Chapter 32
Lila gripped her side as she peeked through the window of the emergency room suite, her wound aching after five minutes of compressions, a swift ride in a jostling cart, and another forty minutes of peering at Dr. Booth and his team as they worked. Booth and another doctor had continued pressing upon her father’s chest, shocking him with paddles, and inserting needles and tubes into his body. Several nurses flitted in and out of the room, jumping as the doctors barked orders.
None of it was working, though.
Gods, why wasn’t it working?
At first, Lila had been confident. Her father had always kept himself fit and trim. He spent time sweating in the gym every day. Despite eating a forbidden sausage here and there, he was healthy. She’d almost been happy when it had happened. She’d renewed her CPR training every six months, and one of the servants had rushed to her side with an AED. If her father was going to have a heart attack, then he couldn’t have picked a better place for it to happen, except perhaps in the clinic itself. A heart attack would wake him up. Booth would bring him back, her father would laugh about his “episode,” and he’d take his condition a damn sight more seriously from now on.
She and her father had a retirement to enjoy.
It wasn’t happening like that, though.
Instead of waking up, he just lay there, his eyes closed, his body shifting and turning blue as the doctors tugged on his exposed chest.
If she’d just turned around sooner and noticed he hadn’t been breathing… If she’d started chest compressions right away…
Oh gods, she hadn’t been paying attention. Her father had been dying—would die—because she’d been too busy watching some stupid children’s movie, one she’d seen a billion times before.
Dr. Booth straightened beside the bed. The cheap paper crinkled as he crossed her father’s arm over his chest. The doctor on the opposite side did the same while the nurses flipped off the beeping machines. The group bent backward to stretch, their burgundy scrubs wrinkled from the hour they’d spent over the prime minister, the fabric clinging to their damp skin.
The doctors caught sight of one another, eyes grim, jaws locked.
Both useless.
Lila shoved the door open and bound into the room. “Why are you stopping?”
The nurses flipped their gazes to Dr. Booth, who cut his chin toward the door. The three men slipped from the room, avoiding Lila as if she were a scratching, hissing cat. The other doctor followed suit.
“Come with me, madam. This isn’t an appropriate place for this conversation.” He slid his eyes toward her father.
“I’m not leaving him.” She stepped beside her father, uncrossed his arms, and began compressions anew, her side aching with the effort.
Dr. Booth watched her work. “Your technique is perfect, madam.”
“Stop standing there and help!”
The doctor swallowed in between her deep breaths, both noises loud in the quiet room.
“Madam, it was a heart attack. I pleaded with him for years to take his health seriously. So did you, but he refused.”
“He’s not dead.”
“He’s been dead for an hour. Even if you managed to get his heart started, there’d be nothing left of the man you knew. At best, he’d do little else but drool. At worst, he’d be a shell. You don’t want that. He wouldn’t want that. He’s gone, madam. He’s already taken his place in the halls.”
Lila stopped her work. The impassive face of the man she’d once called father did not move. He’d smiled his last smile, written his last sentence, spoken his last words. He slept on now, oblivious to the world.
Lips blue.
Skin cold.
She bit her cheeks as Booth recrossed her father’s arms. She tasted copper. “He ate a steak tonight, doctor. A fucking steak!”
Dr. Booth nodded. “You father was fond of many things, madam. Listening was never one of them.” He left the body, took up her hand, and steered her toward the door.
Lila finally let him, leaving her father alone in a brightly lit, quiet room.
That wasn’t him anymore.
It could never be him again.
Her father, the prime minister, Henri Lemaire-Masson, would never wake.
“I have to go to the lobby to speak to the rest of his family,” Dr. Booth said. “You should have been out there with them. You shouldn’t have watched.”
“Why not? I watched him die, didn’t I?” She tongued the cuts in her cheek, bitten as she waited for her father to wake. Blood oozed from each puncture.
“I’m very sorry for your loss, Ms. Randolph.” Booth slipped his arm around her waist, more to prod her toward the waiting room than for comfort. “It’s the country’s loss as well, I can assure you. Everyone will mourn your father. He was one of the most beloved prime ministers we’ve ever—”
Something about the doctor’s voice tugged at her wrongly.
