Page 119 of Executive Decision

“I will level with you,” Todd said. “And this might hurt, Daphne. I’d never want to hurt a lady, but I will be honest.”

“Yes?”

“He sent the video to a number of us—using his email.”

“His government email?” Lanie said too loudly.

I shot her a look of admonishment.

“Sorry. It’s just so stupid.”

“We worried about Labour running with it. So, John asked us all to delete it and keep it quiet for fear it would hurt us in the election.”

Because you’re fucking cowards.

“But as you’ve illuminated—and if you are willing to go on record about how much this hurt you—we can run with it.”

I extended my hand. “Todd, you have a deal.”

I knew full well that this would backfire on them as soon as the inquest revealed they received the message and did nothing about it, but by that time, they’d be the party in government and have the moral high ground. As long as they were in office, the rest didn’t matter. It was a brutal truth, but just the game of chess we played. If my name was cleared and Chandler served time, I’d live with the fact that these men ultimately betrayed me before timidly agreeing to help.

Mission accomplished.

* * *

Cal

Daphne

I did what I could do. I will call you when I know more.

Daphne’s text came in the late afternoon just before I met with DNC officials for handshaking and a dinner with community organizers. Somehow, I managed to skate by. The party wasn’thappyfor my recent drama, but the younger audience couldn’t stop watching the trainwreck that they assumed was my private life.

Me

Good. I am sure we will have better news soon. When is your presentation.

Daphne

Tomorrow. I’m so nervous!

I was about to respond when Jo poked her head in. “Are you ready to go?”

I shrugged. “Sure.”

I followed Jo to the waiting car. She hammered me with details. After ten minutes, I called for a ceasefire.

“Jo, look. I know you want me to be at the top of my game. And I know that means remembering whoever’s nephew interned at whatever place, but… I need a break. I’m really struggling today.”

“You can’t afford?—”

“Jo, if I cannot afford to be fucking human, what good does it do!?” I shouted, beyond help.

I expected Jo to shout back—she had every right—but she called the driver, “Can we circle? The Mayor needs a minute.”

She turned to me. “What is going on with you? What do you need?”

“Compassion. Time. I don’t know.”

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