CHAPTER TWENTY
I HAD NO IDEA how long I remained drugged up, in a strange room, with absolutely no idea what was going on or when that door would open and someone with far less compassion than Bradley would walk in. Based on his comment when I first arrived, he wasn’t the one pulling the strings. I tried to recall everything I’d learned the past few months to figure out who was behind it all, but my cloudy brain refused to function properly.
Bradley continued to check on me on what felt like a regular basis, treating my wounds, bringing me water and a meager amount of food, undoing my restraints so I could use the bathroom and eat. I tried to track the days, but I couldn’t be sure how long the drugs kept me knocked out. I could have been here for days or weeks. I had no idea. During my brief moments of clarity, I thought about Dante. Bradley refused to answer my questions about where he was, if he was safe. I prayed he was.
Over the course of my captivity, I supposed I’d become comfortable with the routine. Slowly wake up. Tense up when I heard the familiar jangling of keys outside my door. Blow out a somewhat relieved breath when Bradley walked in. At some point, the dread that filled me when that door opened had disappeared, now that I’d grown accustomed to him bringing me food and water.
But when the door opened after what seemed like weeks and Brock’s frame loomed in the doorway, a smug look on his face, my muscles tightened, my heart pounding as chills ran through me. I should have been relieved to see a familiar face in this situation, even if it belonged to Brock. But the expression he wore — the coldness in his eyes, the hardness in his stare, the hatred as he glowered at me — told me everything I needed to know. He was involved in this, and not in a helpful way.
“Good evening, Ellie.” He smoothed the lines of his dark pants, ensuring his suit jacket was buttoned, his tie perfectly straight. Some people with OCD obsessively checked locks, made sure everything was in its precise place, or avoided cracks on the sidewalk. Brock’s obsession was all about appearance and order. Appearance was everything to him.
Licking his lips in a sinister manner, he slowly made his way to the bed, my limbs trembling more with each drawn-out step. I fought against my restraints, looking around the room for something, anything, that could help me out of this situation.
“Oh, come now, Ellie. Do you really think we’d go through all this effort just to have you get away?” He ran a finger down my leg, and I attempted to squirm away from him, to no avail. Then he stepped back and retrieved his sanitizer from his pocket, squirting some into his hands and rubbing it around vigorously.
“What do you want?” I bit out, glaring.
He reached back into his pocket and produced a small key, dangling it in front of me. “It’s time for dinner.” He eyed me, his nose turning up in disgust. “But you certainly can’t go looking like that.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I spat out.
“Oh yes, you are,” he shot back, leaning toward me. His voice deepened almost into a growl, his eyes on fire. “You are to shower, put on the dress hanging in the bathroom, and join us for a little celebration.”
“Celebration?” I blinked repeatedly.
“Yes.” He smiled, stepping back, smoothing the lines of his suit once more. “Didn’t you hear?” He cocked his head. “Oh, I suppose you wouldn’t have, would you? Your father and I both won our races earlier this week.”
“The election?” I swallowed hard at his confirmation I’d been locked up here for days, perhaps longer. I wondered if anyone knew I was missing. If Mila was looking for me. If Dante was okay. Surely, he would have grown concerned when he tried to call. I did the math in my head. He’d gone off the grid on Friday and wouldn’t be back in a major city with access to his phone until Sunday. Even if reports of my disappearance did reach him and he hopped on the first flight out, with the time difference and the length of the flight, he wouldn’t have been able to get to LAX until probably Wednesday. But where was I? Was I even in California? What day was it? Would Bradley have fooled him like he fooled me?
“We’ll both be returning to Washington to continue to serve the great state of California and its people.” He slowly leaned toward me once more, his breath like knives on my skin. “Actually, your father won’t be returning, but he doesn’t know that yet.” Then he pulled back, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “He’s been a very bad boy, hasn’t he, Ellie?”
I stared at him, disgust covering my expression. I wanted to tear into him at the realization that he’d played me, that he knew exactly what to do in order to make me think my father was a corrupt, repugnant human being instead of believing him, instead of trusting him.
“At least that’s what I wanted you to think.” He winked, and the synapses in my brain began firing for the first time in days. The past six months flashed in front of my eyes, little snippets of information standing out. The phone call between Dante and Bradley. The alleged emails. The file conveniently left sticking out of a drawer in Brock’s normally meticulous office. Mila was right.