She grabbed his collar and shoved him into an empty emergency suite. His back shuddered as she rammed him into the off-white wall.
“What did you give him?”
Booth did not seem surprised to be shoved. Perhaps he had been shoved many times before in the clinic, even among the highborn. “I don’t know what—”
“The wine,” she hissed, slapping his back into the wall once more. “He poured a glass of wine and took some pill right in front of me. Who takes heart medication with wine?”
“I just upped it at our last appointment.”
“He said it was new.”
“He likely would have said anything so long as he could have eaten his steak in peace. He never listened to either of us about his heart.” Booth gripped her fingers, trying to pry them from the neck of his scrubs.
Lila did not let go.
“The man thought he’d live forever, Ms. Randolph. I couldn’t convince him otherwise. I loved him like a brother, but you’re not the only one pissed off at him right now. If you wish, I’ll perform an autopsy. No doubt the senate will request—”
“I couldn’t give a shit what the senate wants.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Don’t be flippant, and stop feeding me false sympathy. You gave him something, and I want to know what it was. I swear to the gods, if you lie to me, I will dig through every record, every dusty nook and cranny of your life. I will find something you don’t want the rest of the world to see, and I will show that thing to the world.”
“Madam, it was just a—”
“Don’t you madam me. My father didn’t have a heart attack. No one takes a pill, has a stroll through memory lane, and dies in their sleep. He planned this.”
“It was a heart attack. Let it go.”
“Let it go? How about I let it go on your face? You gave him a bullet, just like Mr. Shaw gave one to La Roux. Someone has to uphold Bullstow’s honor, right?”
Booth’s eyes widened for only a split second. Then he looked away hurriedly.
It was enough.
Her father had planned the whole damn night. He’d wanted her to stay with him. He’d chosen her to be there.
He’d made her promise things.
He’d not told her the truth, and she’d not used their last few hours wisely. She’d never even told him about the baby.
She’d thought she would have time later.
Lila shoved Booth into the wall, harder. “Save your excuses, you mindless, robotic, pathetic piece of shit. You and my father worked together for a very long time. You hid many an inconvenient corpse.”
Booth tore free from her grasp and retreated, skittering away from reach. He held up his hands. “Ms. Randolph, I know you’re upset.”
“Upset? You killed my father! You don’t know the meaning of the word!”
Booth hopped out of the way, backing into the center of the room, his back stooped in a crouch. He licked his lips, and the light caught the sheen. “I didn’t kill him. I gave him the means to go out in the most peaceful way I know how. I did the best I could by him.”
“Why? To save Bullstow the guilt of killing a good man?”
“For honor.”
“It always comes back to honor. Fuck honor. Fuck Bullstow.”
“Call it what you will, but your father wanted you with him. He needed you with him. It was no happy accident that you were there.”
“Why me? Because I’m trained? So that I might save him?”
“Gods, no.”
She looked away, biting her cheeks again until she could speak steadily. “Could I have saved him? If I’d just pressed a little harder? If I’d—”
Booth shook his head. “As I said before, your technique was perfect. You were never meant to save him. No one could have, not even me. Not even if he’d taken those pills inside the clinic.”
“Then why did he want me to stay with him?”
Biting her cheeks didn’t help this time.
“Because your father didn’t want to die alone.”
“He didn’t even tell me.”
“Of course he didn’t. If he had, it would have ruined his last night on earth. You might have tried to stop it.” Booth leaned against the bed in the middle of the room, the paper crinkling under his palms. “He knew you’d understand what he’d done the moment it happened, that you’d cover it up with the family and the press. You did everything exactly as he knew you would.”
“No, I didn’t know.” Lila wiped at her eyes, embarrassed to break before the doctor.
“Yes, you did, madam. You called me for a reason, not Randolph General. You knew that it was happening the entire time.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You did, madam. Somewhere deep down, you knew, otherwise you would have called for an ambulance.”
