Chapter 26 Aubrey #2
“That isn’t surprising. It’s public information.”
Most people don’t go through the trouble of getting it though.
But then again, Phineas Gambit isn’t like most people.
He’s sitting in my sweltering office on a hot June day in a bespoke suit with three custom pieces to it, and he hasn’t even broken a sweat.
He glances at his watch, tsking when he sees the time.
“You will be late for your meeting if we do not speed this up. Quickly, Senator, ask me why I’m here.”
“Why are you here, Mr. Gambit?”
His smile is a slow, sinister stretching of skin. “Because I need a favor from an old friend, and you need a man like me indebted to you.”
January 11, 2018
“I just don’t understand why you couldn’t show up,” Selene says for the millionth fucking time tonight. She’s been home from her party for an hour, still in the floor length black gown she wore out because she’s so busy nagging me about missing her special night to undress.
I turn my back to her, pulling covers up over my head. “I’m trying to sleep.”
“You’re behaving like a child, Aubrey. Don’t you think I deserve to know why my husband wasn’t there beside me, celebrating my accomplishments the way I always celebrate his? I mean, I could understand if you were working….”
She keeps droning on, but I tune her out, pulling my phone off the nightstand and smiling at a message from Susie or Sarah or Sasha.
I can’t remember her name, but I won’t be forgetting the sight of her tits bouncing in my face anytime soon.
The meet up wasn’t supposed to last as long as it did, but I couldn’t bring myself to cut it short.
It felt good to be with a woman who appreciated me as a man.
Who saw my power and revered it instead of resenting it.
That’s all I get at home.
Complaints. Critiques. And the constant fucking nagging.
I just wasn’t in the mood for it tonight. Couldn’t stomach the thought of standing next to her while she smiled smugly and told anyone who would listen that winning a Global Tech Award wasn’t supposed to happen for another ten years.
Throwing the covers off me, I sit up, glaring at her. “Why did you accept it?”
She’s stripped down, the dress in a pool around her ankles. “What?”
“The award. Why did you accept it? According to your career plan, you’re not supposed to receive one until 2028.”
“I guess timelines change,” she says as she scoops up her dress and disappears into the closet while I stare after her.
“Timelines change,” I whisper, savoring the flavor of shifting expectations and free will on my way out of the bedroom. By the time I make it to my office, it’s the only thing on my tongue, and I’m so distracted by it that I don’t even notice when Phineas answers the phone.
“Senator Taylor.”
Between the years we’ve known each other and the favors I’ve done for him, you would think he’d be inclined to use my first name, but he never does. I bypass greeting him altogether, skipping straight to the point the way he always does while I pour myself three fingers of whiskey.
“I want the Oval.” The words burn on their way out. I knock them back in, washing them down with the amber liquid. Phineas is quiet, so I swallow and then repeat myself. “I want the Oval.”
“What do you expect me to do with this information?”
Another heavy pour. This one four fingers or maybe even five. I’m too wired to care.
“The same thing I do with the tid-bits of information and instructions you give me: make it happen.”
“You are not ready,” he replies.
“Bullshit.”
Years of doing his bidding and taking his advice has led to a major rise in my political profile.
I’ve moved out of Cannon House and into an office with a view of the Potomac.
I’m leading committees instead of just begging to sit on them.
I am well known and respected among my colleagues, and most of all, I’m ready to make a play for the fucking Oval.
When I say all of this to him, he meets my explanation with an unimpressed hum. “And yet, none of the people who matter know who you are.”
“None of the people who matter?!” I sputter, slamming the crystal tumbler in my hand down. “Who the fuck are you talking about? You and your rich friends? Because they most certainly know me. They’ve benefited from your connection to me, and now I’m ready for the proceeds to flow the other way.”
“Please lower your voice, Senator. The people I am referring to are not my friends, or yours. They are the normal, every day Americans who need to know your name and your face. They need to feel connected to you, and they do not care what Senate committees you’ve served on.”
“Tell me what to do,” I plead, years-old desperation and desire caving in my chest. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”
“Come to my home tomorrow night, 9 p.m.”
