“Like you, Anne, I can’t reveal my sources, but I do know you visited the Webber home, and how out of line you were. And what I will tell you is that if you so much as think about dropping your so-called bomb on the air, I will interrupt you on the spot and tell the TV audience that you are mistaken and acting out of some kind of inflated and narcissistic self-aggrandizement.”
“What are you talking about? How dare you talk to me this way? You’d never have the guts to challenge me on national television. I’d eat you alive.”
“Anne, for your sake, I really hope you won’t choose to put me to the test. You have more experience in front of a camera than I do, but I’ll muddle through. Keep in mind that I have nothing to lose. I’m retired and financially secure. Can you say the same? Are you ready to gamble your career, and your livelihood? Journalists used to be able to get away with whatever they wanted. Not anymore. Things are changing. As you know better than I, television broadcasters are being fired overnight for far less than what you have in mind.”
Nishimura didn’t say another word.
* * *
Nishimura scowled silently at Kessler. She was incensed. That ungrateful son-of-a-bitch! I prop him up all week long, make him a national figure and this is the way he thanks me? She’d have to hold back during the first piece. But just as soon as the first piece was finished, she’d go straight to the show’s producer and report that Kessler had made a pass at her and touched her inappropriately following the special. The producer understood those things. She’d back Nishimura and have security immediately remove him from the set—before he would have a chance to interfere with the final broadcast.
Thanks to Kessler, she now realized she couldn’t wait any longer to break her story. She would have to do it in the final coverage immediately following the Supreme Court decision. Kessler would win the first battle, but she’d show him who’d win the war.
CHAPTER 117
Monday, May 12, 9:50 am
THOMAS HADN’T SLEPT VERY WELL. His shoulder had ached throughout the night. He was also anxious for the decision that this morning would bring.
He had been up early, and had managed to eat something. He was feeling slightly better. He used his cell to double check and confirm his travel arrangements. It was still a matter of being on top of all the details, taking nothing for granted.
It was close to ten o’clock. He pulled a beer out of the refrigerator, sat down on the chair opposite the TV, put his feet up on the ottoman, and took a swig. He used the remote to turn on the TV, set the channel, and start the DVR recorder. He’d have some time before leaving and would no doubt want to watch it all a couple extra times.
He’d done his job. If the old man did his too, Thomas was about to enjoy the greatest victory of his life. Once and for all, he would finally be . . . home.
* * *
At ten sharp, the television cameras panned the Courtroom. First, the nine Justices, then moving away from the Justices to the lawyers standing behind their tables, Esposito and his gofers at one end, Brooks and Klein at the other end. Then onto the first few rows of the gallery, the select Congressional leaders behind Esposito, Lotello and his kids behind Brooks and Klein. And . . .
Wait a minute. Wait a damn, fucking minute! The brat. The fuck’s she doing there?
In a matter of seconds, Thomas’s cautious optimism had bowed. He was up on his feet, standing eye to eye with the TV, still gripping the beer bottle in his right hand. Watching intently. Waiting impatiently.
Hirschfeld mounted the dais in the midst of his eight other colleagues at ten o’clock sharp. As usual, the Court Marshall promptly read the opening invocation. Hirschfeld never tired hearing it. He looked right at Cassie and winked. When he saw the proud look on her face, he knew he had made the right call. Or that someone had.
Chief Justice Trotter readied himself to announce the decision to all in attendance and to those watching in front of their television sets.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, on the first question of whether Congress had standing to bring the lawsuit known as Congress v. NoPoli, the vote reached by this Court is seven to two in favor of standing. Accordingly,” Trotter continued, “Congress was entitled to sue and the Justices were thus compelled also to decide the fate of the 28th Amendment to the Constitution of the United States.”
Trotter paused, no doubt due to his sense of theater, Hirschfeld thought. The Courtroom was perfectly silent.
