Ethan nodded, intrigued by her response. “So, you don’t align with your husband’s conservative stance?”
Cleo chuckled softly. “Oh, Ethan, my husband is a complex man. He’s not driven by any strong ideological convictions. Jeffrey’s generally a nice guy, a people pleaser. Unfortunately, that means he never questions the party platform. It’s the bedrock of his political identity.” She took a moment to gather her thoughts before continuing. “In that regard, the President is more of a follower than a leader. It’s precisely what made him electable. He possesses a certain charm and affability that resonates, but it also means he’s susceptible to influence from various factions within the party.”
Cleo leaned in, her voice dropping slightly. “Believe me when I say that I regularly put a stop to some of the more extreme proposals that arise from the hardline whackados of the extreme right. I keep him grounded, reminding him of the needs and values of the American people. It’s a delicate balance, Ethan, but someone has to do it.” With that, she turned, opened the door to her office and gestured for Ethan and Blayne to follow.
They took a faster, less touristy route to the entrance of the East Wing. She opened the visitor’s door. “We’ll be talking soon,” Cleo said as she shook hands while slipping each a business card. “My cell is on the back if you need to get a hold of me directly.” She didn’t wait for a reply. She turned and headed back into the White House.
“If you’ll follow us,” a Secret Service agent said.
Up ahead, a black SUV was pulling up to the curb. Ms. Z. was getting out and opening the door as Blayne and Ethan exited the White House proper.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dr. Hennigan
The limo drove down the gravel roadway toward the towering mansion. Dr. Hennigan checked her makeup one last time. The torch-lit driveway curved in front of the ornate columned entryway. There was a line of cars. Each got their turn pulling up to the red carpet that led into the exclusive event. The car pulled up, and the door was immediately opened by a handsome man in uniform. She handed him her invitation then her hand as she stepped out of the limo and onto the carpet before heading up the stairs.
“Dr. Phillipa Courtenay,” a man yelled when she reached the top stair and entered the atrium. Not that anyone was listening to all the attendees being named. A server passed by, and she grabbed a flute of champagne. She never enjoyed having her hands too empty at these events, so she had her clutch in one and the champagne in the other. Several eyes turned in her direction. Her pale skin almost glowed against the red-and-black Gothic-inspired gown she wore. The satin bodice was decorated with intricate black lace leading to a high collar. A crimson skirt billowed out around her. It was gorgeous, even though it was far from practical, but tonight wasn’t about practicality. She wore a ruby necklace around her neck and two black diamond earrings.
And there she was… Dr. Hennigan observed the other woman for a moment. She was dressed in a blue ballgown also dripping in diamonds. When the woman looked her way, Hennigan tipped her crystal flute and nodded. The woman mimicked the action. She had ten to fifteen minutes before their clandestine meeting. Around them, couples mingled—men in tuxes and women in ballgowns. The ostentatiousness of it all almost sickened her. She was surrounded by old money. Not that her family didn’t have its own minor fortune, but these were the people who didn’t work a day in their lives and assumed everyone else on the planet was there simply to serve them. They had done nothing to earn their fortunes, besides having the right genetic composition at birth. But these people had the money to move mountains. She looked at one woman wearing a green gown who had recently had a mountain removed from her property because it was in the way of her view of the sunset.
Hennigan drifted in and out of the crowd, listening to bits and pieces of conversations.
“Phillipa,” a woman said, next to her, “I’m amazed to see you here. This isn’t your usual haunt.”
“Amara,” Hennigan responded, giving the woman a once-over. “I’m amazed customs let you into the country.”
Amara Conti was born into Italian aristocracy. She at least leveraged her family’s fortune and influence to become a dominant businesswoman with her fingers in finance, real estate and media, predominantly in Western Europe and the Mediterranean. Some of her dealings were with less-than-savory characters. The Foundation had long known that she was laundering money for various criminal enterprises. Unfortunately, their best forensic accountants could not trace the money back to her.
“I heard about that horrible affair in your family’s business. I hope your mother and grandmother are okay,” Amara said as she smiled.
“I will send them your regards,” Hennigan said. “Now, really, I must talk to someone whom I actually like.”
Without waiting for a word, Hennigan walked away.
“I don’t trust that woman,” Ms. Wilson’s voice said in Hennigan’s ear. “She knows more about what’s going on in the world than she ever lets on.”
Hennigan was surrounded by people, so she couldn’t respond. A few moments later, she entered the powder chamber filled with couches. This was where all the women conducting business or looking for the latest gossip would eventually end up.
Hennigan found the woman she needed to talk to sitting on a bench, touching up her makeup. She walked over and sat down next to her.
“Cleo, it’s good to see you,” Hennigan said without looking at the First Lady.
“Phillipa, what a delight.” Hennigan set down her champagne flute, pulled out a tube of dark red lipstick from her clutch and acted like she was touching it up. “Going for the modern vampire look, I see?”
“Black and red look good on me,” Hennigan said. “Just like navy seems to be your color.”
Cleo let out a polite laugh. “We both know I prefer black, but we all wear costumes for our roles.”
“That we do.” Hennigan placed the lipstick back in her clutch before picking up her champagne flute then looked around the room. She sipped and asked, “Shall we go for a walk in the gardens?”
“I only have a few minutes. My security detail will see that I’m gone,” Cleo said.
“That’s all that I need.”
They left the powder room and took a series of doors until they walked outside into an expansive garden. A neoclassical carved stone bench was ahead, designed to look like peacock feathers. Phillipa sat down, and Cleo followed suit.
“I always loved it here when I was growing up,” Hennigan said. “Do you remember the first time I brought you here?”
