1. 700 AM
ONE
7:00 AM
THE SMEAR CAMPAIGN
T he buzz of my phone jolts me awake from a deep sleep. I keep my eyes shut, hoping that it will stop. I even turn over in the bed, praying for a few more hours sleep. The light in my room is still dim, the winter morning sun reluctant to rise in my apartment. It can’t be later than seven, and I only went to bed at two am, but I know I can’t stay in bed any longer.
The phone buzzes again, and this time I fumble around for the device. Bringing it close to my face, I open one bleary eye and look at it. My heart sinks as I see the sheer number of notifications waiting for me. I must have slept through loads of them before waking.
It’s Beth, my campaign manager, who’s been sending me frantic text message after text message. As I try to focus on the screen, all I can see is a lot of exclamation marks.
Beth: Have you seen it? Call me NOW!!!!!
Beth: The Times just dropped a hit piece on us!!!!
Beth: Lincoln Caldwell is behind this. I KNOW IT!!!
Beth: Sophia answer me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I sit bolt upright, swiping urgently to open the article. My stomach clenches at the headline, Grassroots Candidate Faces Allegations of Financial Mismanagement. Even though I’ve eaten nothing since last night, I can feel the vomit pooling.
“What the fuck?!” I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
It’s a complete fabrication. There was a minor error in our campaign expenses claim, but it was sorted within minutes and didn’t violate any government rules. This is the work of fucking Lincoln Caldwell, twisting a genuine mistake into something sinister because that’s what he does to get what he wants.
The man has made his career and name out of turning political rivals into public villains, and I’ve long been his favorite target, even though he knows I’m one of the most honest people going.
Asshole!
Lincoln Caldwell is the strategist for the incumbent mayor who’s as corrupt as they come. Mayor Weston is the reason why I’m fighting to win the position myself, and the elections are taking place in a few hours from now.
I put my phone down on the bed and take a moment to inhale deeply and force my mind to think straight. Caldwell, the bastard, has always tried to blacken my name. I’ve worked hard for everything I’ve achieved. I don’t have the private school education he does, and whereas he got everything handed to him on a plate, I’ve had to work my way up from nothing.
My father’s a plumber and my mother’s a secretary. They scrimped and saved to send me to the best school in the area and to ensure I could take part in the after-school activities that would help with my future. Lincoln was given a brand new Porsche for his first car. I had a rusty, old Ford.
The man infuriates me, and I’ve no idea what I’ve done to deserve being the angel to his devil in local government.
Exhaling deeply, I pick my phone up again and call Beth.
She answers on the first ring, exclaiming, “About time! The fucking bastard. I could string him up by his balls, but he probably doesn’t have any. He’s a complete dickhead.” I hold the phone away from my ear as she screams down the phone. “What are we going to do? This is going to ruin everything. People will believe it because it’s come from Lincoln’s mouth. He’s the darling boy of local government, Sophia. We’re fucked!”
“Breathe.” I finally manage to get a word in. Beth goes silent, and I hear her take a deep breath in. “We knew something like this would come at us. It’s been his modus operandi since forever. We have the package prepared and ready to send out to the press outlets, explaining about the error in expenses. Get Greg to release it immediately.”
Ever since the campaign for mayoral elections started six months ago, I’ve been trying to second guess what Lincoln and the current mayor will try to do to win the race. I suspected a slander campaign, but not on the day of the election. This is a new low, even for them. By tonight, I need to convince hundreds of voters, and the media, that I’m the right person to represent this community. I refuse to let the opposition win. I need to deal with Lincoln, once and for all.
Swinging my legs out of bed, I put my phone on speaker and start to dress while listening to Beth in the background barking out orders to everyone in the campaign office. Gone is the panic in her voice, replaced by focused determination.
Beth is the best person to have at my side in a crisis, and she hates Lincoln almost as much as I do. She’s been my assistant since I first started in local government, and we’re a similar age. She’s more ruthless than me but doesn’t want to be the star of the show. She’s already happily married with the most adorable two-year-old son who’s the reason she wants to go home every night and switch off, not that she’s been able to do a lot of that over the last few weeks with it being so close to the election.
I’ve never been interested in a committed relationship. I’m ambitious and want to help my local community. Men just get in the way, and a vibrator is enough for me at the moment.
“Right. The statement is being released now.” Beth comes back on the phone as I fasten the buttons of my crisp, pale pink blouse. It will pair well with the maroon suit with A-line skirt and black high heels that I’ve chosen to wear today.
“Thank you. We have to focus on getting everyone out on the street to spread our message. Local people need to know what we can do for them and how much better off they will be with us.”
“Yes. I’ll get the campaigners on it at once. Sorry, I was hoping you could have a bit of a lie-in after the late night.” There is an apologetic tone in her voice.
“It’s all right. I’ll have time to sleep when this is over,” I reassure her.
“Not when we win.” Beth chuckles.
“Okay. I’ll sleep when I’m dead, then.”
“Are you going to come into the office straightaway?” Beth asks.
I go to answer yes, but a flash of inspiration hits me, and I pause.
“Sophia?” she questions.
“No, I’ll be a couple hours or so. There’s something I need to do first.”
I hang up the phone before I can be questioned any further on my plans. It’s a risky ploy, but I think it’s necessary. I look at the time on my phone. Lincoln Caldwell is regular as clockwork. He’s so set in his ways you can predict where he’ll be at any hour of the day. And at nine thirty am, he’ll be getting his extra-large, black Americano from the café near his campaign office.
The last thing he’ll be expecting is for me to walk in and confront him.