“It was all fake, wasn’t it?” I said in a low voice, struggling to breathe at how naïve I’d been. “The emails?”
“It was pure dumb luck that you overheard Bradley’s conversation with my darling brother and even knew about those. But yes, if you’d like to know the truth, I sent those emails threatening Cynthia Edelman.”
“What about the footage Bradley had from the libraries?” The instant the words left my mouth, I knew what his answer would be.
“You’ve forgotten whose side Bradley’s on, haven’t you? Regardless, I wanted to make sure there was actual physical evidence, so there are surveillance videos. You just can’t exactly see the face of the man most would think to be your father.”
“Wasn’t there exterior footage of the parking lot showing my father’s car?”
Brock’s smile turned more conniving. “Remember that car trouble I had for a little while? Your father was so nice to lend me his car to use, wasn’t he?”
My hands formed into fists, my jaw clenching as heat rose in my face. “You monster,” I hissed. “He trusted you. He treated you like a son. He took you under his wing when you approached him with the possibility of running for the open seat in the House. And this is how you repay him?”
“I’m a monster? Me? You were so quick to blame your father for everything, especially after you found those doctored photos of him walking into Barnes Pharmaceuticals on the night Cynthia decided to take the easy way out and commit suicide. You did this to yourself. Your hatred and animosity toward your parents clouded all your rationale. You made the leap into blaming your father for killing Cynthia. Not me.”
I formed my lips into a tight line, my nostrils flaring. I was on the brink of telling him that my father outsmarted him, outsmarted all of them, that Cynthia wasn’t dead. But my father taught me never to reveal my hand until the end. I had a feeling this was just the beginning.
“Is this why you’ve been mysteriously absent the past few months? To do all of this?”
He cocked his head at me, his expression eerily calm. “After our little interlude in Rome, I was advised it was in my best interests to give you a little space, to make you believe I no longer posed any sort of threat.” He paused, his lips curling into a smile. “It worked.”
“Why, Brock? Why are you vilifying him like this?”
He grabbed one of my wrists, unlocking the restraint around it. “The oldest reason in the book, Ellie.”
He moved toward the foot of the bed, his hand squeezing around my leg as he went. I cringed, closing my eyes. The feeling of this man, one who I once knew so intimately, touching me made my stomach roll. I wondered if any of it was real. Had he simply dated me to have better access to my father?
When he reached the restraints around my ankles, he met my eyes. “Power.”
A chill washed over me as that word lingered in the air. I was speechless, feeling like this man I’d given ten years of my life to was a complete stranger. Until he found me in Rome, I’d always thought he was relatively harmless, that he was this charismatic guy who was born to be a politician. I couldn’t believe I never saw how black his soul was, how little regard he had for human life.
After freeing my legs, he returned to the head of the bed, unlocking the restraint around my other wrist. Then he clamped his hand around my bicep, tugging me off the bed. My legs gave out, my muscles weak from being drugged up and mostly bedridden for days, and I slumped to the floor.
“Get up!” he yelled, grabbing my hair and forcefully yanking me back to my feet. I howled as pain shot through me, doing my best to remain steady on my trembling limbs. “What’s the matter, Ellie?” He pulled my body against his, my back to his front. His hand covered my throat and he squeezed, cutting off my oxygen. “I thought you liked it rough.”
“Not with you,” I managed to choke out. “You disgust me.”
His hold on me tightened, then he shoved me into the bathroom. “You disgust me.”
I fell to the tiled floor, grunting in pain. I lifted my eyes toward his, glowering, wishing I could kill him with the amount of hatred I had toward him.
“You have fifteen minutes.” He glared at me. “Not a second more.” He slammed the door, the loud sound making me jump.
I remained completely still for several long moments, wondering if this were a trick. Once I heard the door to what had become my prison open and shut, I blew out a breath I’d been holding. Crawling toward the vanity, I gripped the ledge, using it to pull myself to my feet.
As I struggled to regain my strength, I caught my appearance in the mirror. My hair was matted from being bound to a bed for who knew how long. I tried to run my fingers through it, to no avail. I peered into my eyes. They were bloodshot, my complexion gaunt. I was always relatively slim, but the dress I wore to work the day everything fell apart was no longer as tight as it had been.