Trotter resumed: “On the second question, then, whether the 28th Amendment of the Constitution was legitimately enacted and ratified by The National Organization for Political Integrity, otherwise known as NoPoli, at its convention last year: by a vote of nine to zero, the 28th Amendment is …” Trotter conveniently cleared the frog in his throat, milking the moment for all it was worth. “Upheld. The—”
The gallery erupted. After his own initial shock, Hirschfeld couldn’t help but quietly take pleasure in the somber mood among the Congressional leaders sitting alongside Esposito at his table. His eyes skated across to Brooks and Klein. She was unable to hide her astonishment. In marked contrast, there was no telling on Brooks’s face or perfectly still frame what was going on inside his exterior.
The Court Marshall continued to bang his gavel until the raucous hubbub finally subsided.
“As I was saying,” Trotter resumed, “the unanimous opinion of the Court will now be read by its author. As Chief Justice, I have countersigned the final opinion and hand it to my colleague for the customary reading. If you will, please, Justice Hirschfeld.”
Hirschfeld glanced at Brooks before beginning. Nothing. Cold, stone sober. He looked again at Cassie. She was brimming, and quietly fist bumping with her friend Madison.
He read the opinion aloud. For the most part, it was unchanged from what had previously been circulated among and edited by the Justices. And, for the most part, Hirschfeld read in a steady, even monotone. However, when his eyes came to the particular footnote, presented in an unusual, but not unheard of, personalized style, he paused before then continuing:
“The author understands that considerable speculation has occurred regarding the meaning of certain remarks made by him on the record during argument. To clarify, the remarks were intended merely to emphasize the intention of the fathers of our Constitution that the government never be allowed to extort or hold hostage the governed in conducting the business and affairs of these United States.”
When Hirschfeld completed the traditional reading, Trotter thanked all in attendance and those watching on television for their attention, and stated that the matter of Congress v. NoPoli was now concluded, and adjourned.
* * *
He listened to the decision, the numbers. Nine to zero to uphold. Impossible! How? No answers. Just all the shouting and screaming. It was everywhere. In the Courtroom. On the television. Right there in his safe house, as the thunder churned up from somewhere deep inside his very being. He involuntarily slammed the beer bottle against the television screen. Glass exploded all over him, and the room.
He was beside himself in a tangle of rage and frustration. He had no idea what he had just witnessed. And he couldn’t even back up and watch it again because he had destroyed the DVR monitor in his fury.
What he did know was abject failure. Again. He was not back home. He had . . . no home.
Lance must have been behind this. How could he have been so wrong about him? If it were his doing—if he’d reneged on the agreement—he’d get even with him. Somehow. Some way.
When he finally was able to calm down, gather himself, a little, he opened the screenshot he’d made of the escrow agreement and saved in his smartphone. He read through the document to see if he’d missed something. It looked just like he remembered it. That bastard cheated me, took advantage of my trust in him because of our similar backgrounds. And then, suddenly, the image flashed across his mind. He went back and read it once more. No. NOOOO!
CHAPTER 118
Monday, May 12, 1
1:10 am
NISHIMURA HURRIED to the adjacent production room. They only had a moment before she had to return for the second special. She had milked the sexual abuse card for all she could. It hadn’t gotten her what she wanted. What she had expected.
“Oh, Annie, I am sooo sorry. There’s just no way we can pull him at the last minute like this. But I’ll arrange two security officers off to the side of the set right away. He won’t dare bother you again while they’re there. And they’ll haul his ass off the set just as soon as we finish.”
Nishimura hadn’t answered. She had just shrugged her shoulders in obvious disappointment, turned, and walked back to the set. I don’t think the bastard’s bluffing. No way I can take a chance. She had to play it straight for now and count on breaking her ‘exclusive’ later in the week. Hopefully.
* * *
Kessler thought the television post-mortem of the unanimous opinion was somewhat anti-climactic. The country wanted to party, not dissect. Still, Nishimura gave it her best shot, and he and Elliott, of course, did her bidding. When the producer confirmed that it was a wrap and thanked them all for their great work, Nishimura stood and stormed off without a word.
