Now
For twenty-eight years, Linda’s assumed they were on the same side. Assumed that, like her, Ruth wants to preserve the records, protect the truth, and remember the mistakes so they won’t be repeated.
She’s been so naive.
Ruth never wanted to save those files to prevent future abuses. Linda finally understands what Ruth does want. She wants to recreate them to prove that the old ways still work. After all this time, Ruth still wants to convince the Lighthouse that abandoning Cold War tactics was a mistake.
And by saving the files, Linda gave her the roadmap.
All Linda can do now is hope Caleb’s books do well enough, get enough attention, that one intrepid reporter becomes a chorus of questions that will finally force the truth out into the open.
She should water her plants. It’s that time of night. But her hands, clasped together in her lap, are still shaking.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Leo looks down at his sleeping wife. She jerks awake.
“Don’t do that.”
“What, look at you?” He brushes a kiss over her lips.
She pushes the tangle of hair out of her eyes and squints at him. “Don’t watch me sleep because I can feel your eyes on me and it wakes me up. Also, since when do you wake up before me?”
“Since I got a text at four in the morning from my friend Caleb excitedly sharing the news that he’s finished his book.”
She scrubs her palm over her face. “Already? He’s a machine.”
“He is. And Biz is meeting him on campus during his planning period to give him her feedback.”
“So are you trying to tell me we need to figure out how to stop him from publishing it?”
“Yes.” He hands her a mug of coffee. “Jump-start your brain and come up with some genius legal way to prevent him from releasing The Takedown.”
She takes the coffee greedily, lifts her mouth for another kiss, then slides out of bed.
“You handle breakfast. I’ll think in the shower.”
Freshly showered and dressed in yoga pants and one of Connelly’s old t-shirts, Sasha walks into the kitchen to refill her coffee mug. Finn and Fiona are eating their breakfast outside at the patio table.
She turns to Connelly. “Do you want the bad news or the still-bad-but-not-quite-as-terrible news first?”
“What kind of choice is that?” He lifts his spatula. “Blueberry pancakes?”
“No thanks. I’m not hungry.”
He lowers the spatula. “That bad, huh?”
“Our best option would be that Biz tells Caleb the book sucks and needs a complete rewrite. But I doubt that’s going to happen. He really is a good writer.”
“What’s the worst option?”
“The worst option is that I file an injunction to prevent the book from being published.”
He gives her a wounded look. “That doesn’t sound like a genius legal idea.”
“Yeah, that’s because the law’s not on our side. We don’t have standing to ask for an injunction, we don’t have any evidence to present—let alone any admissible evidence at all, and prior restraint violates the First Amendment absent very limited exceptions. All I would accomplish by going to court would be embarrassing myself. And I can do that without putting on a suit.”
“Dare I ask what the medium option is?” he grouses.
