by Camryn King
38
Since seeing Kennedy and attending her press conference, Zeke hadn’t been able to think about much else. Considering what happened twenty-four hours before that, he was still trying to figure out what possessed him to go in the first place.
The fireworks started with a phone call just as he’d pulled into a drive-thru to grab dinner. It was the network calling, but it wasn’t Van Dijk. To Zeke’s surprise, it was his long-time secretary, Cassie.
“I don’t know what you did to piss him off,” she said, her voice low and unfriendly. “But my boss wants you on the next thing smoking, and for me to have a car that will pick you up when you arrive at the airport and bring you straight to the office.”
Orders like this could only mean one thing. Van Dijk had found out about Kennedy. Cassie told him she’d send a text with the information as soon as his flight was confirmed. He’d lost his appetite, but went ahead and ordered a burger and fries. The ground round was juicy and the fries were fresh. Might as well have been sandpaper. He didn’t taste a thing. All he could take in was that he’d failed an assignment and was being called in for a job not done. For the first time in his life, he’d overridden command with conscience. It felt good as he’d rescued Kennedy from the abandoned house. Not so much right now.
He thought he’d at least have a night to sleep on what was probably a termination meeting. Instead, his text indicator sounded before the ice melted in his soda. The next thing smoking was leaving from Branson, Missouri, in less than two hours, a cargo plane owned by one of Van Dijk’s rich friends. Zeke had hustled back to his house with just enough time to stuff clothes in a carry-on and catch the Uber Cassie had ordered. Later, he would barely recall the flight over and the ride from JFK to the TBC offices.
On the other hand, he couldn’t forget what happened once he arrived at Van Dijk’s office. People barely speaking, if at all. Cassie not meeting his eyes. Van Dijk, when Zeke was finally called into his office, looking out the window and beginning the conversation without turning around.
“Do you know why you’re here?”
“I have an idea.”
“You told me you killed her.”
“Not exactly.”
Van Dijk slowly turned around. “Are you calling me a liar? Because you’re the only one in this room wearing that title!”
Zeke ground his teeth with the effort it took to remain quiet. This man thought his homo tryst was a threat to national security. The boss did not want to get him started.
“What happened?”
“I saw the news.” With that simple statement of truth, something shifted. Zeke’s direction became clear. He was not afraid. “I saw the pictures that had been leaked to the National Query and no longer wanted that woman’s blood on my hands.”
“Oh, it became your decision, did it?”
“I did what I could live with, Mr. Van Dijk. In the end, it’s worked out okay. You’ve worked your magic and convinced the viewers that the pictures are fake, the story an attempt to assassinate your character. Wade’s not dead, but she might as well be, since she won’t face the public.”
“The bitch has scheduled a got damn press conference!”
Zeke couldn’t hide his surprise. “I can’t imagine that being a good thing, sir. For her, I mean. There are a lot of people very upset about what was published in the Query. What she faces now might be worse than being in a gas explosion.”
“You bet your ass it will, and you along with her. I don’t like being crossed, Foster, and I can’t stand traitors.” Van Dijk picked up an envelope. “Come get your walking papers. Your last check will be deposited into your account.”
There was plenty Zeke wanted to say, but none of it would change the outcome. Given it to do all over again, there was nothing he’d change, either. He walked over to take the envelope from Van Dijk’s outstretched hand.
At this last second, it was pulled back. “You might want to pull out your military uniform, because this is your last security job if I have my way.”
Right then was when Zeke decided to find out where Wade was having the press conference. He wanted to be there to hear firsthand what she had to say. He’d arrived early the next morning to the One World Trade Center, wanting to case the perimeter and find out where the conference would be held. It was luck that he’d seen Kennedy arrive at the adjacent offices. He followed her inside, watched the elevator she got on, then went to the directory and scanned the floors it had stopped on, and correctly guessed her destination was the fixer Dodie Ravinsky. He’d anticipated Wade would give a good speech. She was calm under pressure, a quick thinker, even in life-threatening situations. What he hadn’t been prepared for was how he felt when he saw her, walking toward the building surrounded by security. Her shoulders were squared and her walk was steady. Facing a David versus Goliath scenario, she showed no fear. Whether in combat or in the streets, soldier or civilian, Zeke could appreciate that kind of moxie. Wade was totally badass.
He hadn’t planned to approach her and hadn’t seriously thought about working security as he gave her his card. But as the reality of his termination set in, Zeke hoped that Wade was hiring, and would give him a call.
39
Dodie was right. Kennedy’s life changed in ways she could not have imagined. Perhaps in ways Dodie hadn’t seen coming either. Both had been prepared for a reaction from the White House. Dodie warned her that Van Dijk’s viewers would explode. Kennedy thought she was ready for the pushback, which was immediate. The day after their press conference at One World Trade, the White House press secretary held a press conference specifically to denounce most of what was said in Kennedy’s statement. A standard rebuttal. What took it to another level was Van Dijk taking to the airwaves to say she was “lower than a cockroach” and a “lying bitch.” Her statement and his comments blew up the airwaves. Sides were taken. Gauntlets were thrown. Kennedy immediately shut down all social media after receiving several death threats, being cursed out post by post and seeing hundreds of retributive comments against her that her team believed to be bots from who knew where. Becker’s attorneys continued to state a case for felonious libel and called for her arrest. Beyond prepared statements, neither the heir nor his family had spoken out. Concerned for her safety and at the advice of the team, she retreated to her condo in Grand Cayman, and called Zeke.
