Chapter 18 Carter
For the first time in my life, I break a promise. I wait three days before confronting my father, even though I promised my mother that I wouldn’t.
It feels like a bomb has just been detonated in the middle of my life. I need to understand why.
I know Kate. She’s my baby sister. She’s contrary and argumentative and outspoken. It’s why she’s always clashed with our father. She feels so strongly about everything.
But she’s also the most honest person I’ve ever met. There is no way that she would have shared anything that she knew to be untrue or anything ambiguous. She wouldn’t have done it lightly.
She kept saying Jamie Dean didn’t know the half of it. That’s the part that keeps echoing in my head. What half of it? What could else could there be?
Emails openly discussing sale of votes? Surely, Dad wouldn’t be so stupid to put anything in writing. It bothers me that the thing I’m struggling to believe is that Dad wouldn’t have put it in writing, and not that he did it.
What is worse than outright fraud? Blackmail? Theft? Murder? My imagination is running away with me. It can’t be that bad. It can’t be.
I need to hear it from my father. I need to look him in the face and see what he says when I ask him directly. I’ve spent months defending him. He owes me that much.
The study at the estate hasn't changed since I was a child. Same mahogany desk, same leather chairs, same portraits of Crane ancestors staring down from the walls.
He's behind the desk when I enter, reviewing something on his laptop. He looks up with a smile.
"Carter. I wasn't expecting you until Thursday."
"I need to talk to you." I close the door behind me. "About Kate."
Wariness flickers across his face. It's gone almost instantly, replaced by mild curiosity, but I saw it.
"What about Kate?"
"I know she was the source."
The silence stretches between us. My father's expression doesn't change, but his stillness tells me everything. He's not surprised that I know. He's calculating how to handle it.
"Your mother told you."
It's not a question. I don't bother confirming.
"I want to hear it from you."
He leans back in his chair, studying me. For a long moment, I think he's going to deny it, spin some story, try to redirect. That's what he does. That's what Cranes do.
Instead, he sighs.
"Yes. Kate was the source. She admitted it in January." He says it flatly, like he's reporting quarterly earnings. "She had access to files she shouldn't have accessed. She copied documents and gave them to Dean."
"Why?"
"Because your sister has always had an overdeveloped sense of moral superiority." The bitterness in his voice surprises me.
"That's not what I'm asking." I step closer to the desk. "What did she find?"
My father's eyes narrow. "She found nothing. She found business dealings that she didn't understand and relationships that looked improper to someone without context. Kate has always been naive about how the world actually works."
"The offshore accounts were real."
"The offshore accounts were legal tax strategy. You know that, Carter."
"But—"
I'm not going to sit here and defend myself to my own son.” He cuts me off, his voice hardening. "Everything in that exposé was exaggerated beyond recognition. You know that. Dean wanted a story. Kate gave him ammunition. Neither of them understood what they were actually looking at."
I want to believe him. Part of me still does believe him, the part that wants to, but I recognize the patter. He’s giving me the same spin that he gives everyone else.
"What did Kate mean when she said Dean didn't know the half of it?"
My father goes very still.
"Where did you hear that?"
"Mom. Kate told her there was more. Things even Jamie wasn’t given."
"Your sister was being dramatic. There's nothing—"
"Don't." The word comes out sharper than I intended.
"Don't lie to me. I've defended this family for months.
I've stood in front of cameras and called Jamie Dean a liar.
I've staked my entire political future on the assumption that the allegations were exaggerated.
" I plant my hands on his desk and lean forward. "Tell me the truth. You owe me that."
The silence that follows is the longest of my life.
My father looks at me—really looks at me—and something in his expression shifts. The politician's mask slips, just for a moment, and underneath I see something I've never seen before.
Exhaustion. And beneath that, a cold, pragmatic acceptance.
"Don't be naive, Carter."
The words land like a blade between my ribs.
"How do you think we built all of this?" He gestures at the room, at the portraits, at everything the Crane name represents.
"Your grandfather didn't get to where he was by following rules.
Neither did I. Politics isn't a gentleman's game.
It never has been. The people who pretend otherwise are either lying or losing. "
I can't breathe. The room feels like it's tilting.
