18
Victor
Victor tossed the newspaper on the conference table and pretended to be interested in whatever his campaign staff was debating about. Concern for his wife was dominating his thoughts. Since the shooting, she’d spent the majority of her time either in bed or on the sofa in the bedroom with her eyes glued to the television, watching reality TV. She barely ate, rarely left the room, and refused to see any family and friends. And since she hadn’t turned her phone on since the incident, Victor’s personal phone had been more active than usual. With all the calls from her friends and their family, his phone could barely keep a charge.
The only people Taylor couldn’t avoid were her parents. The Montgomerys were not having it. After the first unanswered call, they’d bullied their way through security until they had eyes on their baby girl.
Renee grabbed the paper from the table and placed it on a smaller table in the corner. “At least they killed the story about Taylor,” she pointed out with not a lot of enthusiasm.
Victor had to assume she wasn’t at all pleased with the story that had replaced it. Instead of blaming Taylor for her commander’s death, the Times focused on the rumors of his pending indictment.
“By the way, how did you kill the story?”
Renee took her seat at the table. “I didn’t,” she admitted. “I made the call, but my guy at the paper said Trainer decided to go in another direction.”
Victor leaned back in his seat. He could feel his brows wrinkle as he glared at his press secretary.
“Why would he do that?”
“Don’t know. I was thinking about asking you the same thing,” she replied, suspiciously.
“It wasn’t me.”
The look in her eyes told him that she was skeptical. And, he couldn’t blame her. He’d completely lost it when he heard the reporter was planning to write an article so inflammatory and filled with venom about Taylor.
“Renee, I was livid, yes. But believe me when I tell you…it wasn’t me. So, I need you to stay on your toes.”
Her narrowed eyes softened and turned less accusatory. “Understood.”
Victor nodded just as the door was opened. Kena stepped in and escorted his campaign staff inside. Mark Vega, his senior campaign strategist; Nate Williams, the pollster; and Carlotta McGovern, the chief media advisor for the campaign entered, greeting with smiles and handshakes.
“Good news, Governor,” Nate Williams announced enthusiastically. “Your numbers are through the roof.” He hurried over to the conference table and placed his briefcase in front of him, fished out a file and handed it to Renee. “Your approval rating is in the mid-60s and you’re killing it with women.”
Nate was like any other poll taker, excited by numbers. But Victor knew all too well that positive polls did not determine the outcome of an election.
“But?” Victor probed, cynical.
Nate glanced at Mark Vega with an unspoken plea in his eyes. He was clearly uncomfortable delivering news that was unfavorable.
“Go on,” Victor urged.
“Well, Sir, you lost a lot of conservatives when you bashed the president on national TV and advocated for Planned Parenthood. You are a Republican gubernatorial nightmare to the Republican party.”
Victor chuckled. Nate was absolutely right. It was no secret that his beliefs were a stark contrast to the “right-wing” conservatives that had emerged from the proverbial closet with the election of the current president.
“What else?”
When Nate hesitated, Carlotta jumped in.
“Rumors of an investigation into your PAC funds don’t help.”
“I would think not,” Victor muttered.
Mark took a seat at the table and folded his arms. “You’re winning this race,” Mark ensured. “As Nate said, you have women, you have the non-whites, and you have the Millennials, which is unheard of for a Republican. Now, you have to win the Independents. And a little damage control with your own party wouldn’t hurt.”
“I assume you have a course of action?”
“Always, sir,” he responded with a confident grin.
