8
Victor
“Good morning, Governor,” Kena greeted as Victor entered the outer office.
She was standing in front of his office door carrying a pile of papers that she must have been getting ready to put on his desk.
“Kenyatta,” Victor muttered, a little grumpier than intended.
“Good morning, Governor,” she repeated as if expecting a better greeting.
Victor smiled. “I’m sorry, Kena. I didn’t get much sleep last night. Good morning.”
It seemed as soon as Taylor’s pregnancy was confirmed, the all too frequent vomiting spells started. Someone needed to change the term “morning sickness” to all-day-and-all-night sickness. Taylor’s bouts with nausea didn’t follow a specific schedule. She had suffered a night full of sickness and urgent trips to the bathroom. Yet, she was able to get up, get herself together and, despite his objections, go to work.
“Governor, is everything okay?”
“Yep. Just a bit tired. No biggie. What’s my day looking like?”
“Busy. You have a meeting with the Illinois Police Union president at 10 AM. At 11:30, you’re speaking at a brunch hosted by Wives of Fallen Officers, and you’re expected at campaign headquarters by two. After that, you’re back here for a staff meeting at four.”
“Damn,” Victor murmured. “Anything else?”
“Yep. Renee is in your office.”
Victor looked at his watch. It was just after 7 AM. Since he’d hired Renee as his press secretary, she’d never beat him to his office in the morning.
“This can’t be good.”
Kena nodded in agreement.
“Shall we?” She nodded toward his office.
Victor held the door open and followed her inside. Renee was sitting at his conference table going over her own pile of papers.
She pulled her reading glasses from her face and looked up.
“Morning, Governor.”
Concern was etched across her face.
“Good morning, Renee. What’s up?” he asked on the way to his closet.
After hanging his suit jacket, he walked around his desk and took a seat. Judging by her demeanor, he felt he wanted to be seated for whatever bomb she was about to drop.
Renee fished something from a folder, walked toward him, and placed it on his desk. It was a photo.
Victor picked it up and squinted, looking closer. It was a picture of him and his brothers in the restaurant. He and Lincoln were both pointing guns. Behind Victor, Gregor was crouched down wearing a scowl while reaching for him. In the background, he could see a few frightened patrons. On the photo, written in red marker, was: MOB HIT ON GOVERNOR?
“Fuck me!” Victor swore.
It was the second photo that alleged he was involved in organized crime.
“Who the fuck is doing this?” he asked, more to himself.
Renee stuffed her hands in the pocket of her slacks and shook her head. “I don’t know, Governor Creed. But I promise you that I’ll find out. I’ve got a few meetings with some media insiders. I’ll find out something. In the meantime,” she pulled the picture from his fingers, “I’ve already squashed this with the papers.”
“Good.” Victor sighed.
