The anchor sounded grim. “For those folks just joining us, here’s what we know so far.”
“The only county still conducting its recount is Berkeley County,” he explained. “Explosive growth fueled by its close proximity to the nation’s capital has helped this once rural area become the second most populous county in West Virginia. Only three precincts remain: Trinity Lutheran Church, Back Creek Valley Elementary School, and The Woods Resort.”
The graphics disappeared from the screen, replaced by the anchorman’s serious-looking visage. “Mr. Boley just announced the official recount results from the Arden United Methodist Church precinct, where Senator Wilson has suffered a net loss of 41 votes, shrinking her current statewide lead to 119.”
“Phil Maxwell is on the scene for us in Martinsburg,” the anchor segued. “Phil, what can we expect from these remaining precincts?”
A handsome, rugged-looking man with a fine head of dirty blond hair appeared on the screen, positioned in front of the county’s red brick neoclassical courthouse. The building’s shining gold-painted dome, adorned with the state seal and topped with a hexagonal steeple, was framed in floodlights over his right shoulder.
The reporter laughed and responded, “Expect the unexpected. It seems the machine used to tabulate the county’s optical scan ballots was experiencing a slight malfunction on Election Night, causing it to credit Senator Wilson with votes she did not actually receive. This glitch has affected the results in some precincts, but not all, and there doesn’t appear to be any rhyme or reason as to how much the results were affected.
“Local observers tell me these three precincts historically tilt Republican. However, Senator Wilson performed better than expected in two of those precincts on Election Night. The million-dollar question is: Was that result an illusion created by a mechanical glitch?”
WEST VIRGINIA STATE CAPITOL
CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA
MONDAY NOVEMBER 24, 8:50 P.M.
Governor Vincent remained holed up in his private office, watching CNN with Dick Bowen. Their exuberance had given way to excruciating suspense and anxiety.
Marcus Boley handed a paper to his deputy before turning from the cameras. As the deputy approached the bank of microphones stationed 30 feet away from the recounting area, the camera briefly focused on Boley as he grabbed the last metal ballot box from the back table.
“The teams have finished recounting the ballots in Precinct Numbers 46A and 47,” the deputy announced. In her late fifties, she had shoulder-length silver hair and she was wearing a navy blue skirt and a white blouse. A red ribbon adorned her lapel.
“In Precinct Number 46A, Governor Royal received 328 votes, while Senator Wilson received 203 votes. Those figures represent a net gain of 46 votes for Governor Royal. In Precinct Number 47, Governor Royal had 262 votes, while Senator Wilson received 295 votes. Those figures represent a net gain of one vote for Senator Wilson.
“Up next is our last precinct from The Woods Resort. That precinct has 784 ballots and we hope to be finished in about an hour. Thanks for your patience.”
The deputy stepped away from the microphones, and the talking heads immediately began pseudo-analyzing the latest results.
Vincent muted the TV and asked, “Where do we stand?”
Bowen tapped on a pocket calculator with his thick fingers. His tongue protruded from the side of his mouth and his eyes narrowed. With one final flourish, Bowen raised his head. “We’re up 74 with just one stinking precinct to go.”
Vincent exhaled, unfastened the top button on his white dress shirt and loosened the knot in his royal blue silk tie. “Thank God! I can’t take much more of this.”
“I bet the whole country feels that way.”
CHAPTER 53
ST. MARYS, PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 24, 10:05 P.M.
Rikki lay in her king-sized cherry sleigh bed, reading the latest Nicholas Sparks novel. A brass lamp by her bed illuminated the book, while the TV across the room aired CNN.
She knew Sparks’ books were formulaic but loved them nonetheless. So what if they’re predictable? They tugged at her heartstrings in a good way, and they never failed to restore her faith in the innate goodness of human beings. Compared to the bitterness and rancor of the election saga, she welcomed the uplifting romantic respite his novels delivered.
