“Open it. I want to know what it is – no, on second thought, overnight it to me. Do you think you can still mail it today?”
“I don’t know. I’ll see what I can do. If not, you’ll get it day after tomorrow.”
“Fine. And, Maureen, thanks for everything. I’m sorry I was short with you.”
“No problem Just try to get some rest. I’ll talk to you soon.”
Jack swiveled the chair until he faced the window. Talking to Maureen exacerbated his confusion. Wasn’t he supposed to cry? My God, he’d just buried his father. What did this say about him?
Had he seen so much of life that he’d become desensitized? Maybe he wasn’t human anymore. He obviously wasn’t capable of emotion. All he felt was a deep penetrating emptiness, a void. His shoulders slumped forward. He placed his elbows on his knees, and his chin on his fists as he stared unseeingly out the window. He’d never been one to run from life, but damn if this didn’t feel like the perfect time to lace up his Nikes.
Jack awoke to the sound of the doorbell. He read the clock: 7:20 A.M. Bare-chested, he pulled on his jeans, stumbled down the steps and swung open the door.
“Overnight mail, sign here,” the FedEx man said.
Good old Maureen, Jack thought, as he padded barefoot, with his package, to the kitchen. He ripped open the top of the large envelope and pulled out a small stack of documents and a note from his father.
Dear Jack,
Just sending these copies to you for safekeeping. At this point, I don’t know if any of this information about the Lane’s is valid. I haven’t been able to verify anything. When you have a chance, call me and we’ll discuss it. I’ve thought over our disagreement and you’re right. I’m not very good at investigating these types of things, and I need your help. Maybe you could give me some pointers?
Love, Dad
Jack glanced at the papers, most of which were his father’s notes,documenting conversations, between himself, Mort Fields, and Adam Miles, Edmund Lane ’s best friend and business associate, regarding the Lanes and specifically Carolyn. Jack stopped reading, and considered the dynamics of these men. Mort Fields was not a friend of his father’s, still it was easier to explain than Adam Miles. Not only was Adam a close friend of Edmund’s, but he and Bill frequently disagreed. What would inspire Adam to turn to Bill? Jack wondered.
Jack continued reading. Bill’s notes mentioned Winston Cain. Interesting. From his days in intelligence. Jack knew of Cain. Cain, a former counterintelligence agent for the CIA, owned and operated a private investigation agency rumored to be a mercenary-for-hire business. The notes referenced an employment contract with Cain, but didn’t include a copy of the document. Jack seriously doubted one existed. Cain didn’t make the types of agreements that one put a pen to and signed.
The rest of the papers were copies of legal forms indicating that Carolyn Lane might have done some work for Fields. The documents appeared to be from some sort of corporation or holding company, but the names of the stockholders were not disclosed. Since the papers weren’t the originals, it was hard to know if they were valid.
Why would Mort Fields turn over this information? Jack wondered. The whole scenario was odd. It made no sense for Carolyn to be involved in any contracts with Mort; she was a prosecutor, not a corporate attorney. At the bottom of the last page of notes was one handwritten word- Council- but there was no definition or reference to this word anywhere else in the papers.
Jack knew that his father’s last appointment in Missouri had been with Carolyn Lane. This too, was odd. Threads, Jack thought, these were just threads of information and certainly not enough to weave together any type of a conclusion.
The kitchen wall clock read 8:03. A realtor was due to look at the house around eighty-thirty, and Jack needed a shower. He shoved the papers back into the envelope. He had a lot to do right now, and none of it pertained to local politics. The Lanes would have to wait.
TWENTY-FIVE
Warner Hamilton Lane escorted Carolyn through the lobby of the hotel closest to campaign headquarters. Together they started up the flight of stairs that led to the mezzanine level, then stopped on the sixth stair, turned, and waved to the crowd. Carolyn raised their clasped hands high in the air as a cheer went up from the crowd.
This was the way it was meant to be, Warner thought. Carolyn was dressed in a sea foam green suit with cream trim, and her honey colored hair flowed gracefully around her shoulders. She caught his appraisal, and her eyes locked with his. Warner squeezed her hand, then shifted his gaze back to the crowd, but his thoughts remained on her.
Indeed she was beautiful, and win or lose, she had orchestrated his reelection campaign brilliantly. Carolyn had designed every aspect of their strategy, from policy making and critical timing, to personal appearances and commercials. She’d even given up her role as a prosecutor. Granted, he’d joined the Council, but they were in the background, and he couldn’t discount her efforts. If he won, it was her victory.
His smile remained fixed, but he felt a bittersweet twinge in his heart. A victory would mean the necessary step closer to the White House. With Bill Rudly’s death he’d be the senior senator, positioning him perfectly. But it would also lock him permanently into a loveless marriage. He wished he could change his feelings for Carolyn, but that wasn’t possible.
Warner followed Carolyn as she made her way up the rest of the stairs to the mezzanine, where they headed into the elevator. Deja vu, Warner thought. Six years earlier he’d made this ride to the very same suite to watch the election results come in. The difference then had been that Carolyn wasn’t by his side. Now, her presence dominated the campaign. And her popularity was undeniable. Had she made a profound difference? He was about to find out.
The Jefferson City Democrat
November 9,1996
Lane Re-Elected to the U.S. Senate
TWENTY-SIX
Carolyn inspected their new home in the gated community she loved so much. She surveyed the paint job in every room on the first floor, then headed upstairs to look at the master bedroom.
Carolyn flopped onto the bed, pulled an afghan over her legs, and closed her eyes. She controlled the urge to jump up and down on the mattress in delight, and contented herself with the pleasure of lying quietly and savoring their victory. They’d done it on their own, without Warner’s father. She filled her lungs, then exhaled slowly.
Now Warner was the senior senator. As much as she had disagreed with Bill Rudly, she felt a sense of loss for the country. Bill had been an honorable man and a good senator. She knew he fought for what he believed in, and she respected that quality. Bill Rudly had been a man with an honest purpose and no favors to pay. Carolyn remained sprawled across the bed. The sound of muted voices and footsteps echoed off the hardwood floor of the main hall as movers filled the residence with her possessions.
She reflected on Warner, aware that his behavior toward her had improved. Even if she no longer had his love, she knew that she’d regained his respect and appreciation.
Now, he held the most powerful senatorial seat in Missouri. Because of their teamwork, he was on the track to the White House.
Working as a prosecutor, she had fought for justice on a case-by-case level, but, as Warner’s partner, she would be positioned to design the much needed legislative reforms in social services and drug enforcement for the entire country. The time had come for Warner to present her ideas as a part of his political platform, his vision for the country. They both knew that he owed her that much. And she intended to collect on that debt.