Fatherless: A Novel (18 page)

As Julia swiped the screen to read Sylvia’s last few entries she heard a timid knock on the door, followed by the sound of
a child’s voice coming through the gap at the floor.

“Aunt Juwia. You awake?” Tommy in search of a playmate.

She pulled back the sheets and moved toward the opening door.

“Yes Tommy, I’m awake. Are you?”

He didn’t know how to answer.

“Give me a minute, OK?”

He nodded eagerly.

The Tolbert household was coming back to life and inviting Julia to emerge from her cocoon.

“The congresswoman
will see you now.” The receptionist appeared to be in his late twenties. As he opened the door for Julia she breathed deeply
for one last scent of the cologne that had been teasing her senses throughout the five-minute wait. Julia had stolen a dozen
glances at the man’s form-fitted suit and alluringly perfect smile. She wondered whether he had been hired as eye candy to
give the ten-term representative something to look forward to each morning before facing a barrage of lobbyist pitches and
mind-numbing debates with fellow congressional blowhards.

“Julia Davidson!” Nicole Florea was already standing. “To what do I owe the honor of meeting one of my favorite columnists?”

It hadn’t occurred to Julia that a member of the Western State Coalition might be a fan. But then she remembered the relationship
with her editor. Any friend of Paul’s must also be an advocate of progressive ideas regardless of party affiliation.

“The honor is mine, Madame Florea,” Julia began.

“Please, call me Nicole.”

Julia had seen still pictures and press conference footage of the congresswoman for years. Standing close, however, she appeared
much older. Any publicist worth his salt would have carefully screened photos and clips to release only the most flattering
images of a woman who had passed her prime a decade or two earlier. Even a dramatically older population considered aging
taboo, especially for women. Repeated cosmetic surgeries and a costly hair enhancement routine could not hide a slightly arched
stature or a voice diminished from what it had been when the now-seventy-one-year-old politician took the political world
by storm.

After the usual pleasantries Julia asked permission to record their conversation. It was a journalistic courtesy that, if
refused, would either banish a politician from much-needed coverage or free the reporter to speculate on why he or she had
declined to comment on whatever issue dominated the day’s news wire. Nicole readily agreed.

“I understand you want to discuss Kevin Tolbert.”

The question surprised Julia. She hadn’t mentioned Kevin, nor had she intended to. Had Paul given the congresswoman a heads-up?

“Well, actually, I wanted to get your thoughts on Senator Franklin’s fiscal austerity coalition,” Julia explained. “They’ve
been pretty secretive, but we’ve heard something about pending proposals that seem—”

“Crazy?” Nicole interjected. “That’s why I mentioned Kevin Tolbert. He’s the ringleader, and I don’t like the direction he
seems to be taking things.”

Her intensity surprised Julia. Nicole Florea had always come across as consummately evenhanded, as one willing to hear all
sides before drawing conclusions or giving public comment. In this instance, however, she seemed thirsty for blood in the
water.

“He’s inexperienced and arrogant,” Nicole continued, “and he has no business contributing to such an effort, let alone leading
it.”

“I thought Senator Franklin was leading the coalition.” Julia tapped her tablet screen to find the specific quote. “Here it
is. ‘He claims to have invited a variety of leading voices into a dialogue in order to surface the best solutions to our mounting
fiscal crisis.’”

“Humph.”

“I’m surprised you aren’t one of the participants,” Julia said, altering Nicole’s expression from one of angst-filled resentment
to one of ego-massaged satisfaction.

“Too much on my plate already,” she said. “I don’t have time for secret meetings that are unlikely to surface any new solutions.”

“Can I ask why you’re concerned about Congressman Tolbert?”

“Like I said, his ideas are crazy!”

“I know what you mean.” Julia pretended to know more than she did in hopes of opening the congresswoman’s spigot. “Do you
think he’s got a breeder agenda?”

“Without question,” she nearly shouted. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not party to the specifics, but I know a renegade when I
see one. Kevin Tolbert is a renegade.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to understand a bit about your part in getting the president’s agenda passed.”

