When I say all of this to him, he meets my explanation with an unimpressed hum. “And yet, none of the people who matter know who you are.”
“None of the people who matter?!” I sputter, slamming the crystal tumbler in my hand down. “Who the fuck are you talking about? You and your rich friends? Because they most certainly know me. They’ve benefited from your connection to me, and now I’m ready for the proceeds to flow the other way.”
“Please lower your voice, Senator. The people I am referring to are not my friends, or yours. They are the normal, every day Americans who need to know your name and your face. They need to feel connected to you, and they do not care what Senate committees you’ve served on.”
“Tell me what to do,” I plead, years-old desperation and desire caving in my chest. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”
“Come to my home tomorrow night, 9 p.m.”
I’m still thinking about how abruptly he ended the call when I show up at the high rise where we met. To my shock, Phineas answers his own door, welcoming me into his space with a sweep of his arm. It’s been close to two years since we’ve seen each other in person, and he’s no less disconcerting to me now than he was the day all of this started. The man is an enigma and, to be frank, a bit of an asshole, which is why I’m not surprised to find that he failed to mention we wouldn’t be dining alone tonight.
Phineas takes his seat at the head of the table and gestures to the stout, blonde woman on his left who I recognize from the halls of the Capitol. “Senator Taylor, I am sure you know Senator Barnes.”
She lifts a hand in greeting, and there’s a deep Southern twang to her voice when she speaks. “Please, call me Cordelia.”
“Cordelia, it’s nice to see you in a more personal setting.”
“And this is Travis Langham,” Phineas tells me, tilting his head in the direction of the man to his right who salutes me.
“It’s a pleasure, Travis.”
“Pleasure’s all mine, Senator.”
Phineas claps his hands. “Now that we are all acquainted, let us eat.”
The meal is delicious, but the conversation is stilted. No one seems to understand why I’m here, including me, and by the time we’ve reached the dessert portion of the night, I’m questioning whether I heard Phineas correctly when he told me to come over.
I’m in the process of bringing a scoop of vanilla ice cream to my mouth when Phineas looks to Cordelia. “Tell Senator Taylor the worst thing you’ve ever done.”
My spoon falls out of my hand, clattering on the edge of my bowl loudly. Travis snickers, enjoying my shock, while Cordelia’s expression remains smooth. She takes a sip of her water before shifting in her seat to face me head on.
“For the past two years, I’ve taken payments from a vendor who sells defective bulletproof vests to ensure they are awarded government contracts. Those vests are shipped to the Middle East and given to U.S. troops who die from wounds they would have survived if their gear was effective.”
I don’t know what I thought she was going to say, what kind of dinner party icebreaker game I thought we were playing, but never in a million years could I have expected that. Travis chuckles, raising his hand gleefully.
“Can I go now, Phineas?”
“Of course. Thank you for waiting your turn this time.”
His salacious grin sends shivers down my spine, but I keep my expression neutral. “I’m a cop.” I don’t quite get the joke, but he delivers it like a punch line, and both Phineas and Cordelia laugh. “It’s my job to hunt down murderers,” Travis explains. “But occasionally, I get paid to be one.”
More than a little confused, I look to Phineas, waiting for his confession or an explanation, whichever comes first. He dabs at his mouth with a corner of his cloth napkin and then drops it on top of the dish, signaling the end of dessert. Members of his staff appear out of nowhere, sweeping away the dishes quietly.
“Are you wondering why we are telling you this, Senator?”
I nod jerkily, unable to speak. Phineas smiles, and it’s another one of those predatory grins that spreads slow like molasses. “Because it’s important to me that you understand no one here is going to judge you.”
Finally, I find my voice. “Judge me?”
“Yes, for what you’re about to do.”
“And what exactly am I about to do?”
He snaps his fingers, and a woman appears at my side, sliding a folder in front of me. The outside is plain, no words or markings, but when I open it there’s a timeline on the first page that lays out my life for the next eight years. It starts with the phone call to Phineas last night and ends with me winning the Presidential election in November 2024. Everything in between is details and logistics like hire a woman named Jordan St. James as my campaign manager and convince Selene to start straightening her hair, but all of that comes after the one thing that gives me pause.
I drop the folder, finally understanding why Phineas had Cordelia and Travis share the darkest parts of their souls with me.
“You want to kill my son?”
