Page 13 of Blind Prophet

“Everything’s fine. Exceeding forecast.” The sigh that escapes is borderline unprofessional, but he can deal. “I have a meeting in two minutes. Did you need something?”

A flash of indignation crosses Geoffrey’s features.

He pushes up and sets his coffee on my desk. “As always, a pleasure.”

Sarcasm at its finest.

I watch as he leaves.

“Close the door, please,” I call after him.

He doesn’t. Of course, he doesn’t. He’s an ass. Why the hell did he come in person?

The man’s one positive attribute is that he keeps Dad occupied during the day. He’s one of the satellites that orbit Dad, telling him everything he wants to hear and letting him win at golf. Well, it used to be golf. These days, it’s chess, or maybe checkers.

If he’d stay away from me, I wouldn’t find him so annoying.

Jay appears. “Do you need anything, sir?”

“Clear my calendar for the day. Keep the door closed.”

“Sir? You’re scheduled to take a call with the president at two.”

Fuck.

“Can you request an in-person meeting? Tell him I’ll be in Washington next week, and I believe an in-person meeting will be a better use of our time.”

“He should be happy with that. That’s what he requested initially.”

I'm aware.

“Do you need aspirin, sir?” Jay knows me well.

“Yes. Please.” Jay gives a polite nod, and I clarify, “The strong stuff.”

“Yes, sir.”

He leaves the door cracked, and when he returns, he deposits my Vicodin prescription on my desk and removes Geoffrey’s coffee.

“Thank you, Jay.”

I pop my pills and open a drawer, remove a secure satellite phone, and dial a number I’ve memorized.

It rings continually until the voicemail answers.

Realization dawns in my fogged brain, and I don’t bother leaving a message. If he had any relevant information, Nick would share it.

Damn the fog in my brain. I need a stronger sleep aid. I can’t go on like this.

Me to Unknown number

Are you available to meet?

I’m about to set the phone down when a text comes through.

Halston Moore, Jr.

Has the plan been executed?

---