“My part? In all modesty, I played the quarterback,” she boasted. “Ask anyone in this town and they’ll tell you. The Youth
Initiative was dead in the water before I got the Western State Coalition on board. The Eastern and Northern states supported
the concept immediately. But the Southern states mounted a pretty ugly attack, accusing President Lowman of sacrificing human
dignity on the altar of financial stability, trying to save his own political neck by lynching senior citizens, blah, blah,
blah. You know the script.”

“Forgive my ignorance, but can you explain which elements of the initiative they most disliked?”

“Some of them hated the whole thing on religious grounds,” Nicole explained. “Human life is sacred. Suicide is a sin. That
kind of thing. We quickly waved off those objections like annoying flies. Separation of church and state.”

Julia recalled pictures of offensive protest signs held by a small gathering of religious zealots outside the White House.
They depicted President Lowman in a tiny black mustache beside the faces of famous senior citizens superimposed onto skeletal
corpses from World War II concentration camps like Dachau and Auschwitz.

“Others played the compassion card,” Nicole continued. “Much harder to ignore. They claimed the Youth Initiative snubbed the
wishes of immediate family members, and demanded a provision requiring co-approval before any transition could proceed. Of
course, that would have cut the estimated savings by at least half.”

“Half?”

“More. Think about it, it’s not like cosigning a credit card application. Putting your John Hancock next to the name of Mom,
Dad, or your partner would be like throwing the switch on an electric chair. Even if they wanted to transition, the final
say remains with you. So we pushed back pretty hard against that amendment.”

“How did you win?”

“Simple math. Remember, every member of Congress was facing an angry constituency demanding something dramatic be done to
stop the fiscal meltdown. All we had to do was show them the difference between likely transition savings with co-approvals
versus the savings without. The Youth Initiative has generated over one trillion dollars in entitlement savings over the past
four years. Do you know how hard it would have been to vote against that kind of savings?”

Julia sat silently remembering Jeremy Santos’s words. He said this story is about real people. She calculated backward to
figure out exactly how many of those
real people
it would have taken to reach the trillion-dollar figure. At least four million.

“I’m absolutely convinced we did the right thing. The compassionate thing.”

“Why compassionate?” Julia wondered aloud.

“Because we compromised by including the loved-one approval stipulation for all minors and mentally impaired individuals. We also required that every application recommend transition
volunteers discuss their decision with loved ones before making a final decision. It usually shows up in the fine print, but
it’s always in there.”

Julia must have appeared unconvinced, prompting Nicole to continue.

“But the main reason the final version is more compassionate is that it protects vulnerable family members from harming themselves.”

“Harming themselves how?”

“Let’s face it. Lots of people will undermine their own financial stability, not to mention drain the larger economy, out
of a religious or emotional resistance to a loved one’s death. Our critics called preventing family member intervention cruel.
We convinced them it’s the most compassionate approach. Sure, family members grieve the loss. But the transition inheritance
eases the pain. They very quickly see the folly of wasting perfectly useful assets on a completely pointless existence.”

Julia felt a sudden shiver as she recalled her own columns written during the height of the Youth Initiative debate. She had
said individual autonomy should trump family wishes, that transitions must remain a personal decision rather than a group
argument, and that limited resources should be freed up from debit-care expenses to invest in future growth.

The Santos family came to mind, prompting Julia’s next question. “Do you worry about the potential impact of the NEXT lawsuit?”

“I do,” Nicole replied. “I can’t believe they got hit with a wrongful death judgment. If that decision isn’t reversed on appeal
then all bets are off. Mark my words, that kid is nothing but a pawn in the hands of shark lawyers who taste money in the
water.”

Julia feigned a blank stare of ignorance.

“The last thing we need right now is—” Nicole stopped short, as if realizing she had said too much, then redirected. “The
transition industry can’t afford a black eye right now, especially when naïve freshmen like Kevin Tolbert want to take us
back to the Dark Ages.”

“Dark Ages?” Julia asked. “How?”

“As I told your associate—”

Associate?

