I felt something softening in me. “So you really think our last resort here is Out The Bullies? Regardless of the reason they are offering their support?”
“I do.” Laila leaned forward as if trying to grab hold physically of my weakening resolve. “And, Aby, the truth is, it’s their super PAC—they don’t need our green light to run the ads they’ve been preparing. Legally, we are not supposed to know anything about this. But they’ve reached out because they want to make sure Jude won’t come forward and disavow their support. They’re a tech company and he hasn’t been so friendly to those in the past.”
“And it doesn’t bother you that if they run those ads, we will be owned by another tech company?”
“What if I told you I didn’t care?”
I stared at Laila, wondering how she had gotten so cynical. Did it really come with the job?
Laila didn’t bother repeating what she’d been repeating nearly daily in the conference room. She didn’t have to. It already rang like a mantra in my brain.
$100,000. Per week. That’s what we need to be earning to keep this campaign alive.
It made my fundraising efforts at the Foundation seem paltry by comparison. Laila ordered billboards and events and print ads and mailings to the super-voters and digital ads with some sort of algorithm that made my head spin.
It seemed as though anyone who had ever been registered to vote in D.C. was somehow targeted by a digital ad when they signed on to like their grandchildren’s back-to-school photos, dog selfies, and instagrammed food plates. The fundraised money had been flying out the window. And we needed more. And fast.
“Aby, the election is only a month away, and Jude can’t lose to Kylie Rutter.”
The money spent to date was already obscene. But according to Laila, if Jude lost this Special Election, he’d also lose the momentum to forge a political career. Laila claimed this was an all or nothing opportunity. And the media supported her claims. Jude had to emerge from this election victorious. There would be no second chances. No one would take another chance on him, and his road to the Supreme Court—or the White House—would quite possibly be over. Everything Jude had said he’d wanted—since the night I’d met him outside Little Miss Whiskey’s—would be over.
And what would that mean for Jude and me? In some ways, our whole relationship was built planning for this moment. What would be left if all that was stripped away? We’d be left to rediscover each other—who we were without the campaign and all its trappings.
I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.
Laila had been persuasive throughout the campaign, but no time more than that coffee meeting. I felt a sense of panic. I agreed we would have to green-light Out The Bullies and let them know we would not stand in their way.
Laila had nodded with a sense of relief dripping from her shoulders. “There is no other way to keep Jude’s campaign afloat,” she kept saying. “If you really want to guarantee a win at this point. After all Jude’s and your hard work, this is the last option to make this work.”
I softened finally at Laila’s last words.
What would be the big deal about letting Out The Bullies spend their own money to defeat Innovative Media? Why had I been swayed by Jude to be tied to the principle of the thing?
I pushed the thought out of my mind as I repeated my agreement with Laila. Laila nodded aggressively. “In my extensive experience, the candidate who spends more smartly wins. It’s that simple.”
Laila stood up and put her hand out to shake on it. “So, you’ll tell Jude this is what we decided?”
I tried to smoothe down the feeling of being manipulated.
I didn’t want to agree to this on behalf of Jude. But I also didn’t want to concede that Jude and I wouldn’t have a united front on this decision once I told him my reasons. I didn’t want to know the details about Laila’s history with Jude, but I wanted to prove to her that I was his future.
I shook her hand wondering, What has Laila made me agree to?
And I thought to myself as Laila walked out of the diner, leaving me with a cold cup of coffee and the bill: It’s so easy to blur the lines. When will it stop?
Chapter 17
Monica Landsberry called me at the Appletreese office three days after the first Out The Bullies ad ran on every cable news channel. Her voice was too shrill and I held the phone away from my ear as she shouted into it.
“Aby Boyle? This is Monica Landsberry with The Washington Truth.”
I nearly hung up after she identified herself.
I never handled press inquiries at the Foundation directly. Those were all filtered through my assistant or the media director or Mena directly. Never me. I handled donors and kids. No media.
“I’m sorry. You were directed to the wrong person. I’m going to pass you back to our Media Director, who will be more than happy to help you. Thanks so much for calling.” I had my finger on the transfer button, when Monica yelled out to interrupt my thoughts.
“No. Aby! Don’t transfer me. I have information Jude needs to win the election.”
“What are you talking about?” My hand froze on the phone’s transfer button.
Monica continued talking quickly as if she was trying to beat a buzzer. “I know that you collaborated with Out the Bullies to run those ads. I know you are aligning yourself against Innovative Media. And most of all, Aby, I know how to help.”
I tried to contain my surprise—my horror, really.
“You can’t be with The Washington Truth. I read The Washington Truth. I’ve never heard of you. You sound like you’re from some rag or scandal blog that needs website traffic instead.”
“You’re wrong. I’m a veteran reporter here with all the clout and respectability you need to win this election.”
“Then why have I never heard of you? I get a Daily Digest email from The Washington Truth. I’ve never heard or seen your name.”