Rikki had cheered the news when Senator Wilson took the lead in West Virginia. Although the state’s voters sometimes fell under the sway of Republican presidential candidates, Rikki thought Wilson’s progressive platform had been appealing enough to break that trend.
Raising her eyes to the TV, she saw Marcus Boley approaching the media. Resting her book face-down on the bed, she turned up the volume with the remote.
The camera zoomed in on Boley, and Rikki saw he held a single sheet of paper in his hand. “I apologize for the delay in reporting these last figures to you, but as the ballots from Precinct Number 48 were being recounted, a heated debate broke out between a few of our recount workers, which took some time to resolve.”
Rikki snorted. From CNN’s earlier footage, it looked more like a fistfight than a debate. Passions had flared quite angrily, and one of the workers had stormed off in a purple-faced rage before being coaxed back to the table.
“It’s past 10 o’clock,” Boley continued. “I’d like to thank our recount teams for their hard work. Their task was long and thankless, but essential to maintaining the public’s faith in the integrity of our election process.”
Way to pat yourself on the back there, Mr. Boley, Rikki observed cynically. Why don’t you do us a favor and get on with it?
“The final results from The Woods Resort are as follows: 520 votes for Governor Royal; 243 votes for Senator Wilson, constituting a net gain of 136 votes for Governor Royal.
“The results of the recount have been officially certified by the County Commission. The final totals are 21,340 votes for Governor Royal versus 12,036 votes for Senator Wilson, reflecting a net gain of 210 votes for Governor Royal.”
Boley exhaled slowly, and Rikki noted that his hand clutching the vote tallies was trembling. Suddenly imagining what it felt like to be plucked from the obscurity of Berkeley County and thrust upon the global stage, Rikki felt a pang of sympathy for him.
“Again, thanks for your patience today,” he concluded. Then he smiled wearily. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to get home and get a good night’s sleep for a change.”
Boley turned to walk away from the assembled journalists. From out of nowhere, an angry woman interrupted his exit. “I don’t know how you could possibly sleep at night!” she screamed. “Not after you Republican bastards have stolen another election!”
Boley abruptly froze, his hands dangling at his side, balled into fists. The woman’s personal affront had been captured on film for posterity, and Rikki immediately recognized that, for better or worse, the name of Marcus Boley likely would be reviled by Democrats for generations, linked forever to the hotly-debated results of this recount.
At the far right of the scene, Rikki saw a lone woman who bore a small resemblance to the county clerk. In her early thirties, the woman’s blonde hair was cut shoulder-length, and the look on her face reflected an almost indescribable mixture of pride and pain.
“Come on, Marcus,” Rikki thought the woman whispered. “It’s time to go home.”
Boley did not turn to face his accuser. He somberly marched away from the cameras. As he approached the young woman, she gently placed her hand on his shoulder. After shooting a wounded yet defiant glance toward the media, she turned and followed Boley out of the room.
Transfixed by the scene, it took Rikki a moment to realize the ticker tape scrolling at the bottom of the screen had morphed from blue to red. The caption above it read:
“BREAKING NEWS: WV RECOUNT OVER. ROYAL BACK AHEAD BY 62.”
Rikki shook her head sadly, turned off the television and picked up the
book again, hoping Nicholas Sparks might alleviate the anger and aching in her heart.
CHAPTER 54
CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 25, 7:30 A.M.
Dave sat in the hotel lounge, attacking his syrup-drenched waffles with fork and knife. Raising a cold Diet Coke to his lips, he felt a hand slap his back. Gazing into his blind spot, he saw Gil Dean wearing a huge smile.
“You look like you got a good night’s sleep,” Dave quipped.
“Oh, yeah!” Gil said enthusiastically. “I slept like a baby. How about you?”
“For the first time in recent memory, I actually slept through the night.”
“Mind if I join you? I was hoping to ask for a favor.”
“Sure thing,” Dave answered. “What can I do for ya?”
