He balks, pushing my hand off his leg. “Shut up, Drake.”
“You only resort to telling me to shut up when you know I’m right.”
“I only resort to telling you to shut up when you’re being an obnoxious ass,” he retorts, slamming a finger down on the space bar to resume the recording he was listening to. There are hundreds, maybe even thousands, of them, and we’ve split them up. Beck is responsible for the later years, taking notes on everything pertinent to our investigation while the recordings play on the air-gapped laptop Selene insisted we keep copies of everything on. I’ve got the early years, and so far, I’ve learned alot. Like the fact that Phineas Gambit recommended Jordan to Aubrey, instructing him to hire her after he was elected for his third term as a U.S. Senator because he liked her ruthlessness. I also learned that capitalizing off the sympathy and national attention he’d gained from AJ’s death was always a part of the plan to get him to the Oval.
Jordan loved the idea.
Even over audio, it’s easy to tell how thrilled she was by the prospect. As soon as Aubrey said he had no qualms about discussing his son’s murder or his wife’s devastation, she started spouting off ideas, never stopping to consider why a father who’d just lost his child would be okay with any of that.
The other thing that’s become abundantly clear as we’ve listened is how much and for how long Aubrey has harbored a deep hatred for Selene. Not once is he heard speaking of or about her in anything other than a disparaging manner. And what’s worse, is when she’s in the room, when her soft voice is heard over the recordings and her genuine questions and concerns are caught on audio, and that version of him is nowhere to be found. It’s like he transforms into a loving husband. I mean, he’s still an entitled son of a bitch who talks out of the side of his neck sometimes, but it’s nothing like when she’s not around.
Hearing the switch up, witnessing her being subjected to such manipulation, fills me with the kind of rage that’s useless to me right now because it craves action and violence and at the moment all I can do is be still and listen to a woman who only ever says what she means—and believes the same to be true of others—be lied to by the man she trusted with every piece of herself.
Last night she asked us how she didn’t see it, how she missed the signs, and now I know I was right when I told her there probably weren’t any. Aubrey played the role of the dutiful husband and grieving father so well when Selene was around,it wouldn’t have made any logical sense for her to do anything other than believe him. The illusion fell apart when the affair with Sutton became public. His mask slipped, and he never bothered to put it back on, completing his transformation into bitch ass motherfucker on the TV screen right now.
As Jordan promised, the news of Marsh’s death broke this morning. All day, we’ve listened to segments about the assassination attempt that landed him in prison, his son’s death and the grudge against Selene that led to his escape and eventual death on White House grounds. Psychologists have been interviewed to speak to his state of mind, the warden from his prison has made a statement addressing the death and refusing to speak on the escape, old clips from his days leading the Brothers have been aired to give context to his hateful existence, political pundits have speculated about whether his death means Selene will return to the public eye and discussed whether the President feels safe in the White House after the breach.
Lots of conversation, speculation and endless mentions of his name, but not once today, have I seen Aubrey live and in color.
It’s an odd sensation, seeing his face, watching him smile and wave like he’s innocent when I know what he’s done, and I catch myself glaring at the TV as if he can feel my hate through the screen.
“Where is he?” Beck asks, forcing me to look away from the man and at his surroundings. He’s fielding questions from a small press corps in front of a motorcade that’s blocking black, wrought iron gates that feel far too familiar. I pause the recording on the laptop, disbelief curling into a ball in my chest.
“Is that?—”
Beck holds up a hand to stop me, grabbing the remote to turn the volume up.
“President Taylor, you’re supposed to be hosting a Cabinet meeting at the White House today. What are we doing here in Bethesda?”
My heart sinks. “No.”
“How the fuck did he find us?”
On the television, Aubrey is spouting off some bullshit about being eager to reunite with his wife now that the danger has passed. His voice is annoying, grating on my nerves, but it doesn’t even compare to the sensation of hearing it pass through the speakers of the intercom near the front door.
“You’ve got two seconds to open this gate,” he growls into the box, which makes no sense because on the TV he’s still taking questions while Woodard and Garrison stand behind him.
Beck looks between the front door and the TV, processing the same information as me and coming to a conclusion quickly. “There must be a delay.”
He’s right because TV Aubrey is only now approaching the box while the real life one presses the button again. “Tick tock, motherfuckers.”
“What do we do?”
There’s only one option. I know it just as well as Beck does even though his question suggests he’s hoping for some alternative outcome.
“Get Selene and Monique. I’ll open the door.”
“Fuck that, Drake. I’m not leaving you down here alone.”
“What are they going to do, Beckham? Execute me on national television?”
I feel the weight and heat of his anger on my back as I head to the door, slamming my hand on the button that opens the gate. The one small action turns my body into a live wire. Suddenly, I’m on high alert, adrenaline pumping through my veins as I remove my gun from the holster and pull back the slide to check the chamber even though I know it’s loaded.
“On your six,” Beck says from behind me. I don’t know if he went up the stairs to warn Selene and Monique, and there’s no time to ask as the gravel of the driveway crunches underneath the tires of the vehicles of Aubrey’s motorcade.
“He didn’t bring the press up.”
“We should have left his ass outside of the gate with them.”