In truth, I didn’t know all The Washington Truth reporters. I knew Op Ed pieces were routinely published by a Nate Essuzare, who didn’t seem to have any linked bio, and who I suspected was writing under some kind of alias. Other reporters were long-time career writers with pedigrees that included stints at the Washington Post, the Baltimore Sun, The Capital Gazette, and more. That I hadn’t heard of Monica Landsberry meant very little, but I pretended it meant a lot, because I was frightened of her words.
“Aby, listen to me. I’ve been working behind the scenes on a very important exposé for months now.” She paused, seemingly catching her breath for the first time since I’d answered the phone. “Don’t hang up. I’m taking a real risk here. And I wouldn’t have come out to you if I didn’t know that you fully support the Out The Bullies ads.
I gulped. How could Monica know that? We had watched those ads together, Jude, Laila, and me. He had watched in stunned silence, and turned to both of us with a look of uncertainty.
“It’s their money, Jude. They can spend it however they like. And if they want to call out Innovative Media and Kylie Rutter as bullies, then you are to let them.” Laila was firm and direct with him.
“We should prepare a press release notifying the public that those ads were not made by our campaign.”
“Jude. You’re acting like a child. Those ads say exactly who paid for them, as per federal law, and we are now done having this conversation.”
Jude hadn’t asked any more questions, and I hadn’t told him about Laila and my coffee meeting. So how in the hell did Monica seem to know about it? Monica seized on my stunned silence.
“Aby—you’ve done the right thing. Aligning with Out The Bullies. And I know you’re ambivalent about it. But I’ve been working on an exposé of Innovative Media for six months now. It’s about to hit the press, and we are going to break it. Ahead of Washington Post, or CNN, or Fox News. We have the story, we have inside info, and I’m going to time the story to go to press within days of Jude’s election for maximum exposure. I very much want Jude to benefit from
this. We’re on the same side, Aby. I want the good guy to win here, too.”
I shook my head at the phone and put my face in my hands. When had the line blurred so entirely between news and politics? When I was younger, my mother and Kane and I would watch the evening news together, and the news seemed more bona fide. But was I wrong? Had it always been this slanted? Agendas and SuperPACS and election fixing? Was it always like this and I hadn’t realized?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. All the relevant campaign finance reports will be filed pursuant to law, and you’ll have ample opportunity to review them at that time. And respectfully, Ms. Landsberry, all media inquiries have to go through the campaign’s media director, Ms. Laila—”
“Aby, please. Listen to me. I know you’re working closely with Laila Rogers. And I know how much you trust her.”
I felt my spine straighten. This Monica Landsberry didn’t know so much after all if she thought I trusted Laila Rogers.
Monica powered on. “But she has her own agenda for wanting to quash Innovative Media and it has nothing to do with the LessThan app or anything you think you’re working for or against right now. I can’t tell you much more than that now. But it’s going to be part of my exposé’. It will help bring down Innovative Media, just not the way you’re thinking.”
I choked on the startling words coming from the other end of the line. I held the phone away from my face and stared at it like it was a weapon.
“Who are you?”
I told you. I’m a relentless investigator for the truth. But we are on the same side here. And don’t worry about Jude. He’s not going to be surprised about anything in the exposé. But you might be, Aby. And I’d like to make sure to get you a little more up to date about some of the competing agendas.”
“Why are you telling me all this? What are you up to?”
“I’m not going to lie to you, Aby. We need you.”
“We?”
“Me and Out The Bullies. They are fully cooperating on this exposé. And when this all comes to light, Innovative Media will be crushed, along with their supporters, and those on the side of Out of Bullies—on the right side—will have some great publicity courtesy of The Washington Truth, and moi.
“This is ridiculous. I should call the authorities and report this entire conversation.”
Monica laughed. More of a whimsical chuckle than an ominous laugh, but still, it made me feel uncomfortable. “I’m not doing anything illegal, Aby.”
“I don’t understand. What is it that you want from me?”
“We have a mole. A former employee of Innovative Media left with some pilfered subscriber lists. I have a contact who’ll give them to us but only if you come get them directly. He doesn’t trust us, apparently. He trusts you. The future wife of a politician. He says you and Jude strike him as the real deal. And he’ll only give the lists to you directly. He says if we can get you to go pick up the lists, he’ll know we mean what we say. That we really are all on the same side—and we are, Aby. Bottom line—he’ll trust us, if you trust us.”
“But there’s the rub. I don’t trust you.”
“I know. It’s ok. You don’t have to.”
I laughed, and noted that it sounded much less whimsical and more ominous than Monica’s laugh.
“So why in God’s name would I go do this ridiculous thing you’re asking me to do?”
“Aby, you’re our last hope at making sure all this comes together before the election.”
“What if I don’t care about this piece you seem to care so desperately about?”
Monica sighed loudly. And I heard a subtle change—a thickness—in her voice when she spoke again.
“Well, that’s the thing, Aby. I do care desperately about this. This is like a do or die career piece for me. This may be the last time I ever have such a perfect storm of events and contacts converge for any story like this. And I can’t blow it.”