I hesitantly walked toward the small bathtub, turning on the water for the shower, my hands still shaking. I knew I needed to do everything in my power to keep my composure, but the uncertainty, the unknown, the likelihood I probably wouldn’t be walking out of this place filled me with despair and apprehension. Would I ever see Dante again? Regardless of whether he knew the truth and kept it from me, I prayed he hadn’t heard about my disappearance, that he was still safe in whatever country he was currently in. I feared Bradley had used the trust Dante put in him to lure him here, too.
Once the water reached the temperature I preferred, I stepped under the spray, releasing a long sigh as it hit my body, trying to stop from imagining the worst. My limbs were still a bit shaky from not having been used for such a long period of time, but I did my best to swallow down any pain that shot through me from my sore and inert muscles.
Knowing I didn’t have much more time, I finished my shower relatively quickly, then stepped out, reaching to grab a towel off the counter. I wrapped it around my body, then used a second one to dry my hair. It took a while to run a brush through my tangled locks, but I was finally able to smooth it all out.
“Come on, Ellie!” Brock’s voice called from the other side of the door, followed by a relentless knocking. “Your fifteen minutes are up. You have ten seconds to get out here, or I’ll come in there and drag you out. I don’t care if you’re naked. In fact, I think that would make this a lot more entertaining.”
“Okay, okay!” I answered hurriedly, ripping the black A-line dress off its hanger and hastily throwing it over my head. There was no bra or underwear, but it was better than nothing.
Drawing in a deep breath, I slowly opened the door. The instant I did, Brock’s fingers wrapped around my bicep and he tugged me from the room. His strides were long and purposeful as he pulled me along a narrow hallway without any regard for my weak state. I frantically looked at the walls as he yanked me toward a staircase, down the creaky steps, and into a formal dining room, hoping something about my surroundings would look familiar. But nothing did. This place was as much a mystery to me now as it was when I first opened my eyes here.
He pushed me toward a long dining table, then forced me to come to a stop by one of the four chairs. My eyes floated around the room, the furniture and décor giving off the impression it hadn’t been updated in several decades — dark drapes, wood paneling, dingy carpet. It was a stark contrast to the expensive-looking place settings arranged in front of the four chairs at the table…place settings I recognized.
“Oh, there she is.” A familiar shrill voice tore through the strained silence.
I flung my eyes to the head of the table, watching as the woman I thought was my mother sauntered in from a swinging door that apparently led to the kitchen. My stomach rolled when I saw my father being pushed into the room by Bradley, much in the same manner as I’d been yanked in here by Brock. He was dressed in his “lucky suit”, as he called it — the navy blue pinstripe suit he wore during election night or important votes in the Senate. Despite how clean and pressed it was, it was in stark contrast to the welts and bruises marring his face.
“I’m so glad you could join our little victory party,” my mother finished with a smile. The truth hit me like a ton of bricks. She was behind this. She was behind all of it.
“Ellie,” my father breathed, relief and worry crossing his brow when his eyes fell on me. He attempted to step toward me, but was held back by Bradley. “You’re alive.”
“For now,” my mother sneered.
Brock placed a hand on my shoulder, forcing me into one of the chairs, just as Bradley did the same to my father. We sat across the table from one another, staring into each other’s eyes. I didn’t know what was going on, but a sinking feeling formed in the pit of my stomach that neither one of us would be walking out of this room.
“I remember,” I said to him in a low voice. “She was the angel I thought I dreamed about, the one who came at night.”
Tears trickled down his cheeks as he slowly nodded. “I should have told you years ago, Ellie.”
“But you didn’t,” my mother interjected, her voice smug. “And it’s a good thing. I imagine Merriweather wouldn’t have been happy if you did. And if there’s anyone you don’t want to upset, it’s Lucas Merriweather. Everyone knows that. Especially you, Francis.”
I blinked repeatedly as I listened to her words. How did I not consider the likelihood that Lucas Merriweather was the driving force behind the decades of secrets and lies? Yes, he was my father’s campaign manager and trusted advisor, but I’d heard the rumors about his knack for making any potential problems disappear. And I must have been a problem.
“It was you all along, wasn’t it?” My father shook his head, the vein in his neck throbbing. “When I walked in and saw the bewilderment in your eyes as you held Ellie the first time, I believed you. I honestly thought you weren’t given a choice, that this was all Merriweather’s doing.” He briefly closed his eyes. I could sense his frustration at not realizing the truth years ago. “I thought you were just a pawn in their game, too,” he sneered. “But you never were. This was all your idea from the beginning, wasn’t it?”