He answered and she recognized his voice, but she kept it professional. “May I speak to Zeke Foster?”
“Speaking.”
“Or should I ask for Jack Sutton?”
“He’s here, too. Hello, Kennedy.”
“I can’t believe I actually called you.”
“I can. Half of America is after your ass. You need all the protection you can get.”
“You’re right about that. Some of them want to hear everything I’ve got to say, and other others want to shut me up forever.”
“How are you holding up?”
“I’m okay.”
“Where are you?”
“Someplace safe.”
“Good.”
Kennedy paused, feeling all sorts of emotions and a little insane. She said as much to Zeke.
“You know this is crazy, right? Me calling the robber, abductor, and man sent to kill me to consider hiring him to now guard my life.”
“It’s a script that Hollywood couldn’t have written.”
“I shouldn’t feel this comfortable talking to you. I’m kinda pissed that I’m not still angry, still not running straight to an attorney to have you put under a jail. That day when you left me in that wired car that could have blown up if the bomb malfunctioned—”
“There were no explosives.”
“What?”
“That car wasn’t wired. But I was fairly certain you’d believe it was, considering what we’d been through.”
“Motherfucker.”
“At your service, ma’am.”
They laughed at that, but when Zeke spoke again, Kennedy heard a shift in
his mood.
“I don’t think there are adequate words to tell you how sorry I am for what I put you through. I’ve never allowed myself to consider another’s emotions. One can’t do that and be a good soldier. Emotions get in the way of doing a good job. They can also get you fired.”
“So, you were working for Van Dijk.”
“Yes, as his personal security and enforcer every now and then.”
“Why’d he let you go?”
“Because I didn’t kill you.”
“Damn.”
“You asked. As I said, even though this is a civilian job, I still think like a soldier. It’s the first time I blatantly disobeyed a command.”
“Well, in that case, thank you for your service. Especially that day. Are you seriously looking for a job in security? If so, I need a personal guard.”
Kennedy flew Zeke down to Grand Cayman, and less than a week later he was attached like an appendage as she participated in more than sixty national and international radio and television shows. Interest in her and her story was wide and relentless. Released anonymously, the pictures of Van Dijk and Becker were easily dismissed. Now, their possible authenticity was back in play and everyone wanted to speak with the woman who admitted to having taken them. When Zeke felt Kennedy was being watched and followed, and it appeared that her Grand Cayman location had been compromised, they relocated to the exclusive Miami, Florida community of Fisher Island, where one of Ryan’s stockbroker buddies owned a home. That’s what they told Kennedy. When she arrived, she realized that was much too humble of a word to describe the gargantuan estate she found herself hiding in. Until arriving at the mansion, Tamara’s home was by far the most opulent she’d ever resided in. The Fisher Island home felt more like a hotel. The team met her there and took advantage of the seventy-five hundred square feet of space, with its six bedrooms, seven baths, and uninterrupted ocean views from its almost three-thousand-foot terrace, and used it as the base of operation during the four weeks she spent there. Dante was a constant presence, interpreting law and helping her traverse the snarky waters entered when speaking of others, defining “one’s opinion” and “allegations” and what exactly constituted “free speech.” Before issuing the statement, Kennedy hadn’t given much thought to the legality of words. But from the time they’d crafted the speech for the press conference, “alleged,” “allegedly” and “I am of the opinion” took on new meanings. Kennedy stopped speaking publicly, with Dante issuing statements on her behalf.
“We stand behind what was said during Ms. Wade’s press conference,” he calmly stated over and again during the almost daily, sometimes hourly, requests for comments, rebuttals and reactions to whatever asinine statement either Van Dijk, the network publicist or his attorneys had said. “One can huff and puff, but our house will not be blown down. We have the law and the truth on our side.”
“But isn’t your client worried?” one reporter asked him. “These accusations—”
“Allegations.”
“—have been made against some pretty powerful people.”
“These allegations are what Ms. Wade recalls to the best of her knowledge, and there is proof to back up her claims. All the incidents that occurred were unfortunate and some were criminal in nature. But they happened, and Ms. Wade has a right to tell her story.”
“Even if it means being sued or going to prison?”
“People are wrongfully sued every day in America. As for being incarcerated, those are empty threats made by those whose intention is to scare us. I don’t frighten easily. Neither does Ms. Wade. We choose not to respond directly to anything being thrown at us from the other side. We’re focused on fact, not fanaticism, and are saving our words for court.”
