whole lot less money.”

  “True, but blowing something up outside your own building?” Sarah argued for the sake of arguing. But her gut told her the truth.

  Darcy shrugged. “Think about it. Would it be any different than the storefront owner who realizes that he’d make more money and save his business by burning down his building for the insurance money than by continuing to hang on? A diversion, in this case, proved to be an extraordinary stroke of good fortune for AF. It dried up the protests and diverted the media attention. It made them victims instead of villains almost overnight. A good day’s work, if you ask me.”

  “One big problem. You’ll have a tough time proving that. Unless, of course, the Polar Bear Bomber shows up and confesses.”

  Darcy smiled like the Cheshire cat. “I may not have to. If you just hold on to a bone long enough, eventually everyone else either loses their grip or gives up. Sometimes you merely do nothing and wait to see what happens next.”

  “So you wait.”

  “Yep.” She crossed her arms in her best I-mean-business pose. “But first, you and I and a number of other investigators are going to shake the trees a bit, see what falls out. We’re going to spread the word that we suspect American Frontier may have had knowledge about this bombing beforehand, that we’re looking into questions about whether they put somebody up to it as a diversion. Then we’ll see who shows up to try to defuse the information.”

  Sarah leaned forward. “That’s the girl I know. Force AF to make a decision.”

  “Exactly. I’m sure AF hoped I wouldn’t keep pursuing this line of inquiry. They were betting it would all go away quietly. But when they realize I’m not letting go, they’ll have to do something about it.”

  “And the truth will be revealed.”

  It was so classic Darcy. Now they had to wait to see if the gutsy move would work. But Sarah was betting it would. With Sandstrom’s ego and the AF board’s push toward making the public happy, how could it not?

  45

  Will sat at his kitchen table, skimming the Wall Street Journal over a cup of black coffee. He’d already received a call from his father.

  “So you stepped out. Took a risk. Good for you, son.” After those few words, William Jennings Worthington V hung up.

  But it was enough for Will. He smiled. He could see his father, pipe in hand, sitting in his favorite rocker on the porch of their summer home, telling him, “If you dream big, do the right thing, set your direction, take your compass, and never stray from the path, you can accomplish anything you decide to do.”

  Bill Worthington had spent a lifetime fulfilling his own words. Now he’d passed the baton of leadership for the empire he’d built to his son. That trust meant more than Will could ever say.

  That was why he didn’t waver now and why walking away from American Frontier was an easy decision. William Jennings Worthington VI was sailing in a new direction, and the world would soon know it.

  Will gazed back down at the paper spread out on the table. To most people, the two exclusive stories in the Journal would have very little in common. One was about a shareholder lawsuit filed the day before. This story was full of fight, emotion, and financial implications. It warranted a front-page, down-the-right-side spot because the fate of the lawsuit was entangled with American Frontier’s efforts to deal with an oil spill in the Arctic that was beginning to dominate global news
coverage.

  The second, much briefer story was about a wealthy billionaire and director of Worthington Shares who intended to run against the senior senator from New York. This story, relegated to a spot deep inside the newspaper’s second section, was neither uncommon nor special. Wealthy people ran for high political office all the time. Billionaire Michael Bloomberg, for instance, had become the mayor of New York City while simultaneously running Bloomberg Philanthropies and a smattering of business interests, such as national news magazines.

  To those who understood such things—like the White House chief of staff, Mark Chalmers, or Frank Stapleton—the two stories were both inextricably linked and a sad, woeful commentary on their collective failure to bring Will Worthington into the welcoming arms of the Grand Old Party.

  Will had already made his Senate run official. In fact, he had a team out in the field right now, gathering signatures, and would have those wrapped up and the papers filed in less than 24 hours. He’d already hired campaign staff and a media firm. An advertising agency had made inquiries about space and cost in every major media market in the state.

  “So,” Laura said as she slid into a kitchen chair next to him, “you stepped away from one fight and began another.”

  He laughed.

  “And you’re wondering what’s next?” Her liquid brown eyes probed his. “Since you’re not really a Republican and not really a Democrat?”

  They’d had this discussion tons of times since the day they’d walked down the aisle. Drew, Laura, and Paul were the only ones who understood the pull between his conservative morals, which aligned him with the values of the Republican Party, and his passion for federal or national goals that encouraged innovation and entrepreneurs, which aligned him with the Democratic Party. But now, as far as the public was concerned, he was clearly choosing a side.

  He sighed. “I was so close to becoming the CEO of American Frontier. I had my heart and mind set on that. It seemed like the type of job I was born for. But when the game changed . . .”

  “Something changed inside you,” Laura said softly.

  At that moment, his cell phone buzzed. It was Drew.

  Laura simply smiled and got up to leave.

  “You stirred up a hornet’s nest already,” Drew reported. “Senator Loughlin is clearly worried. New York is always a tough crowd for a Republican. As you know, he’s survived for years on his ability to deliver for Wall Street, your industry, and others. But that only goes so far. Word is, if you turn into some sort of a populist with a virtually unlimited campaign checking account, that doesn’t bode well for Loughlin.”

  Will laughed. “I can only imagine what the guy is thinking, and it can’t be good.”

  Drew sobered. “Remember that discussion we had when I called all of you Worthington siblings to my home?”

  “Of course I remember it. It’s been on my mind ever since.”

  “Well, all three of you are really now in the midst of the fray. And it’s about to get much, much worse. Loughlin may attempt to take you out at the start before you can get any traction.”

