A Perfect Ambition
Page 23
He could also make out famous people and well-known brands on the advertisements from here. It really was a magical city, from almost any vantage point. And now he was here, at the highest point of this particular part of the city. The tops of other buildings, including two of the most famous theaters in the district, were directly below him.
He was halfway across the rooftop before he spotted the person in an NYPD uniform. Pivoting swiftly, he prepared to run back to the door. But a second person in an NYPD uniform emerged from the shadows.
As the officers approached him, he froze. There was nowhere to go. Panicking, he scanned every corner of the roof for a way to escape.
“It’s over,” one of the officers said soothingly.
Neither officer made any sudden moves. They just kept coming at him as a pair, step by deliberate step.
He was trapped. He really had nowhere to go any longer . . . not here and not now.
As the two officers closed in on him, he felt sure he could see guns in holsters on their belts. They probably had Tasers and chains and handcuffs too.
The haze of darkness descended over his vision once again. He shook in fear. They would bind him, lock him up, and throw away the key forever.
His heart was pounding. He had one chance to escape. This was it. He’d already forgotten about the money.
Only one thought remained. He had to get away.
They were only feet from him now. As they took a step closer, suddenly he knew what he had to do. It seemed clear. The path forward made sense.
He didn’t hesitate. He could do this . . . could make this. The lights of the city beckoned to him. They lit the way. He could make it to the stage on the other side. Finally. Wouldn’t his mama be proud?
He turned and half stumbled, half ran toward the edge of the roof. He didn’t stop at the edge. Running off, he leaped as far and as high as he possibly could. He grasped for the heavens and the lights off in the distance with every ounce of his resolve and conviction, striving with his last will to reach the rooftop of the theater building on the other side.
He heard the screams from the onlookers and theatergoers as he plummeted to the pavement below.
50
EN ROUTE TO NEW YORK CITY
Laura drove the Land Rover back to New York City to give Will the time he needed to think. He feigned sleep so the kids wouldn’t ask any questions.
He and Laura had talked over nearly every aspect of his mother’s revelation that they could think of. They hadn’t even made it to bed until 6:00 a.m., just in time to be roused by their kids less than two hours later.
Things now made sense. Sean had always been different from Will, from Sarah, in more ways than one. Will had chalked it up to all the birth order theory he’d read—that the secondborn would go in the opposite direction of the firstborn. But Sean’s red hair was brighter than their mother’s light auburn, his complexion ruddy while his mother’s was pale with freckles. But no one had thought anything of it. His mother, after all, was of pureblood Irish stock.
So was Thomas. Now it was crystal clear. The red hair and ruddy complexion had been from Thomas.
Did Will’s father guess? Is that why he’d been so hard on Sean all these years? Because he had an inkling that Sean was not his true son?
If the truth is revealed, how will Dad handle it? How will Sean? Sarah?
Will’s thoughts were in a muddle. What is the right thing to do here? Or should I be doing anything? What if the truth is never discovered? Then again, if it is, how betrayed will the rest of the family feel if they don’t know?
There were too many questions and no answers.
And the anxiety in his mother’s eyes haunted him most.
NEW YORK CITY
Will listened to the odd voice mail on his cell phone at least three times. It didn’t make a great deal of sense. He’d closed that chapter and moved on. Eric Sandstrom had won. So why was Sandstrom’s sycophant calling to ask for a meeting as soon as possible?
Their New York campaign launch event was in four hours. A fair amount of media would be there, which didn’t surprise him. They loved a fight, and the Loughlin-Worthington fight could be one for the ages. The Worthingtons had the resources to make it a race. The campaign’s initial polling, which had already been leaked to the press, showed that the race was competitive because of the family’s name recognition in New York.
Will checked his watch and decided that he had time for the meeting. He had his talking points for the launch event. He didn’t need any more preparation.
The location of their meeting was nearly as curious to Will as the voice mail had been. They were meeting outside, at Washington Square Park in the village. The park had changed over the years and was now mostly a place where families hung out. It wasn’t typical for a business meeting. But perhaps that was what Jason Carson was looking for.
Will had never liked Carson much, and not only because he was Sandstrom’s lackey. There was something else about the guy that turned his stomach—a feeling that there was little Carson wasn’t willing to do to get what he wanted. Much of corporate America or Wall Street exuded that, but Carson seemed to take it to another level.
Will spotted Carson shortly after he’d paid for the cab fare. He was sitting by himself in one corner of the park, away from the clumps of kids who played in the center of the square. He was dressed casually, without a suit coat or even a tie, and held only a file folder in one hand. As Will approached the bench, Carson rose. “Mr. Worthington,” he said as they shook hands. “Thank you for meeting on such short notice. I know it’s a busy day. You have a lot going on later this afternoon.”
Will decided not to take time with idle talk. “So why am I here, Jason? What’s on your mind?”