“Do you think I wanted to raise a baby? Do you think it was my idea that I be forced to stay at home and listen to her incessant crying? I did it because I didn’t have a choice. I thought if I played his game—”
“They’d finally take you seriously and back you for a potential run.”
Her silence was all the confirmation he needed.
“Then why are you doing this now, Marjorie? Don’t you realize he just used you, too?”
“Why?” She straightened her spine, snapping out of her thoughts. She appeared taken aback, like it was a ridiculous question, like it was completely normal to keep your husband and supposed daughter locked up. Her cold eyes narrowed and she gripped the edge of the table, leaning into him. “Because I’m done playing along. With Merriweather and with you, Francis. Because you don’t get to win anymore. I do. You don’t get to have everything that was supposed to be mine,” she continued, her voice becoming louder and more irate.
“You don’t get to go off to Washington and fall in love with someone else. You don’t get to have the job that should have been mine! Not yours! Mine! I was the one who went to my father and Merriweather about securing the party’s nomination for the open Senate seat. I was the one who developed a viable campaign platform. And what happened? They backed you for the nomination. And you won based on a platform I wrote! Me! Not you! Me! Everything you have should be mine!” She stepped back, drawing a deep breath as she smoothed the lines of her light pink suit. “Now your Senate seat finally will be.”
“Wait a minute!” Brock interjected. I flung my gaze to him. His brows were furrowed, his face turning red. He glowered at my mother with fiery eyes. “You told me if I helped, I’d be a shoo-in for his Senate seat and you’d run for my open seat in the House.”
A sly smile built on her lips as she sauntered toward him. “I know that’s what I said, but…I lied.” Before anyone could react, she pulled a gun out of the back of her skirt and pressed it against his chest, firing.
I shrieked, the sound of the gunshot filling the small space. A chill washed over me, my heartbeat pounding in my ears, spots seeming to obscure my vision as I watched Brock clutch his chest, the red of his blood in stark contrast to the white of his crisp shirt. I wanted to pinch myself to wake up from this dream, but I knew it wasn’t a dream. If it were, I wouldn’t smell the odor of metal, gunpowder, and death.
“Ellie,” my father breathed. “Don’t watch. Please. Look at me. I don’t want you to have to see this.” Tears streamed from his eyes. “I don’t want you to have to see any of this.”
My chin quivering, I turned my eyes back to my father, every sound in the room seemingly amplified. The floor creaked as my mother walked behind me. Her perfume wafted into my nostrils, making my stomach roll. She ran the barrel of the gun along my exposed shoulder blades, pausing. I winced, the hot barrel scalding my flesh. I took several deep breaths, my lungs constricted, keeping my gaze focused on my father. His own expression reddened, anger making the veins in his neck pop.
Finally, when I thought my father was about to jump out of his chair and wrap his hands around her throat, she stepped away, leisurely making her way back to the other side of the table.
“Well,” she began, her voice chipper, in stark contrast to the anger that filled it just minutes ago. “Now that that is taken care of, time to move on to the next order of business…” She shoved the gun back into her skirt, slowly walking around the table toward my father. “Tying up the other loose end.”
“Which is?” he asked, swallowing hard.
She placed her hands on the table as she leaned toward him. “Cynthia Edelman. Or, as you knew her so intimately, Lauren Hall.”
His expression remained unchanged. “She committed suicide in March, Marjorie.”
“You see, that’s what I thought, too. I must admit, I really believed she killed herself. We all did, including Lucas. Those autopsy photos you had the medical examiner fake were amazingly realistic. So imagine my surprise when the bug Bradley planted in Ellie’s car picked up her conversation with the investigator she’d hired to look into you.”
I shot my eyes to Bradley, a new wave of nausea filling me at the fact that this man had betrayed Dante like this, had betrayed both of us. Maybe his behavior the past few days was just an act, a ruse to convince me to share what I knew. I didn’t know what to believe anymore.
“I wasn’t privy to his side of the conversation and, sadly, he refused to share that information with me. He probably should have.” Our eyes met. “Now your friend, Quinn, is going to have to find a new investigator.” She shook her head, feigning compassion.
“What did you do?” I pressed, dizzy from her insinuation.
“What I had to in order to protect what’s mine.” She glowered at both of us, her jaw clenched, her nostrils flaring.
