—try not to think about the terror in Stella’s voice, genuine terror—
the holes the rounds punched through the closet door
—or the grotesquely sad irony that it was only in the final minutes of my sister’s life—
the spatter of blood on Ellis’ fingers as we stared at his hand
—that she finally gave me that one thing I’d always wanted from her.
Love.
That while I’d spent my life trying to earn Dad’s love, she’d been engaged in a version of the same thing.
And I don’t even know if it was genuine or not.
One of the SitRoom watch officers walks up. “I’m sorry, Mister President. Line one. Secret Service.”
I nod to Casey-Marie. “Put it on speaker.”
“Yes, sir.” She reaches over and punches the button. “This is Casey-Marie Blaine, President Woodley’s chief of staff. You’re on speaker in the Situation Room with the president. What’s going on?”
It’s the supervisor of the Secret Service’s Miami office, who’s now on-site at Stella’s. I won’t bore you with all the details but from the information they’ve gathered, including talking with the private security company, Ellis left the house a little less than an hour before he returned. He had, in fact, told them he was going to Ft. Lauderdale after a private lunch appointment at the country club only two miles from their house. A security officer drove him there and was supposed to drive him to Ft. Lauderdale.
While at that lunch meeting—with whom they’re still trying to sort out—apparently Ellis learned Stella posted the video. He demanded the car keys from the security officer, fired him, and raced home, where he fired the two security officers on duty at the guardhouse just outside his gate. Ellis demanded they shut down the security system and leave immediately.
They did.
The gate announcement system was still active because it was a separate system.
There are no doubts that it’s Ellis and Stella dead in the house. The gun safe in Ellis’ home office was found standing open. The garage door was open, and it looked like Stella had hastily packed several suitcases and tossed them in the back seat of her car, along with other belongings, like her laptop.
Ellis had parked his car so she couldn’t get hers out of the garage.
And…did I have any instructions for him regarding Stella’s body beyond the Medical Examiner’s office taking it?
I sit there with my head in my hands and a migraine threatening. “For now, have the ME hold her once they complete her autopsy,” I say, exhaustion setting in with more than a heaping helping of nausea threatening, too. “I need to talk to my parents and I don’t know if she had a will or not, or had any arrangements specified.”
“Yes, sir.”
When the call ends I sit there for a moment, grateful that no one’s speaking yet. I’m aware of movement to my right and there appears Jordan with a glass of water for me and holding a small glass bottle.
Peppermint oil.
He hands me the bottle. I uncap it, cup my hands around the bottle, and breathe deeply taking several long, deep drags, which helps both my headache and my nausea. I screw the cap back on and return it. “Thank you.”
“Yes, sir.”
I’m gathering my thoughts when the watch officer returns. “Mister President, US Marshals on line two.”
Casey-Marie answers, identifies herself, and puts the caller on speaker phone. “Go ahead,” she says.
“Sir, we have both Rep. Fargo and Martin Ingalls in custody as of ten minutes ago.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “What about Borens and Gretz?” I ask.
“Ron Borens is in an armed stand-off at his home in Orlando. He’s holding his wife and one of his children hostage. Negotiators are en route now.”
Fuck.“And Gretz?”