Gil let out a deep sigh and took a seat cattycornered from Dave. “I got a call from Monica at six this morning. She’s pretty torn up about the beating Marcus is getting in the press. I was shocked by her emotional state, to be honest. I’ve known her for years, and I’ve never seen her get this upset about anything.”
Dave leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Really?”
Gil nodded. “She’s hardcore, Dave. She makes Margaret Thatcher look like Mother Theresa. What you heard from her yesterday morning … That was no act.”
“Wow. That’s pretty impressive. A little terrifying, too.”
“Yeah, well, she was a blubbering mess this morning. She didn’t tell me what happened, but I’m certain Monica was the driving force behind finding those extra votes for Governor Royal. And she’s wracked by guilt and self-loathing now, worried that her help may have destroyed her brother’s life.”
Dave nodded sympathetically. “So what do you want me to do?”
“Give her a call,” Gil replied. “Show her Governor Royal and his inner circle know of her dedication to the cause. That would go a long way towards bucking up her spirits.”
Dave cut off a chunk of waffle and took another bite. “Done. Anything else?”
“Martinsburg’s just about an hour from D.C. Why don’t you make arrangements to have lunch with her. She’s a pharmaceutical sales rep, but politics is her true passion. Maybe you could find her a job with the new administration.
Dave chewed on both the waffles and Gil’s suggestion. “Every new administration needs its share of true believers. Without those foot soldiers pushing its agenda through the permanent bureaucracy, no new initiatives get implemented. Tell you what: I’ll meet with her and gauge her interest in joining our team. Lord knows we’ll need to hire countless ‘Under Secretaries’ and ‘Deputy Assistant Secretaries’ come January.”
Gil smiled broadly. “Excellent.” Then, staring down at the unadorned ring finger on Dave’s left hand, he added, “And for the record, she’s a real knockout. Unattached, too.”
Dave took a sip of Diet Coke and almost choked. “Thanks, but no thanks,” he coughed. “Margaret Thatcher was a hell of a prime minister, but I’d bet her husband had a miserable home life. Can you imagine what it was like around their house when he forgot to take out the trash?”
Gil smirked. “Don’t jump to conclusions. You can’t always judge a book by its cover.”
Dave scowled. Just as he began to respond, he saw Tyson Vasquez pontificating loudly on TV. Glancing around, he saw no one else watching the broadcast, so he leapt up and repeatedly pressed the volume button before returning to his seat.
Vasquez stared into the camera. “We feel confident that once we share our evidence demonstrating the Republicans’ countless acts of fraud and intimidation in West Virginia, Senator Wilson will emerge victorious.”
Dave laughed loudly, shoveled another bite of waffles into his mouth, and shook his head amusedly. “Good luck with that,” he cracked.
Gil’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
Dave cocked his left eyebrow and grinned. “Because unlike Tyson Vasquez, I’ve actually read West Virginia’s laws on post-recount election contests. And the moment their lawyers do the same, they’re gonna crap their pants.”
CHAPTER 55
ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 25, 8:45 A.M.
Senator Wilson and her Beltway advisors circled around a table in her national campaign headquarters. Other key players around the country, including Vincent and Bowen, were connected to headquarters via secure videoconferencing.
Susan Mathis, the campaign’s lead lawyer in West Virginia, looked grim.
“We may have a problem,” she said solemnly.
“Of course we have a problem,” the campaign chairman snapped. “Unless we overcome this deficit, Royal’s going to be our next president. That’s a huge problem.”
The lawyer’s jaw muscles tightened. “I’m talking about a more specific problem.”
“And what would that be, Susan?” Senator Wilson asked.
“Technically speaking, we may not be able to contest the results of this election.”
“What?!” Tyson Vasquez shouted. “Why not?”
Mathis remained stoic. “Because state law doesn’t specifically provide a mechanism for a losing presidential candidate to contest the results after the recount is completed.”
“How’s that possible?” Vincent asked.
The lawyer sighed. “It sounds preposterous, I know. But my office emailed the relevant code sections to you this morning and I’ll put the section headlines onscreen for you now.”