"This is how the world works, son." His voice is patient now, almost gentle, like he's explaining something obvious to a slow child. "The people who win are the people willing to do what's necessary. Your grandfather understood that. I understand it. I thought you understood it too."
I push back from the desk. My hands are shaking.
“Everything he wrote. It was all true."
"It was a selective presentation of facts designed to cause maximum damage.
" My father stands, coming around the desk toward me.
"Yes, we've made deals. Yes, we've bent rules.
But we've also built schools and hospitals and infrastructure.
We've created jobs. We've served this state for three generations. The good we've done far outweighs—"
"This is different. This is criminal. We could both go to prison."
He guffaws. "Don’t be ridiculous, Carter. That’s not for people like us. We’d make a deal long before it got to that point.”
“We shouldn’t have to!”
“I'm a pragmatist." He puts his hand on my shoulder.
I step back, out of reach. "Carter. Listen to me.
This is how power works. This is how it's always worked.
The difference between us and everyone else is that we got caught.
And we're going to survive this, the same way Cranes have always survived. Together. As a family."
"Kate didn't think so."
His expression hardens. "Kate made her choice. She'll have to live with the consequences."
"What consequences?"
"Her trust fund access has been restricted. She's been made to understand that her actions have costs."
"You're punishing her for telling the truth."
"If she dislikes our money so much, she doesn’t get access to it." His voice is ice now. "And I expect you to do the same. Whatever personal feelings you have about Dean, whatever happened between you—"
I go cold. "What?"
"Did you think I didn't know?" My father's smile is thin, humorless. "You were careful, I'll give you that. But not careful enough."
The floor drops out from under me.
"I don't know what you're—"
"Save it." He waves a hand dismissively. "I'm not interested in the details. What I am interested in is your loyalty. You ended things. That's good. Now I need you to stay ended. No contact, no weakness, no complications. Dean is poison. Whatever you felt for him, bury it."
"It's over," I say. The truest lie I've ever told. "There's nothing to bury."
"Good." My father claps my shoulder, satisfied. "Then we understand each other."
He says it casually, like it's nothing.
I walk out of the study, my father's admission still ringing in my ears, I feel the ground shifting beneath my feet.
But the day isn’t done with me. I don’t see Warren at first. My head is spinning, but he’s there, leaning against the entrance to the library.
"Your father told you about Kate." It's not a question. "I could hear you shouting from down the hall."
"I wasn't shouting."
"You were." He turns now, and his smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Understandable, given the circumstances. Family betrayal is always painful."
I don't respond. Warren has always made me uneasy—there's something behind his professional polish that feels like watching a predator wear a person's skin. But he's been part of my father's operation for twenty years. He's family, in his own way.
At least, that's what I used to think.
"I wanted to give you some information," Warren says. "Since we're clearing the air."
"What information?"
He reaches into his jacket pocket. My stomach tightens before I even see what he's holding.
A photograph. He sets it on the table between us.
For a moment, I don't understand what I'm looking at. A man on a street. Caught in profile. One hand resting on—
The world stops.
That's Jamie.
That's Jamie, and he's—
He's pregnant.
The swell of his belly is unmistakable. He’s huge. Months along. His hand curves protectively over the rounded shape, and even in the grainy surveillance photo I can see how his body has changed and softened.
"Interesting, isn't it?" Warren's voice comes from very far away. "Dean's been very careful. New phone number, new routines, stays off social media entirely. But careful isn't the same as invisible."
I can't speak. I can't move. I'm staring at the photograph and the room is spinning around me and nothing makes sense because Jamie is pregnant.
Jamie is pregnant and he never told me. Jamie is pregnant and I didn't know.
I've spent six months drowning in wanting him and he's been carrying my child this whole time and he never—
He never told me.
"The timeline is suggestive," Warren continues, his voice pleasant, conversational, like we're discussing the weather. "Based on how far along he appears, conception would have been around January. That off-grid retreat of yours hits right at the mostly likely time."
The cabin. The heat. Days of Jamie in my arms, in my bed, wrapped around me like he was trying to climb inside my skin.