Or maybe Deverewasn’tbehind the shooting.
If not, dear reader, then who?
Let me present some of the facts.
The president was one of two men who saw Brackton alive in the moments prior to his death. The second, Canadian billionaire Clyde Korhonen, was another of Brackton’s friends from his college days at Oakwood.
Who’s one of my sources?
Brackton, a renowned whoremonger, hired a special lady ‘friend’ on the night of his murder, and she,the poor thing, witnessed his brutal death before perishing in mysterious circumstances—a pileup on the Upper East Side last night.
Not before sending me a picture…
If that doesn’t scream conspiracy to you, then you’re reading the wrong blog.
Decide for yourselves exactly why that escort had to die. From the picture alone, (redacted to protect their identities,) we can see two of the ‘hookers’ entertaining our POTUS and his best buds are underage.
A secret worth murdering for?
Absolutely.
Throw in the fact that Brackton Sr. has been priming the city for an inhouse election of his own—his son, Graham Jr., has his sights on the New York State Executive Mansion. Keeping their reputations squeaky clean would have been imperative to his father. And being associated with a pedophilic president would have damaged not only the family, but their super PAC.
Then, there’s news that Anastasia, Graham’s beleaguered wife, has been interred in Shady Pines after experiencing another breakdown. (Two years ago, she was admitted to an NYC hospital on a suspected overdose when rumor had it the two were heading for divorce. See blog here.)
My sources tell me, however, that there was nothing voluntary about her recent hospitalization…
The wife, the billionaire bud, or the president—your suspects, dear reader.
I’ll let you decide who the perp is. I know who my money’s on and he’s sitting behind the Resolute Desk.
(Maybe it’s time to change POTUS’s meaning to Pedophile Of The United States???)
“Those hookers are kids.”
My flat statement had Luc nodding. “Agreed.”
“We don’t run children.”
“Of course we don’t.” Luc huffed. “Nor do any of the city’s principal factions—we have an accord, remember? For all that Braxton was a pervert, at least he liked them over the age of consent.”
This conversation wasnothelping my headache disappear.
I skewered the president’s face with my pointer finger. “Wonder how the blogger gained access to the picture.”
“The escort took it, but I don’t know if she sent it to the blogger.” A nerve ticked in his jaw. “She was one of ours. The authorities said she was driving under the influence. They’re blaming her for the pileup.”
I cracked my neck. “Did it seem forced?”
“What?”
“Any track marks? Any bruising that’d suggest she washelped?”
“Not as far as I know. Apparently, Clarice used to have a drug problem. It’s being postulated that she experienced a relapse.” He cleared his throat. “You’d be wise to put a better face on things than you are now because Rory’s in a piss-poor mood. Hunter’s already freaking out about the Braxton Hicks she’s experiencing. We’re supposed to keep things as calm as we can.”
“I’m not a child.” At his arched brow, I flipped him the bird. “I’m not.If she needs me to investigate?—”
“For the moment, there’s nothingtoinvestigate, and the last thing I want is you encouraging Rory’s theories. She’s as bad as this blogger.”