“Ok? So, good luck to you. I still don’t know how you’re going to convince me this is worth the risk for me. I have a foundation to run. Philomena Treese would not want me becoming embroiled in this story. And frankly, I don’t want to become embroiled in this story.”
“Aby, does Jude know about ChelseaCat?”
I shook off the chill that had landed on my shoulders and asked, “What are you saying, Monica?”
“I’m just asking you a question, Aby. Just a very simple question.”
Chapter 18
After I hung up on her, it only took 24 hours for Monica Landsberry to call back. That was—coincidentally—the amount of time it had taken me to decide that I would probably do anything Monica asked of me.
The election was less than a month away. I had managed to keep my past remarkably under the radar all this time. I didn’t want to blow it now. It might ruin everything for Jude.
Monica insisted she didn’t want to dredge up the past—or my old sins—in the piece on Out The Bullies. But it was my old sins she was calling on to get my help.
“I think your boss might be interested in how little of your resume is fact versus fiction, don’t you? You’re working with these kids and you have absolutely no qualifications at all.”
“I am indeed qualified, I beg your pardon. No fancy overpriced college degree could substitute for the training I’ve gotten right here in the field. You can question a lot of things but not my commitment to getting resources to these kids. I’m not providing counseling or social work. I’m raising cold hard cash and I think Philomena Treese knows my worth even if you don’t, Ms. Landsberry.”
“Fair enough. But Philomena Treese would be embarrassed if she knew just how much you had duped her. You have to admit that. And you also have to admit you have no idea how she might react if she is embarrassed. How that might result in you losing your job, or worse.”
The only thing that I could think of losing that would be worse than my job, would be Jude. I shuddered at the thought, realizing that was probably what she was insinuating.
“Listen, Aby. This doesn’t have to be a pissing match. I just need the subscriber lists.”
“But why? How will that help you get any info on LessThan or Innovative Media?”
There was a pause. Monica had stopped speaking so quickly; clearly the balance of power had shifted in our conversation. I had less. She had more.
“We have identified a very active participant on the Out The Bullies Beta Blog, named Corelle.”
“Did you say Corelle?” I was stalling. I knew exactly what she’d said.
“On the Out The Bullies Blog, she goes by SassyCorelle—one word—and she has a bully she has outed mysteriously named “Donny” in her posts. A commenter who goes by the handle @IAmDonny is all over the LessThan app measuring up hapless victims to celebrities and the local socialite crowd, including SassyCorelle, but we cannot identify who Donny is.”
“Ok. I agree this all sounds horrible, but I’m not sure I’m following your urgency here.”
“Aby, I need to identify the mysterious ‘Donny’ in Correllle’s posts. We want to out Donny in this piece. We want to shine a light on those who are using the Innovative Media’s LessThan app to hurt real people. Not the theoretical masses, the way every fluff piece has done up until now. Corelle is one of the single most active new users on the Out The Bullies beta Blog. And based on information we’ve gotten from Corelle, we have reason to believe this ‘Donny’ is actually a prominent member of the D.C. community. Outing Corelle’s bully could really be the linchpin in this whole exposé. But we can’t seem to trace Donny through Out The Bullies. So we need those original subscriber lists from Innovative Media—hopefully Donny wasn’t very careful about covering up her footprint. From our conversations with Corelle, Donny seems to be a she.”
“Wait. You’ve spoken to Corelle about this?”
“Yes, we’ve spoken with Corelle. She won’t give us her permission to use her posts, but we don’t need it. They are in the public domain. She has nev
er identified her bully as anyone other than Donny, but we think it’s a high profile person, and we think you can help us track Donny down.”
I found myself wavering on my earlier decision to help Monica at all costs.
“Why on earth would I be able to do that?”
“Aby, we know you know Corelle. You can help us.”
“I explained to you already—I’m not a social worker or a counselor. I help raise money for arts and writing programs in the local schools. I help ensure these kids have the transportation they need to actually show up for those programs. That’s what I do. I don’t track down bullies or aliases or anything like that.
“And besides—if it’s the young woman I’m thinking of —do you know what a stubborn, fierce young woman she is? She has her own mind. Thank God. In some small part, that’s what these programs are fueling—confidence and self-esteem for all these kids, especially the young girls. That’s why I do what I do. Why on earth would you think I have some powers of persuasion with Corelle? Or if I did, why would I manipulate her that way?”
“I understand what you’re saying, but we want to help Corelle and the millions of others like her who are being tortured by and not helped by LessThan. We think you can help us do that by tracking down the Innovative Media subscriber list.”
“But if Corelle doesn’t want to help you identify Donny, why on earth would I want to?”
Monica’s voice got significantly lower. “Here’s where this all gets a little tricky, Aby. Corelle is playing with us a little bit. She’s a teen. It’s forgivable and understandable. She seems to like the attention. At first she denied even writing on the blog, but once we told her we knew it was her, she relented a bit.”
Why We Lie Page 14