Still, the public outcry and media barrage continued. Two of Dodie’s partners joined in handling the massive amount of interview requests, along with full-time assistants, stylists, a makeup artist, and a full-time chef. Additional legal staff documented every threatening post made online. Private investigators and technology experts worked to reveal the IP addresses and identities behind death threats and heinously racist hate speech. It reached the point where Dante tapped his connections and resources, and quietly brought in law enforcement sympathetic to Kennedy’s plight to help keep her safe.
In mid-November, the focus changed for the personnel gathered in Fisher Island. After a very public sparring between Dante Ross and members of her legal team with Van Dijk’s army of attorneys and the Department of Homeland Security, Kennedy was subpoenaed to answer questions under oath regarding the photographs, her comments regarding the incidents that allegedly occurred as a result of said photographs, and the “felonious, damning and egregious” actions that Kennedy had alleged were at the hands of either the military mogul or the connections of the influential Becker clan.
It seemed, in those minutes after the subpoena was received, that Van Dijk ratcheted up the pressure, and subsequently her fear, and that even with her attorney’s directions, she had completely stepped over a judicial line for which she could be fined, sued, imprisoned, or all of the above. Drama reached a new level when Van Dijk’s close friend, President Dennis Trout, joined the fray. Often called the bully of cyberworld, he used a variety of platforms to send a flurry of messages.
The liberal media scum is at it again! Blaming Good Americans and our Allies for their misfortune. She will pay.
Seconds later, he underscored the consequence. SHE. WILL. PAY!!!
Over the next twenty-four hours, Van Dijk’s online rant continued, courtesy of President Dennis Trout. The team was convinced that either he had someone else posting for him or the man got no sleep.
Kennedy Wade is a pitiful liar. Somebody ought to teach her a lesson.
I heard that Kennedy Wade is a gay lesbian. Maybe her lover is a flag-burning gang member.
Since Kennedy Wade has such disregard for America, maybe she should leave.
Our country is infested with roaches. Where is the bug spray?
Kennedy Wade will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.
And then, seconds later—To the FULL EXTENT OF THE LAW!!!
If you are a God-fearing, flag-waving, proud American citizen, you should be appalled at this poor excuse of a woman’s behavior.
She’ll be found guilty. She’ll go to jail. FOR LIFE!!!
Forty-eight hours into this new normal, Kennedy was on the verge of a breakdown. Medical experts who were compassionate and discreet ran a battery of tests and conducted evaluations. Dr. Bobbi was called for assistance, and phone counseling. Gwen took off work to bring the familiar into her circle. Kennedy had no appetite. Her weight plummeted. The high level of stress brought on insomnia and heart palpitations. Medication was prescribed.
During one outburst Kennedy neared the point of hysteria and threatened to fire everyone, especially Dodie and Dante.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen!” she said to the high-powered attorney, after bursting into a meeting he was having with his partners, security, and Dodie. “You read the speech and gave me your word that I couldn’t be sued. I asked you, over and over, if it was okay. I told you I didn’t want to publicly speak about everything that happened. You’re the one who convinced me to put it out there, saying that the more people knew the less likely I’d be further targeted. Ha! What a bunch of bullshit that was! I have a bullseye on my back as big as this fucking house!”
“Calm down, Kenne—”
Within seconds a stiff finger was in Dodie’s face. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down. You with all of your high-profile connections and ins to everywhere. What’s happening to me right now is your fault!”
She addressed the room. “It’s all of your fault! If I hadn’t listened to how knowledgeable you were and how I shouldn’t worry because you were so professional and because you knew what you were doing. Really? Then why aren’t you being posted about, huh? Why aren’t you getting death threats? Since you’ve so got my back, will you take
my bullet? I’m sick of looking at all of you. I mean it. Get the hell out!”
Dr. Bobbi flew in and stayed three days. Kennedy was asked if she wanted her family (or anyone else who could make her feel better) to join them on Fisher Island. It sounded like a good idea. Kennedy decided to call once her mom’s shift was over. She went into a master suite the size of her Grand Cayman condo, closed the door and walked out to the private balcony that took in the calming sea.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi.”
The dry greeting had Kennedy second-guessing her decision to call. But it was late and Karolyn had just finished working. She tried not to take it personally.
“Where are you?” Karolyn asked.
“Florida.”
Even though she’d called her mom on one of the temporary phones she’d shipped her, Kennedy still didn’t feel comfortable saying more. She was dealing with a government who could tap conversations in caves, who could decode smoke signals and catch a pigeon midflight.
“You don’t sound so good.”
“I’ve felt better,” Kennedy admitted. “I’m sure you’ve seen what’s been said in the news.”
“Who hasn’t seen it? You’re the talk of the town. Why’d you do it, Kennedy, put yourself out there like that?”
Kennedy felt her blood pressure rising. She consciously slowed down her breathing, as Dr. Bobbi had advised for moments like this.
“Lately, I’ve asked that question myself. But at the time the decision was made, I felt I had no choice. He was straight out lying about the pictures, Mom, and using them to further his sick, self-centered agenda. By staying quiet I was indirectly helping him. I couldn’t do that. I felt it was my responsibility, my duty to speak out.”