I bit back a sob, my limbs trembling at the thought that Blake had lost his life because of me. I never should have asked for his help. I never should have opened this can of worms. Maybe this was fate’s way of saying I’d been looking into something I shouldn’t have.
“Well…” She adjusted her composure once more. It was like she had an internal switch. Once she flipped it, she was calm, collected Marjorie Wilson Crenshaw, the woman she always was during her famous dinner parties, where she would put on a show for the world to see. “Where are my manners? This is a celebration, after all. Maria!” she called over her shoulder in the direction of the swinging door leading to the kitchen. “Please bring out the main course.”
My stomach churned when I saw my parents’ housekeeper scurry into the room, her eyes bloodshot. Her hands shook as she placed each dish in front of us, stopping when she was about to put the fourth plate in front of the empty chair. She gasped when she noticed she was standing in a pool of Brock’s blood.
“Is there a problem?” Marjorie asked.
Maria knew enough not to say anything. “No. No problem.” Unsure what else to do, she placed Brock’s meal in front of the chair that was supposed to be his, then lowered her head and rushed from the room.
“I’m not quite sure what’s gotten into her,” Marjorie said in a low voice, acting as if there was absolutely no reason for Maria to be acting like she did. Obviously irritated, she grabbed the open bottle of champagne and walked around the table, filling each glass. She even filled Brock’s. This all reminded me of a scene out of Hannibal. Except she was obviously more psychotic and delusional than Hannibal Lector ever was.
Once she again took her seat at the head of the table, she plastered on that same fake smile, raising her champagne flute, waiting for us to follow suit. I looked at my father, unsure what to do. He simply gave me a nod of encouragement, then lifted his own glass with trembling hands. I imitated his gesture, not looking away from him. I needed his strength, his support, his reassurance that we’d get out of this. If we did, I swore I’d tell him every day for the rest of my life how sorry I was. That I’d always believe him. That I’d never doubt his love for me again.
“To another successful campaign and another six years of having a Crenshaw in the Senate. Next stop… The White House.”
We both remained silent, neither my father nor I wanting to respond.
“How about a little excitement over the prospect!” she shrieked, flipping the switch into her other persona.
“Of course, darling,” my father said in that pacifying tone I’d heard him use with some of his political opponents. He always insisted you could catch more flies with honey than vinegar. He rarely got worked up over things, but still maintained his position. This unwavering determination combined with his soft-spoken nature made him a force to be reckoned with in the halls of Congress. I prayed this skill would help us get out of this situation, too. “Congratulations on another well-run campaign.”
“Thank you. Now, I hope you enjoy your dinner.” She reached over, squeezing my father’s forearm. He jumped at the contact. “I know how much you enjoy halibut.”
“A very thoughtful gesture, dear.”
She smiled, then drew back, placing her napkin in her lap as she picked up her knife and fork, exhibiting all the proper etiquette she’d taught me over the years. I looked back at my father, wondering what to do. His expression blank, he placed his napkin in his own lap, then cut into his fish. He brought it to his mouth with a shaky hand. I watched as he chewed, half-expecting him to choke, turn red, something to indicate he’d been poisoned. But that didn’t happen.
“Ellie, aren’t you going to eat?” she asked.
“I’m not hungry,” I shot back.
“Ellie,” my father warned in a low voice, his tone almost pleading. “Just eat.”
I looked between him and this woman who was a complete stranger to me now, then to Brock’s body lying on the floor a few feet away, surrounded by a pool of blood, then at Bradley standing off to the side, his gun in his hand, ready to shoot if either of us tried to get away. I didn’t care about dying anymore. I was done playing along with this entirely fucked-up scenario.
“No, Dad. I’m not going to sit here and pretend everything’s normal, that this woman who wanted the world to think she was my mother isn’t completely delusional!” I shot up in my chair, my chest heaving as I glared down at her.
Bradley reacted quickly, rushing toward me and forcing me back into my chair. He pushed the gun between my shoulder blades. “I don’t want to shoot you, but if you can’t follow orders, I’ll have no other choice,” he growled. “Understand?”
“Perfectly,” I hissed, sneering at him.
“Good.” He released his hold on me, then stepped back. The instant his weapon was no longer pressed against me, my father visibly relaxed.
It was silent for a moment while we all sat at the table, me refusing to eat, my father taking a few timid bites every few seconds, Marjorie enjoying her dinner as if there were nothing wrong.
