Page 3 of Winterveil

The lump in Julian’s throat made it hard to speak. “No. No, I . . .”

His father let out a long, low breath. Several more beats of silence passed, spreading out time in a languid, almost unreal way. Then: “Julian.”

He could picture his father seated at his own desk, the severe set of his mouth and the furrow creasing his brow. His eyes, a remote blue, narrowed to slits. Hoarse and hopeful, Julian answered, “Yes?”

“There’s nothing I can do now. You made your bed. You lie in it. You’ve embarrassed me and this family enough already.”

He hung up before Julian could say another word, leaving him to listen to static.

Julian put the phone down with surprising poise. The fearful fluttering of his heart seemed to have no impact at all on his movements. His calmness was the still surface of a lake, the frenzy of the tide fettered beneath.

He swiveled his chair to look out the window. The crowd was beginning to scatter as evening approached, so only the most dedicated protestors remained. They had been there since 6:00 a.m., before Julian himself had even arrived—the ones who had set up lawn chairs, hoisting their hand-painted signs that demanded his resignation and arrest. One of them, featuring a crudely drawn guillotine, demanded his head.

THERE ARE NO ETHICAL BILLIONAIRES, it said. A rare (and only slight) overestimation of his personal net worth.

There was some clamoring in the hall, incomprehensible shouting. Julian stiffened in his seat, feeling for the panic button under his desk, even though when he’d first taken office, he had been advised that it hadn’t worked in years.

Besides, there was no need to summon the police. There were two officers already standing in the door.

“Hello, Mr. Mayor,” one of them said. He had a nasal voice that dropped both of the r’s. “I think you know why we’re here.”

Julian’s fingers curled around the edge of the desk. “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway.”

The second officer cleared his throat. He had a ruddy, pockmarked face, and the same plebeian drawl. “You’re under arrest for embezzlement and accepting bribes. Now, we can do this the easy way, or—”

“The hard way. Got it.”

On shaking legs, Julian stood. Before he could offer them his wrists, the first officer grasped him roughly by the arm. He spun him around, pinned him to the desk, and then cuffed his hands behind his back. It knocked the wind out of him, and dizzily, Julian recalled that he’d signed a bill last month slashing police pensions.

The officers led him through the halls, past the desks of the city hall staffers. Most of their faces and names were a blur, despite the fact that they’d been working under him for months, fielding calls from raving constituents and taking minutes at council meetings. A few had the presence of mind to snap photos with their cell phones, while the others just stared. As if they hadn’t whispered about this very moment at the water cooler. As if they hadn’t all known it was coming.

By the time the officers pushed him through the doors, into the crisp, glass-like air of New England in early March, the crowd of protestors seemed to have swelled to twice its size. They pressed toward him in a contorted mass, film cameras clicking and flashing, voices rising in a tidal roar.

A few words surfaced from the ocean of sounds: Traitor. Liar. Stupid kid.

Julian could have lived with being a liar, as long as he had been a good one. He could even have made peace with being a traitor. But he could not bear to go down in the annals of history as a stupid kid.

The officers continued to maneuver him roughly through the crowd. Julian managed to gain himself enough freedom of motion to glance over his shoulder, straining to see past the protestors’ bobbing heads and hefted signs.

Quinn was standing at the top of city hall steps, Styrofoam cup of espresso in hand. This time, he didn’t bother to hide his delight. His gleeful smile was wide enough to be unmistakable, even from a distance.

Et tu, Quinn, Julian thought as he was shoved into the back of the police car.

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SUBMITTED: NEW YORK TIMES ARTICLE [ARCHIVED] [PUBLICLY ACCESSIBLE, NO SECURITY CLEARANCE REQ.]

GIRL, 15, MAKES $10 MILLION ON THE STOCK MARKET BEFORE BEING ARRESTED FOR FRAUD

May 4, 2034

New York—Klaudia Shimonova, 15, was arrested on Monday for fraud after forging her father’s signature on several financial documents pertaining to the purchase and sale of stock options. She was released on bail and will await trial from her parents’ apartment on the Upper West Side.

Shimonova’s father, Ivan Shimonov, is an analyst with the Quaestor Group, although he claims he has never discussed his work with his daughter. He stated that she was able to obtain his signature from her school forms, which she then used to access his personal and professional bank accounts.

“She got bored,” Shimonov said. “The school doesn’t challenge her enough.”

Shimonova attends Trinity School, an independent preparatory school on Manhattan’s Lower East Side. Trinity is regarded as one of the most selective and rigorous high schools in the country, with an acceptance rate of 4.5 percent and a Stanford-Ivy-MIT pipeline of 57 percent. (Over half their graduates go on to attend an Ivy League school, or an Ivy equivalent.) A current sophomore, Shimonova is class treasurer and captain of the competitive math team, which recently won a national medal under her leadership.