“You were closer.”
“Of course, madam. That must be it.”
Lila raised her fist, enjoying the way Dr. Booth flinched and backed away. She’d hit Olivier a few days before. She’d kept punching and punching and punching his face, enjoying the cracking of his bones.
But she felt none of the anger she’d felt that day.
Where had it gone?
Had it been spent so quickly on a few shoves against a wall?
“This was the senate’s doing,” Lila growled. “It was so much worse than retirement, and he didn’t even tell me.”
“Madam, there are committees, procedures, steps. Your father told me he’d lied to the senate a thousand times. Something had to be done.”
“My father died because of committees?”
Booth shied back to the corner. “He died because of lies. He saved Mr. Shaw, madam. Whatever your father said changed their minds. I was supposed to have two corpses tonight.”
“My father didn’t deserve this. Neither of them deserved to be punished. What’s the use of it if no one even knows?”
“The disciplinary committee will know. They’ll take up the issue next session. They’ll find a solution within the rules of Bullstow or their lives are forfeit.”
“How long do they have?”
“After the new members are chosen next year at the close of session, they’ll review the records and the actions of the previous committee, as will the governor and next prime minister.”
“And if the problem still exists?”
“They’ll stand before the disciplinary committee themselves,” Dr. Booth said. “He was my friend, madam. A very good friend.”
Lila turned and padded from the room.
Dr. Booth followed on her heels. As he walked, he pressed out his scrubs, especially his still-wrinkled neckline.
She shoved open the swinging doors at the end of the corridor, her palms thumping against them, the boom and her expression announcing the prime minister’s condition long before Dr. Booth said a word. A press of bodies surged forward, the lights in the lobby too bright above their heads, the off-white walls too clean, the plastic chairs too hard and shiny. Her father’s lovers clutched their hands to their hearts, steeling their faces for the young children scattered throughout the room.
Shiloh sat in the back. Quiet. His suit and breeches rumpled.
Senator Dubois sat next to him, not saying a word. He squeezed the boy’s shoulder as the moment came upon them.
When Shiloh saw her face, all the tension and grace drained away from his frame. He slumped, his cheeks paled, and his gaze flipped to Dr. Booth.
Her mother did the same.
They both knew. They knew, and they hoped anyway.
Fools.
As Dr. Booth began his lies, Lila shuffled away and plopped down in a chair at the far end of the room. She should have left, but she couldn’t. Perhaps there’d be a miracle. Perhaps the nurses would walk back into her father’s room and find him alive. Perhaps he’d wake up in the morgue, right before they cremated his body.
It might happen. It could happen.
Lila rubbed at her eyes.
That would never, ever happen, not unless she dreamed it.
Dr. Booth’s muffled voice masked the squeals, the wailing tears, the few coughs to mask worse from a few in the room. He bowed and retreated into the bowels of the hospital, his lies delivered, his deception complete.
Lila crinkled her nose as the chairwoman approached.
“Why are you even here?” Lila grumbled.
“I came to see the father of my children after his heart attack. What happened tonight? Did you let him eat poorly, Elizabeth?”
Lila looked up. Her mother couldn’t help herself, even now. “Like you care. Maybe you’d like to yell at his dead body some more? You didn’t get quite enough hits in tonight, did you?”
“Lila—”
She hopped up, standing nose to nose with her mother. Her father had just wanted one last night on earth. One perfect night before he slipped away, bowing to a punishment he didn’t even deserve.
And her mother had ruined it.
“Maybe if you hadn’t been such an asshole tonight, he might still be here.”
Lila knew the truth of it. He might have stayed in the world for a few days longer. He might have chosen the solstice or the day after. Maybe even the day after that.
She could have told him about the baby. He could have given her some advice.
She could have given him one last hug.
But he hadn’t had the luxury of extra time, for he’d never get to see Lila after that night, not without sticky consequences. He’d need her to keep the secret.
Beatrice fucking Randolph had set the date for him.
Senator Dubois stepped between them. “This isn’t helping either of you.”