When she ate a sufficient amount but not her entire plate, as she’d taught me was the polite thing to do so as not to appear to have a large appetite, she straightened her back, looking between my father and me with a satisfied smile. “Well, you’re probably wondering how I intend to secure your Senate seat when you’ve just been re-elected.” She dabbed her mouth with her napkin, then placed it on the table in front of her.
“The thought had crossed my mind,” my father said.
“It’s quite the plan, really, one I’ve been developing for years now, particularly after you won the last election and I learned you were still sleeping with Lauren all these years later.”
My eyes flung to my father, passing him a questioning look. Most children would probably be upset after learning their parent had been having an affair, but I wasn’t. I studied his weary features. The spark and vitality he normally exuded was lacking. Guilt filled the lines around his face. Memories of a happier time seemed to dance before his eyes as he stared at me with admiration and respect.
“The therapist my parents forced me to see all those years ago would probably say this was a triggering event, that my ‘narcissistic and self-aggrandizing personality’…” She rolled her eyes, using air quotes, “couldn’t deal with the idea of you being happy, of having what I wanted. I always thought that guy was full of shit. Regardless, something told me it was time to finally go after what should have been mine all those years ago. Sure, I could have easily let it slip to the press that you fathered a baby out of wedlock and forced the mother to hand over that baby to you and your wife to raise as your own. Even going so far as to ensure any birth paperwork indicated that your wife was the birth mother. Even going so far as to make your wife tell everyone she’d had so many miscarriages and stillbirths that she hid the pregnancy because she didn’t want her hopes destroyed yet again. Even going so far as to threaten to kill that very baby if word about the truth ever got out…”
“I didn’t do any of that,” he growled, his lips curling into a snarl. His face reddened, his nostrils flaring, his pupils dilating. “You did.”
“Technically, Merriweather did, but I realized it was better to work with him than against him…just like you did.” She narrowed her eyes. “Still, that wasn’t enough to vilify you. A sex scandal is a dime a dozen in politics. In order for this to work, I needed to time everything perfectly. If I was to have any chance at running for the Senate seat you left open after being embroiled in the worst scandal to ever rock politics, I needed something more, needed to show a life-long pattern of morally reprehensible conduct that grew and blossomed over the years.”
She stood up, slowly walking around the table, glancing between my father and me, a self-righteous smile on her face. I would have done anything to wrap my hands around her throat and wipe that smirk away. I had a feeling that would earn me a bullet in the chest, much like Brock, although I’d probably get one in the end anyway. She had no intention of allowing either one of us to walk out of here alive. Not after telling us what she’d done. Part of me wondered why she felt the need to put on this elaborate show. Then again, she’d probably been dying for this day since the beginning, when she could boast and brag about all the work she’d done to get to this point. Her arrogant and egotistical personality needed this.
“Imagine how the fine people of this country will react when they learn Senator Crenshaw, a man who has campaigned on the promise of legislative transparency, on ethical reform in politics, has been accepting bribes. How he used his connections in the pharmaceutical industry to wage a war of bioterrorism against the very people who put him in office. How he single-handedly smuggled billions of kilos of cocaine and heroin into this country, even though part of his campaign platform was to stem the flow of drugs into this state.” She placed her hand over her heart in a feigned show of compassion. “How I stood by your side, raised a child you fathered out of wedlock, did everything to protect and save that daughter, loved her as my own, all while you were involved in such repugnant behavior.”
I lifted my gaze to my father. Tears formed in his eyes, as if the thought that my mother could do something so evil, so vile, so destructive physically pained him. I wished I could reach out and grab his hand, offer him some sort of compassion in a world that seemed to be falling to pieces around him, around both of us. Instead, all I could do was give him an understanding look, hoping he could see how sorry I was for how I’d treated him throughout my adolescent and adult life.
I slowly tore my eyes from his, looking at my mother pacing back and forth. Her demeanor was eerily calm, despite the vengeance in her expression. “You did all of this just to win a Senate seat? To get back at him for falling in love with someone else?”
“He deserved it!” she retorted, her eyes growing wild. “I was on the sidelines for years supporting him, smiling at his constituents, holding his hand and waving, relegated to being the token wife of a powerful man, all while he went off to Washington and fucked some barely legal intern. I have a law degree from Harvard! I was one of the top prosecutors in this state, for crying out loud!” She clenched her fists and sucked in a shaky breath through her nose, struggling to regain her composure. She closed her eyes, pausing for a moment. When she reopened them, a calm washed over her once more.