I’m still thinking about how abruptly he ended the call when I show up at the high rise where we met.
To my shock, Phineas answers his own door, welcoming me into his space with a sweep of his arm.
It’s been close to two years since we’ve seen each other in person, and he’s no less disconcerting to me now than he was the day all of this started.
The man is an enigma and, to be frank, a bit of an asshole, which is why I’m not surprised to find that he failed to mention we wouldn’t be dining alone tonight.
Phineas takes his seat at the head of the table and gestures to the stout, blonde woman on his left who I recognize from the halls of the Capitol. “Senator Taylor, I am sure you know Senator Barnes.”
She lifts a hand in greeting, and there’s a deep Southern twang to her voice when she speaks. “Please, call me Cordelia.”
“Cordelia, it’s nice to see you in a more personal setting.”
“And this is Travis Langham,” Phineas tells me, tilting his head in the direction of the man to his right who salutes me.
“It’s a pleasure, Travis.”
“Pleasure’s all mine, Senator.”
Phineas claps his hands. “Now that we are all acquainted, let us eat.”
The meal is delicious, but the conversation is stilted. No one seems to understand why I’m here, including me, and by the time we’ve reached the dessert portion of the night, I’m questioning whether I heard Phineas correctly when he told me to come over.
I’m in the process of bringing a scoop of vanilla ice cream to my mouth when Phineas looks to Cordelia. “Tell Senator Taylor the worst thing you’ve ever done.”
My spoon falls out of my hand, clattering on the edge of my bowl loudly. Travis snickers, enjoying my shock, while Cordelia’s expression remains smooth. She takes a sip of her water before shifting in her seat to face me head on.
“For the past two years, I’ve taken payments from a vendor who sells defective bulletproof vests to ensure they are awarded government contracts. Those vests are shipped to the Middle East and given to U.S. troops who die from wounds they would have survived if their gear was effective.”
I don’t know what I thought she was going to say, what kind of dinner party icebreaker game I thought we were playing, but never in a million years could I have expected that. Travis chuckles, raising his hand gleefully.
“Can I go now, Phineas?”
“Of course. Thank you for waiting your turn this time.”
His salacious grin sends shivers down my spine, but I keep my expression neutral. “I’m a cop.” I don’t quite get the joke, but he delivers it like a punch line, and both Phineas and Cordelia laugh. “It’s my job to hunt down murderers,” Travis explains. “But occasionally, I get paid to be one.”
More than a little confused, I look to Phineas, waiting for his confession or an explanation, whichever comes first. He dabs at his mouth with a corner of his cloth napkin and then drops it on top of the dish, signaling the end of dessert.
Members of his staff appear out of nowhere, sweeping away the dishes quietly.
“Are you wondering why we are telling you this, Senator?”
I nod jerkily, unable to speak. Phineas smiles, and it’s another one of those predatory grins that spreads slow like molasses. “Because it’s important to me that you understand no one here is going to judge you.”
Finally, I find my voice. “Judge me?”
“Yes, for what you’re about to do.”
“And what exactly am I about to do?”
He snaps his fingers, and a woman appears at my side, sliding a folder in front of me.
The outside is plain, no words or markings, but when I open it there’s a timeline on the first page that lays out my life for the next eight years.
It starts with the phone call to Phineas last night and ends with me winning the Presidential election in November 2024.
Everything in between is details and logistics like hire a woman named Jordan St. James as my campaign manager and convince Selene to start straightening her hair, but all of that comes after the one thing that gives me pause.
I drop the folder, finally understanding why Phineas had Cordelia and Travis share the darkest parts of their souls with me.
“You want to kill my son?”
It’s there in black and white: October 19, 2019, Aubrey Taylor Jr. dies in a school shooting.
I’m aware that some part of me should be disgusted, that some part of me should be outraged. Those parts are eerily quiet right now, though, if they even exist at all, and the only thing I am is curious.
I look up, meeting the expectant gazes of the only three people in the world I think truly understand me, and ask the only question that matters at the moment.
“Will it work?”