Carson glanced down at the file in his hands. He sat on the bench and invited Will to join him. “I want you to look at something. But before I do, I have some news. It hasn’t been reported to the media yet and won’t be for a bit. It is highly relevant to our discussion, however. It’s a helpful backstory, and its importance will become clear in a moment. The American Frontier bomber in the polar bear suit committed suicide earlier today. He jumped to his death from a building near Times Square. The police and DHS investigators found his signed suicide note explaining his actions in an apartment in Brooklyn, once they’d positively identified the body.”
Will’s skepticism kicked in. “Are they sure it’s the guy?”
Carson waved a hand. “No question about it. They have DNA matches from his body, the apartment, and the traces of the bomb’s remnants at headquarters. This is our guy. DHS knows it. I’m quite sure they’ll announce the conclusion of their investigation shortly, once they’ve tied up loose ends. They have a bit more to go to solidify what the guy talked about in his note, why he did it. But that won’t take long.”
Will’s laser-like focus zeroed in further. “So who is it, and why did he do it?”
Carson was quick with his answer. “The guy, it turns out, was an activist connected to Green Justice. He was one of those ecoterrorists. He hated American Frontier and everything it stands for. When the Arctic spill happened, that set him off and pushed him over the edge, so to speak. The domestic terrorism experts say this sort of thing is common. People become activists for all kinds of reasons, and then someone goes to an extreme every so often after a trigger event. The Arctic spill was such a trigger event in this guy’s mind.”
Nothing revelatory there, Will couldn’t help but think.
“The investigators said the note is self-explanatory. I have a scanned copy of it here in this file, in fact. You’re welcome to look at it. He spews all sorts of hateful venom at American Frontier and big oil companies in general in his note. None of it would surprise you. It isn’t anything we haven’t seen before. Clearly the guy was a bit of a wack job who had been contemplating such an act and only needed a trigger to activate him. It didn’t surprise anyone that he went to this extreme as an activist, did somethi
ng he probably later regretted, and then took his own life. It’s all somewhat mundane. A story we’ve heard before. American Frontier is glad to put this sad, sorry episode in the rearview mirror. And I’m sure the police and DHS are happy to have all of this wrapped up in a tidy package.”
Carson stopped. He leaned forward a bit, as if wanting to make absolutely certain Will was paying close attention. “But there is one aspect of this that hasn’t made its way into the police files. It’s a happy circumstance, actually, and I wanted to share it with you. There’s no reason at all to share this with investigators, now that the case is closed. But it is available. And I wanted to discuss it with you briefly.”
He handed the file to Will, who flipped it open. Someone had snapped a series of pictures of two guys sitting at a bar. Will couldn’t tell how the pictures might have been taken, but that didn’t matter. The pictures were clear. He knew exactly what they meant.
As he stared at them, it took every aspect of his upbringing and moral composure to sit still and say nothing. Even more, not to pound Jason Carson to a bloody pulp for being a bully. He desperately needed that still small voice. He wanted someone to tell him what to do next, because he could feel the bottom of his world dropping out from under him—for the second time in 24 hours.
One of the guys in the picture was Sean, his little brother. And Will felt fairly certain that this slug of a human being sitting on the bench beside him would soon tell him who the second man was.
“You know the gentleman on the right in these pictures, of course,” Carson said. “But it may surprise you to learn that the man on the left is our Polar Bear Bomber, recently deceased. As I said, it’s all just a happy circumstance, and one that may or may not be relevant to the investigations. It depends, I guess, on the nature of this conversation we’re having, and how quickly they close the books on this rather sad, unfortunate life and the bombing.”
While it was nearly impossible to tell with any degree of certainty about such things, any reasonable person would look at these photos and assume that the two men were sharing drinks and a discreet conversation at a bar somewhere in midtown Manhattan. Rage churned now in Will’s gut, along with fear.
Carson continued in a calm tone. “At the present time, I would have to say that we don’t see a need to bring any of this new information forward to the investigators, now that it seems they’re all but certain to wrap up their investigation and close the books. But then again, perhaps not. We all know what an activist your brother is and what causes he donates to and works for. We all know that Green Justice is one of his favorites, that he recently confronted a US Navy cutter in the Arctic while aboard a Green Justice ship, that he has given a great deal of Worthington money to various Green Justice causes, and that the two of you were very actively opposed to our Arctic operations. I can’t say whether any of that would be relevant or pertinent. I’m not a Harvard Law School graduate like your sister, running the Department of Justice’s corporate fraud office in the Criminal Division—and who now has a criminal negligence case against my company. I’m not a billionaire investor from a wealthy family who tried and failed to seize a company for personal glory. And I haven’t given millions to activist environmental causes that some might construe as misguided at best or beyond the pale at worst. That’s all a bit above my pay grade.”
But I’m sure you’re being paid well for all the dirty work you do, Will seethed inwardly.
Carson settled back casually against the bench. “But what I do know is that even a hint of this sort of a connection between your brother—the activist donor—and an ecoterrorist bomber who took his own life because of his avowed hatred of big oil companies would make for an awfully scandalous media story. I can only imagine what they’d do with these pictures, and the sort of lasting damage it would do to your family.”