“It was a fluke Francis won the election the first time, considering we live in a blue state. I doubted he’d be able to win again. But he did. He kept winning, and winning, and winning.” Her jaw tightened, her voice becoming more and more irritated the longer she spoke. “Election after election after election.” She paused, looking back at my father. “Six years ago, when the incumbent representative from our district decided to retire, I proposed running for the open seat, thinking with him as senator and me as representative, we’d be a force to be reckoned with. We could achieve some real change. Even Lucas Merriweather was on board, but instead of supporting me, your father supported Brock! I guess old army friendships are more important to him than his own wife!”
“So you decided to get back at him by setting him up on corruption charges?” I pressed.
“Oh, this is so much more than corruption,” she scoffed. “Give me a little credit here, Ellie. Your father is incredibly well-respected in Washington and California. Unless there was some sort of scandal that completely shattered the people’s ability to trust him, something so bad as to put him in prison for the rest of his life, he’d keep getting re-elected. It was all pretty easy, really. Being married, I was able to leave enough evidence of wrongdoing and skew it so it would inevitably point to Francis. After all, he was the one with connections to some powerful players in Washington. My role was simply to stand at his side and smile.” She lowered her eyes, giving a coquettish look as she batted her lashes. “But all those years standing at his side and smiling, well…” Her lips turned up at the corners. “You hear things. One of the hottest commodities to trade in Washington is secrets, and I have thirty years’ worth of them.”
“So… What? You bribed people to get them to do…whatever this is.” I waved my hand around.
“I didn’t need to bribe anyone, Ellie. Blackmail is so much more persuasive…and cheaper. I simply convinced those in various positions of power to put me in touch with people who had similar interests. Of course, they didn’t know it was me. No one did.”
“What kind of people?” I asked hesitantly.
After much thought, she answered. “Terrorist is such a negative word, but I guess that’s what they are. Drug cartels, too.” She looked toward my father. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. You’ve been a very naughty boy, Francis.”
His face grew red and he shot up in his chair, losing the composure he’d been struggling to maintain for the past several minutes. “You’ll never get away with this! The truth will come out. It always does.”
Bradley rushed toward him, forcing him back into the chair.
“Tie him up,” my mother ordered.
I sensed a hint of reluctance on Bradley’s face, but he eventually reached into his jacket and produced a few zip ties, securing my father’s arms behind the back of the chair, then his feet to each leg.
I bit back my quivering lip, trying to remain strong, but it was getting more and more difficult. I began to regret all the times I avoided spending any time with my father. I used to resent him. Now I realized I’d simply transferred all my hostility toward my mother onto him.
“After coming to a sort of financial arrangement between these ‘terrorists’, who got some serious hard-ons over my proposed plan, I began a small series of biological attacks using the pharmaceutical industry you were so close with.”
“What kind of biological attacks are you talking about?” I asked, a hint of caution in my voice. In my gut, I knew what it was.
“Anthrax is a remarkable little infection.” My mother smirked, placing her hands on her hips. “The signs of anthrax poisoning are nearly identical to those of the flu and other infections that could prove deadly for those with a compromised immune system, like cancer patients. Of course, too many people are on the lookout for anthrax these days. Thankfully, I knew a few things about one of the higher-ups in the CDC, who ended up being very helpful in developing a similar toxin, one with the same effects but that no one would think to look for in an autopsy.”
I glared at her with pure hate, pure disgust, pure animosity, a new wave of nausea filling me. “You killed his daughter,” I muttered, barely able to speak through the lump in my throat.
“Don’t sound so dramatic, Ellie. I didn’t target his daughter on purpose. She just so happened to be one of the lucky…or, should I say, unlucky recipients of one of the bad batches of drugs. I didn’t really pick who I wanted to die. I just needed some people to die. Just a few at first, then more and more, each attack getting bigger and bigger. In the end, my associates would be able to claim responsibility for a large-scale attack that resulted in the deaths of hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of Americans, especially with flu season coming up, all in the name of the almighty Allah.” She clasped her hands in front of her, looking to the ceiling briefly before turning her attention back to me. “Or some shit like that.” She rolled her eyes.