Elliott looked at Kessler. “Wow, what got into her?”
“Beats me,” Kessler responded.
“Well, whatever, I enjoyed working with you, Steve. Maybe we can do it again sometime.”
“I enjoyed it too, Chris, but this was a one-off for me. I think my broadcasting career is over.” He spotted the two security officers standing off to the side. But they made no move as he and Elliott walked off the set without incident.
CHAPTER 119
Monday, May 12, 11:20 am
HIRSCHFELD GAVE special souvenir badges to Cassie and Madison and escorted them through all of the nooks and crannies of the Courtroom and its back offices and corridors. He took them up on the dais and let them select chairs and gaze out into the Courtroom. Madison chose Trotter’s center seat, Cassie her Poppy’s.
He then introduced them to all of the Justices who had not yet left for lunch. While Madison practiced her Spanish with Gaviota, Trotter told Cassie that he had heard a lot of wonderful things about her. She smiled politely, and thanked him. Hirschfeld just raised his eyebrows in feigned surprise and ushered the girls on through the balance of their tour.
They had lunch in the Courthouse cafeteria. As they finished dessert, Cassie said: “It’s okay to cheat once in a while, Poppy. The key is not to do it too often.”
The irony of an occasional cheat for a greater good, if only a little satisfaction, was not lost on Hirschfeld. He had set out to save Cassie, but somehow it seemed like she might have saved him.
CHAPTER 120
Monday, May 12, 3:30 pm
CASSIE’S DOCTOR had spent about an hour with her, mostly just talking. She understood what the doctor was after. Cassie was okay with that because she knew the doctor was just doing her job and Cassie was the only one who could answer the question. Cassie assured her that nothing like that had happened. She hoped that she could now go home and just think about the next day’s golf and school.
* * *
“Considering what she’s been through,” the doctor said to Jill, “her resilience is remarkable. No temperature, so no infection. Blood pressure and pulse fine. Lungs perfectly clear. Her blood sugar’s just a little elevated, nothing to be concerned about under the circumstances. I’ve drawn blood and collected urine and will run the customary lab panels. I won’t have those results for a few days. I’ll call if there’s anything out of the ordinary, but from what I’m seeing I’m not expecting any problems. I collected the samples to test because it’s the prudent thing to do. I have patients who don’t recover from the flu this quickly. I can only attribute it to the incredible shape Cassie was in preceding this ordeal.”
“Thank you, doctor. So far, so good, then. I guess. Thank God. But don’t we have to have her examined by a psychiatrist too?”
“We can if you want. But why would you want to?”
“Well, what about PTSD? That kind of stuff.”
“PTSD is a convenient label, frequently used and frequently misused. It generally refers to an emotional breakdown induced by extreme or prolonged fear. But you can’t generalize it. Different people react differently to the same circumstances.
“All I can say is that Cassie’s emotional strength is no less extraordinary than her physical well-being. Look. From what I can see, and from what Cassie tells me, she was slapped around and grabbed a couple of times, and definitely has some bruises and black and blue marks to show for it, but that stuff will be gone in no time at all. She was not battered in any ongoing sense of the word, and she was not molested. Not physically anyway.”
Sitting across her desk from Jill, Cassie’s doctor watched Jill twisting her hands in her lap. She imagined that Jill was having a difficult time processing what she was being told.
“I don’t understand,” Jill said. “Even if she is okay, what about emotional scars?”
“Well, based again on what Cassie tells me, her captor did subject her to quite an ordeal, but so far she seems to have come through it fairly well. In military combat, some soldiers fall completely to pieces while others perform at heroic levels without blemish.
“Personally,” the doctor continued, “I find it insulting to compare the stress Cassie experiences in her golf tournaments to what she has endured in the past week, but who’s to say that her competitive experience hasn’t somehow helped prepare her to get through the past week? That she has also learned to cope with and manage her diabetes so well has no doubt also been a positive for her.