Especially to Sean and Mom, Will thought. And leave it to slimeballs like Carson to uncover his mother’s moment of weakness.
“And I must say, if you choose to become a public figure and run for the Senate, I believe that these pictures will become relevant. I have to believe that they will make their way out of this file and into the light of day. I can almost assure you of that, in fact.” Carson’s shrug was falsely apologetic. “The only reason that something like that would not happen is if you choose to just get out. If you run for the Senate, if you and your family continue your foolish and misguided efforts to bring down American Frontier, then I think you can assume that these pictures will become highly relevant.”
Despite the sunshine and the happy, playful voices of the children gathered at the park, Will could feel a certain darkness enshrouding the place. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, desperately trying to keep his emotions in check.
“I’m not sure that matters,” Carson stated bluntly. “But I will tell you this. For your own good—for your family’s good—I believe it’s best for you to just walk away, Mr. Worthington. Walk away from the Senate race while there is still time. Walk away from your fight with American Frontier. Your family has a great deal of wealth and connections, and there are lots of sandboxes in the world. You don’t need to play in this one any longer. The Worthington family has vastly overstayed its welcome. It’s time to exit the stage.”
Carson reached out and took the folder back from Will. “I’m sure you’ll do what’s right for your family.”
51
After Jason Carson left, Will sat on the bench in Washington Square Park for some time, his thoughts wildly fluctuating.
So Sandstrom has played his trump card and thinks he has me trapped.
But William Jennings Worthington VI wasn’t the type of man to go down without fighting hard first.
He heard his mother’s voice: “Family first. Promise me.”
He heard his father: “Always do the right thing. But always know when it’s time to fight and when it’s time to back away. Listen to that still small voice.”
But was it time to fight? Or time to back away—and make certain the secret about his brother would never see the light of day? The still small voice wasn’t talking.
How Will wished he could talk with his dad, get his wisdom. Or talk to Drew. But no, neither knew why this was such a difficult decision for Will. Only his mother and Laura knew part of his quandary.
Will hailed a cab. By the time he arrived at the campaign launch, he had to have the answer.
It was one of the larger political media events New York had seen. The campaign staff had to build two risers to accommodate all of the camera crews. That was simply the nature of media in New York. They loved a heavyweight fight and a good story. It didn’t take much to bring out the klieg lights, and they’d been waiting for the Worthingtons to enter the political arena for years.
Sean knew his older brother was prepared for this—both for today and for whatever a potentially brutal, ugly campaign might throw at him. Will was tough and resilient. Sean was convinced Will wasn’t in awe of a soul on the planet and there was very little he feared. Will had already mastered many of the issues that could trip up a new candidate. He was a very quick study. He was also prepared to answer questions today about the latest developments on American Frontier and his role in it.
Worthington Shares had indeed sold its position in the company. The stock market had wobbled a bit, then moved on.
The White House had begun a concerted effort to walk away from its earlier rosy assessments of the Arctic spill and its consequences. But it was also taking a cautious, diplomatic approach and was being careful not to trigger additional stories that pitted the president against a company and its executives who had been consistent allies. Various White House aides had made the rounds of the Sunday talk show circuit to walk back the president’s position on Arctic drilling, but they were all careful not to overtly criticize American Frontier’s handling of it. They were also not willing to commit to any future course of action in the Arctic.
Despite repeated efforts by Green Justice
and the NGO community to get access to the oil spill site, the eight nations of the Arctic Council had continued to allow the United States to manage the recovery operations. That meant American Frontier continued to have a clear, unfettered, unrestricted hand in controlling what the world knew about the spill.
Will was fully prepared to take all of this on and also to challenge the president and tie both Senator Loughlin and the White House to the disastrous Arctic drilling policy. Now that he was clear of the board and Worthington Shares had divested itself, Will was free to speak his mind about American Frontier and its efforts to corrupt the political process for its own purposes.
Sean was confident virtually nothing would take Will Worthington by surprise.
Will arrived at the campaign launch and media briefing with only a minute left before the scheduled start. He didn’t stop to speak to Sean, Sarah, or any of his campaign staff, but instead strode briskly past them and took his place at the podium. The room grew quiet and waited. The rows of television cameras lit up.
Before he spoke, though, Will looked off to the side, directly at his younger brother and sister. His parents had made the trip from Chautauqua and were sitting with them. Laura was sitting next to his mother. Will knew his next words would greatly impact their lives, but in ways none of them were anticipating.
At last the still small voice spoke. It whispered, “To those who are given much, much is required.”
In that flicker of an instant Will realized, No one ever said that the “much required” would be easy. Drew had been right all along when he’d invited the siblings over for dinner and said, “What happens next will change each of your life paths. It will define each of you personally.”
And Drew didn’t know two-thirds of it. At least not yet.
At that moment Will spied Jason Carson in the darkened left wing of the stage. So he’s here to make sure they get what they want, Will thought. But I have to do the right thing . . . for my family. For Sean, and my mother.