“Why are you even here, Louis?” Lila snapped. “After everything she did to you? Someone should say these things. Someone should do a lot more than just talk.”
Senator Dubois held his arms up and backed away. He put a shoulder around Shiloh and pulled the boy in close.
Thank the gods for the senator. Lila had nothing left for the boy.
She had nothing left for anyone.
Lila leaned into her mother’s ear. “You never deserved my father, you know that? You didn’t make him into the man he was. He made himself into what he was in spite of you. He was the one who lowered himself to touch you. Remember that while you prance around in your little tower.”
“You know, Elizabeth, you can be quite hateful when you want to be.”
“I learned from the best. After you leave here, you’re going to go home, and you’re going to transfer every single credit I had back into my accounts. Do you know what’s going to happen if you don’t? I’ll take back every credit I’m owned anyway, and then I’ll take yours, too. All of it. I’ll steal it all, and you’ll never see it again. What will you tell the family then?”
“They’ll arrest you.”
“They’d have to find me first. I disappeared once, and I can easily disappear again.”
“I found you.”
“One of your spies found me right outside my father’s home. I hadn’t even left the city. How will they fare if they have to canvass the whole world?”
“You’re upset, but blaming me for your father’s heart attack won’t—”
“Upset? You took my father away too early. I’m more than a little upset. If you ever take what’s mine again, then I’ll use every bank in the world to fuck you. I’m playing without a soul now too. Thanks for the last lesson.”
“I can’t believe you’d talk like that to your own mother.”
“I’m way past giving a shit what you can and cannot believe. At some point you forgot who I was, Mother, what I was. It’s not good to be my enemy. You’ve made your point, whatever you intended it to be. Have I made mine?”
“You don’t want me as your enemy, either.”
“Enemy? I don’t want you in my life as anything at all, not ever again. Don’t look for me.” Lila turned on her heel, padding through the lobby toward the automatic front doors.
Senator Masson pulled himself off the wall near the entrance and blocked her path, still wearing his New Bristol coat and breeches. “I am sorry for your loss.” He bowed low, almost parallel to the pristine checkered tile.
“No, you’re not, but you will be. I’m done with you, and I’m done with Bullstow. Figure out shit for yourselves from now on.”
She stepped around him.
The doors opened with a metallic whirl.
Lila shivered as the stars loomed above her, the gods watching her from above. The air had grown colder after her ride through Bullstow, and it tore at her skin. She’d brought no coat, and her scarf remained in her father’s suit. She’d have to go back to that empty room and fetch her keys.
Perhaps one of the servants could retrieve them.
Holding her side, she started out for Falcon Home, ignoring the thudding footsteps behind her.
“Excuse me?” Masson called out.
Lila didn’t even stop. “You heard me, senator. You and your little friends are in my father’s shoes now. Much of La Roux’s network is still out there, wriggling in their beds. It’s up to you and yours to solve the problem. Find them. See how far you get on your own.”
He grabbed her wrist. “We had a deal,” he hissed.
“That was before you killed my father,” she said, twisting out of his grip. “Nothing in my contract specifies that I have to finish the job. I was raised to be prime. I know how to write a contract with twists and turns and alleyways. It’s your own fault for being too quick to sign.”
“Fine. Give us the data you’ve found so far.”
“Not on your life. I want to you feel what my father had to go through, what Mr. Shaw and I had to go through. The way I understand it, you and your friends have one year to sort out La Roux’s network, or at least make some measure of progress toward that end. You can’t exactly condemn Mr. Shaw and my father for going outside of Bullstow if you insist on doing the same. When you fail—and you will fail—maybe Dr. Booth might give you pills when the next disciplinary committee takes over. Let me assure you, senator, I’ll be here on the day of your death, gloating in the corner while your family grieves, just as you’ve done tonight.”
“For gods’ sake, madam, I wasn’t gloating!”
“Yes, I’m sure you were just paying your respects.” Lila turned and stalked through the compound toward Falcon Home, her side aching and calling out for rest.
Senator Masson did not follow her.