Cassie’s doctor wasn’t through. “Cassie is a young lady with a great deal of well-earned self-esteem and confidence. You should not underestimate the value of that and you should not ascribe to her what you would project an experience like this to do to others her age. Cassie is simply not like other youngsters her age. It may also be in her DNA, so to speak. And yours too. That last point was for Jill. I really hope she’s not going to smother Cassie.
“Moreover, she seems to have a good grasp of what was visited on her. And why. I think this helps her a lot. She knows this wasn’t anything she did wrong, or caused. And she doesn’t seem worried that it’s going to happen to her again.”
The doctor could see that Jill still wasn’t convinced. “What are we supposed to do going forward?”
“If she were my kid, I’d let her get back to her normal routine just as quickly as she wants. Don’t push her, but do not hold her back. Watch for any classic symptoms, nightmares, moodiness, and those kinds of things. If you see any of that, we’ll immediately put her under the care of a psychiatrist, but let’s not create any self-fulfilling prophecies by treating her like she’s a fragile, broken rag doll. I see no reason to subject her to any therapy right now. PTSD-like symptoms often do show up further down the road. Stay vigilant, but don’t drive yourself—or Cassie—nuts. And for God’s sake don’t treat her like something’s wrong with her.”
CHAPTER 121
Monday, May 12, 5:30 pm
CASSIE HAD BEEN on her computer video phone with Madison for about half an hour. She was all caught up on what schoolwork she had missed. Madison wasn’t convinced, but Cassie assured her that she had done more on her own in her self-monitored basement home study program than what Madison said they had covered at school while Cassie was out.
She wondered if any of the kids in school had missed her.
“Well, aren’t we obsessing about our self-importance? Sorry to tell you, but near as I can tell no one knew you were gone. Not even that special guy you seem to dwell on.”
“Do not! Oh well. Besides, we have to keep all of this stuff I went through a level nine top secret. My parents have said ‘not a word to anyone.’ Ever. It’s not for me. It’s for my poppy.”
“Tell me about it! My dad has been all over me about this. One word about any of it and I will be grounded until I graduate
from college. At least we can talk about it with each other.”
Cassie laughed. “I know. I’m glad we’re able to talk about it normally, like two grown-ups. So far, I can’t really talk with my parents about it. They just get too upset. They can’t seem to handle it, especially Mom. Maybe after a while.”
“What about the creep?” Madison asked. “Do you really think he’s gone? Are you worried he’ll come after you? Dad says lots of people are looking for him. I don’t know if that’s really true since this is all so hush-hush. I think he might have just said that to make me not obsess.”
“I don’t know if he’s gone. He was shot, and he was bleeding a lot. But if he’s still alive I don’t think he’ll hang around. And I honestly don’t think he wants anything more to do with me. I was a major pain for him, a lot more trouble than I think he expected. Besides, there’s no way now for him to get what he was after. The Supreme Court has already decided the case against what he wanted.”
“But won’t he blame you and try to get even?”
“I don’t think so. He knows I wasn’t the one who caused his problems. Except maybe for the hole in his chest.”
“That was so buck. Tell me about it again.”
And so Cassie did, for about the hundredth time.
“Yuck!”
“I know.”
“What about your perks?”
“Well, I have to wait one more day before I can get back into my golf and training. And I probably won’t be allowed to walk by myself between the driving range and school until I’m at least twenty.”
“That sucks! It’s like being grounded for something that wasn’t your fault.”
“Tell me about it. But, hey, I get it. I can deal with it. I guess. My parents have been through a lot. I have to cut them some slack. For a little while. We’ll get past it.” They both laughed at that.
“Besides, um, don’t tell anyone,” Cassie said, “but I don’t think I’d really like going anywhere on my own right now.”
Brooks-Lotello Collection Page 31