“Imagine how the fine people of this country will feel when they find out huge batches of the flu vaccine have been contaminated in exchange for a hefty payout from a terrorist organization.” She smirked, a satisfied expression crossing her face. “That part’s true, by the way. This year’s flu strain is really bad, isn’t it?”
“You won’t get away with it,” my father’s voice thundered. “Eventually, someone will find out the truth, will figure out something doesn’t add up. You used to be a prosecutor. All it takes is one small piece of evidence and your entire story will fall apart.”
“Then it’s probably best I start eliminating anyone who can contradict me, isn’t it?” Her lips turned into a satisfied smile as she reached for the gun hidden in her skirt, raising it in one quick movement. Not a single moment of hesitation crossed her face as she applied pressure on the trigger and shot the man she’d spent the last forty years of her life with.
“What did you do that for?” I shrieked, shooting out of my chair and rushing toward my father.
I didn’t care that she could easily put a bullet in me, too. Offering him comfort was more important than anything else right now. I clutched his face in my hands, lifting his head, rubbing his cheeks with my thumbs. Expecting to hear another shot any second, I tuned everything else out and peered into his eyes, which were slowly losing their vitality with each shaky breath he fought to capture.
“It’s going to be okay, Dad. I promise.” I swallowed hard through the excruciating pain in my throat as his complexion grew pale, blood flowing from his stomach. “You’re going to be okay.”
“Always the optimist, aren’t we, Ellie?” he asked in a strained voice.
I blinked back my tears, trying to avoid looking at the red stain coating his suit. “I have to be,” I choked out in a barely audible voice.
“Don’t tell her,” he struggled to say, his eyes fighting to stay open. “No matter what she does, don’t tell her where Lauren is.”
“I won’t,” I promised, wiping at his tears.
“She can get justice for me, for Brock…for Lilly.”
“That’s enough!” Marjorie roared. A pair of strong arms ripped me away. I cried out, reaching for my father, wishing I could give him the comfort he needed as the life drained from him.
“I love you, Eleanor Jean,” he said while Bradley bound my arms behind my back, the zip tie cutting into my skin.
“And I love you, Dad,” I squeaked out. “I’m sorry I didn’t show you that more.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t do more to earn your love.” He closed his eyes, drew in a shaky breath, then his body went limp.
“No,” I exhaled, shaking my head, not wanting to believe what my eyes were showing me. “No, no, no, no, no!” I screamed out, fighting against Bradley to run to him. I looked at my mother with fiery eyes. “Why did you have to shoot him?”
“Makes my story a little more believable, don’t you think? Imagine my shock when I found out what your father had done. Associating with and taking payment from known terrorists and drug cartels. How I found out about one of his stash houses and tracked him down to it. How I confronted him, with Brock as my rock of support, but he just lost it. It was lucky Brock was here. He tried to protect me, but Francis shot him.”
Approaching my father, she brought the gun toward one of his limp hands. She pressed it against his fingers, making sure his prints, along with her own, were on the weapon.
“Blinded by fear, I knew it was fight or flight time, so I fought. I fought so hard, I was able to wrestle the gun away from Francis and fired in self-defense. I’ll act like the heartbroken wife as I try to come to terms with how I missed all the signs. Then, once he’s laid to rest, I’ll announce my intention to run for my husband’s vacant seat, to vow to put an end to the greed and corruption. That does seem to be a popular campaign platform these days.”
“And me? You think I’m going to remain quiet? Or are you going to silence me, too? Are you going to shoot me, too?”
Her lips turned into a sinister smile. “Not yet. As much as I’d like to, unfortunately, you have information I need.”
“And you think I’ll give you that when you’re just going to kill me anyway?”
She paused, her lips thinning into a tight line. “I’d considered that. Actually, Bradley came to me with a brilliant idea, something to motivate you to talk.” She paced in front of me, then went to the window, looking outside. “You’re probably wondering where you are, aren’t you?”
“The thought had crossed my mind,” I answered in a timid voice.
“Our host has been very gracious and accommodating. You may have heard of him.” She stopped pacing, turning to smile at me. “El carnicero de Tijuana? In English, it’s the Butcher of Tijuana.” She stepped back as my heart fell into the pit of my stomach, bile rising in my throat. Then her eyes shifted to Bradley, her voice becoming firm. “Take her.”
She grabbed her glass of champagne off the table and took a sip, acting as if she didn’t just order me away to be the next victim of a notorious drug cartel assassin.