With the click of a button, her face disappeared from the screen, replaced by an outline of the section headlines from Chapter 3, Article 7 of the West Virginia Code:
CHAPTER 3. ELECTIONS.
ARTICLE 7. CONTESTED ELECTIONS.
§3-7-1. Contests for state offices and judgeships; procedure.
§3-7-2. Procedure of Legislature on contest for office of governor.
§3-7-3. Contests before special court; procedure; enforcement.
“Where the election of secretary of state, auditor, treasurer, attorney general, commissioner of agriculture, or of a judge of the supreme court of appeals, or of a circuit court, is contested, the case shall be heard and decided by a special court…”
§3-7-4. Contests of seats in Legislature; notices and procedure.
§3-7-5. Depositions; subpoenas; time; tie vote decision.
§3-7-6. County and district contests; notices; time.
§3-7-7. County court to hear county and district contests; procedure; review.
§3-7-8. Correction of returns; extent.
§3-7-9. Costs in election contests.
A minute passed before Mathis spoke again. “Those are the only nine Code sections that deal with election contests. Does it seem like something is missing?”
Evan Rothman, the campaign’s general counsel, suddenly gasped. “Oh, my God. There’s no provision for the contest of a presidential election.”
“Precisely,” Mathis stated. “And that’s our problem in a nutshell.”
CHAPTER 56
ST. MARYS, PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
TUESDAY NOVEMBER 25, 10:35 A.M.
Jack laced up his boots, heading for a meeting with a farmer he hoped would grant McCallen Resources a right-of-way across his land to service its wells on adjoining properties. Standing up, he heard the telltale beep heralding his receipt of a new email message.
Knowing the farmer was a cantankerous geezer, Jack’s first instinct was to delay looking at the email until after their meeting. Then he realized Petromica should have received his production logs the day before, and nothing was higher on his priority list than the Petromica deal.
McCallen stomped toward the office, his boots loudly smacking the hardwood floor with every step. Sitting down at the computer, he opened the message:
Due Diligence, Part II
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Tues, 25 Nov 10:31 am
Attachment: royaltyaffidavit.d
oc
Dear Mr. McCallen,
Thanks for getting me the production logs and expense breakdown so quickly. While our eggheads review them, please sign the attached affidavit attesting that MR is not delinquent in paying any rentals or royalties on its leaseholds and return it via email. If you have any delinquencies, fix them or give me a breakdown so we can account for those debts at closing.
Thanks for everything and I look forward to working together.
Sincerely,
Alex
Jack mumbled profanely, printed the attachment and headed for his meeting.
WEST VIRGINIA STATE CAPITOL
CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA
TUESDAY NOVEMBER 25, 11:45 A.M.
“We have to let them know by noon,” Bowen said.
Vincent stood by the window and stared at the Capitol lawn. “I know. I’m thinking.”
Bowen tightened his lips and twiddled his thick thumbs. Finally, Vincent turned from the window. “We want to steer clear of Mingo, Braxton and Wyoming, right?”
Bowen snorted. “I wouldn’t want some judge reopening those cans of worms.”
Pacing the room with his arms crossed, he raised his right hand and stroked his chin. “And we want to include Berkeley County, so we can shovel around in their graveyard.”
Bowen nodded. “Especially if we get the right judge. Which shouldn’t be a problem.”
Vincent came to a stop. “Fine. If our contact in the Circuit Clerk’s office will play ball with us, we’ll put Berkeley on the list. But there are two Republican judges on the bench in that circuit, and I don’t want one of them handling our case.”
“Unless you want it to die a quick death,” Bowen quipped bitterly. “What other counties are you considering?”
“Mercer and Monongalia,” Vincent replied. “We carried Mercer County, it has a sizeable black population, and the judges are friendly with me at the moment. Monongalia has WVU. Surely we can find 60 college kids to swear their rights were infringed on Election Day.”
The Dirty Secret Page 20