  Opposition research—a polite way of describing efforts to demonize, tear down, and ultimately destroy a political opponent by exposing hidden or secret things at important moments in campaigns—was a well-known tactic in any campaign. The bigger, well-funded campaigns had operatives who were highly skilled at opposition research on opponents. They knew precisely where to dig and probe—and what made sense once exposed. They didn’t let facts necessarily get in the way. A good lie, well told, was nearly as good as a harmful truth.

  “Will, you’re new in the political scene. Untried.” Drew hesitated. “And a little naïve. Your father was too in some of his ventures. He couldn’t understand why people, when given a chance to do right, sometimes chose not to. He had a strong sense of justice, just as you do. But the political arena isn’t about justice, and the fight can get vicious. Word has spread that you sold your American Frontier shares yesterday evening, or at least announced your intention to do so. And that you only put up a token fight at the board meeting on the Arctic policy. So they’re assuming you’re gone from AF, even though you haven’t said so.”

  “So now they assume I’ll throw Worthington wealth and connections toward the political fight next,” Will said. “And they’re worried.”

  “Sure. You remind them a lot of Jack Kennedy, and you’re just as well connected. Not to mention you have a track record of being a fast learner.” There was a weighty silence before Drew went on. “There’s something else you need to know. Chalmers and Stapleton are in bed together to take you down. Make sure you don’t get far in the Senate race.”

  “What?” Will felt a twist in his gut. He was no fan of the White House staff, but Frank Stapleton had been a friendly mentor to Will since the beginning of his career.

  “Yes, Stapleton. I have a feeling it’s why he’s always worked so hard to bring you in, take you under his wing. Will, you can be a dangerous opponent, and Stapleton knows that. Even as a first-term senator, you’d be someone to reckon with if you decide to run for national office . . . maybe even in three years. If you develop a national platform around the economy, a following, and the populist touch to go along with the Worthington wealth and connections, then they’ll have a fight on their hands.”

  “You know that doesn’t scare me,” Will said. His determination hardened. He had never backed down from a fight, and he wasn’t about to now. Even when Stapleton’s betrayal stung.

  “I know, but it should, a little,” Drew replied. “You’re the real deal, and they’re smart enough to know it. With your wealth and a family history of getting what you want, you have an instant Senate campaign.” He laughed. “Just add water and watch it grow. But that’s the problem. Reports are that Chalmers and Stapleton are teaming up to take you out before you get to the playing field.”

  Will narrowed his eyes. He really hated bullies. Especially those who pretended to be your friend first before they socked you in the eye. “Well then, those reports are going to be wrong. I’m going to figure this out, and quickly. Once I strap on my helmet, I’m going to start knocking some heads around myself.”

  46

  Will was perturbed by his mother’s phone call.

  “Your father told me. And then I read it in the paper. You decided to do it—run for the Senate.”

  They were simple statements, so why did they bother Will so much? Was it because he sensed a quiver in her voice? Or a hidden reprimand? Or was it . . . fear?

  His mom had never once stepped into the Worthington Shares business. She had seemed happy to create her own society network and then step into her husband’s world when he needed her by his side.

  “Yes, Mom, I decided to do it. It’s what makes sense for me now.”

  Why was he, for the first time in his life, explaining himself to his mother?

  “But William, are you sure? Absolutely sure you want to do this? It affects not only you but all of us. As soon as you step into this race, all of us are going to be under a microscope.”

  He laughed. “Seriously? As if we’re not now? As if we haven’t been for six generations? What makes now so different?”

  “Because now it’s about politics,” she fired back, sounding a bit more like the mom he knew. “And too many people play it dirty.”

  “Ah, I see. So you’re worried I’m going to get in over my head and your boy will get hurt?”

  There was a long pause, then she said haltingly, “You stepping out of American Frontier may make it easier on Sean at the Arctic Circle—that remains to be seen. It probably will make it easier on your sister. At least she won’t be suing a company where her brother is CEO. But you stepping out of one fire and into another even hotter fire? Where people will start digging for any dirt they can get on any Worthington?”

  “Mom, you’re worrying too much about this. It’s just part of the game. I’m pretty good at taking on trouble when it comes up, and knowing wh
en to back off when I know it’s not a fight that can be won.”

  There was another pause, as if his mother was thinking.

  “What? Are you worried about some skeletons in the family closet from way back somewhere? That they’ll be revealed? Like in the Civil War?” He laughed. “There have always been rumors about the Worthingtons gathering some of their wealth from unscrupulous deals in the Civil War. That gossip has swirled for years. It’s not going to go away, but it’s not going to hurt us either.”

  “Yes, but there are some things that can,” his mother insisted.

  “Like what?”

  “Son, I have to run or I’ll be late for an appointment. We’ll talk more soon.”

  Just like that, the conversation terminated. And his mom had never answered his question.

  But Will wasn’t one to let any moss grow on his rolling stone. His real estate broker had already found him a sublease in the city for the Senate campaign, a one-room office in a triple-digit building near 50th and Madison. Worthington Shares owned several companies that leased space in the building, and it hadn’t been difficult for the broker to shake loose a room in one of those spaces.

  Will was on his way there now.

  Sarah headed to Will’s campaign office after filing an amendment to her own case. The building had facial recognition cameras upon entry, so she didn’t need to sign in as a visitor. Presumably, if she was a known terrorist or person of interest in a federal investigation, the software would kick her profile out immediately and trigger an alarm. Sarah smiled at the camera above the monitor and waggled her fingers in a wave as she walked by on her way to the elevators.

  She made her way to the 37th floor and wandered down the hall until she’d found the suite number her brother had texted her. There was no sign on the door yet. Sarah thought about knocking but figured that would look silly. So she turned the knob and walked in.

  Will was sitting in a metal folding chair behind a portable card table. Two other tables and chairs stood off to the side, both still folded up. No one else was in the office.