“—I expect Tolbert to recommend breeder tax credits or similar rubbish. I can tell he dislikes the Youth Initiative on religious
grounds. But he’s clever. He’ll attack it on a less obvious front. I still can’t believe anyone in this town would oppose
the one program we’ve managed to implement that’s helping us claw our way back toward financial stability.”

The sound of an opening door and the delicious scent of the receptionist’s cologne interrupted the moment.

“Madame Florea.” He said nothing more.

“Thank you, Jeffrey. Wrapping up now.” The door closed as Nicole’s demeanor altered from that of hardened political operative
to that of a dirty old lady. “Isn’t he something? Hired him right out of modeling school. Great front office decoration. Too
bad he plays for the other team, if you know what I mean.”

“He’s lovely.” Julia didn’t know what else to say.

Nicole rose to her feet, signaling Julia to do the same. “I wish you well on the story. I really do hope it will head this
bright spots nonsense off at the pass. Call Jeffrey if you have any further questions and we’ll do what we can to help.”

As the door closed behind her, Julia remembered Nicole’s brief reference to an associate. She approached the pleasant aroma
seated behind his desk.

“Excuse me, is it Jeffrey?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“A quick question, Jeffrey. Has anyone else from RAP Syndicate been to see Madame Florea lately? Perhaps a Mr. Paul Daugherty?”

“Just a second while I check.” He tapped a calendar icon on his screen before scrolling through recent appointment notes.

“No record of a Daugherty or RAP Syndicate. Sorry.”

“OK. Well, thank you for checking.” She turned to go.

“I do have a record of a phone interview with a Ms. Garcia this past Friday afternoon.”

Julia halted her advance.

“But there’s no indication of her affiliation,” Jeffrey continued.

“Monica Garcia?” Julia knew the answer already.

“That’s right. Monica Garcia.”

A volcano of wrath threatened to explode as Julia realized her editor had hedged his bets. He had assigned the same story
to two journalists without telling either, or at least without telling her. The realization immediately cooled Julia’s fury
behind a chilly flood of insecurity.

Kevin sorted
and deleted a sequence of inane Monday-morning messages while listening to Troy’s daily briefing: the usual rundown of subcommittee
sessions and scheduled meetings with lobbyists to hear, allies to thank, and opponents to woo. But he heard nothing about
the one item he really cared to know about.

“Anything on the revised projections?”

“Nothing yet,” Troy said. “We just made the latest round of changes to the proposal in Thursday’s session and our guy in the
budget office promised to number-crunch all weekend. I’m hoping to get something this afternoon.”

“I have to know that what we’re selling can be sold before tomorrow’s presentation,” Kevin said apprehensively.

Troy looked up from his notes to silently rebuke his boss for stating the obvious.

“Sorry.” Kevin shielded his head in mock defense against his friend’s favorite form of revenge.

“You’ll also want to know that I plan to speak personally with each member of the subcommittee today. Every one of them will
deny leaks. But you know as well as I do that it could be any of them, or a spouse, or a staff member, or the friend of a
friend who heard something from someone who promised not to say anything to anyone else. Rumors and speculation will happen
right up until the moment Franklin goes public with the proposals. So don’t sweat it. You’re doing everything you can.”

“I know,” Kevin said with a hint of resignation. “Anything else?”

Troy took two steps backward to open the door. “One more thing.” An intern entered carrying his tablet at an awkward distance,
like a child inching toward the table with an overfilled cup of milk. Afraid of spilling the biggest assignment of his tenure,
the young man appeared eager to finally hand over whatever information he had gathered.

“Relax, Shaun.” Troy placed his hand on a tense shoulder. “Just tell us what you found.”

“Yes, sir.” Shaun stood at attention, a habit difficult to break after four years in the Texas A&M Corps of Cadets.

“At ease, son,” Kevin jibed. “Let’s hear what you’ve got.”

“As you’ll recall we received the largest reelection campaign donation to date last week. Mr. Simmons here asked me to learn
what I could about the donor and update you before today’s lunch meeting with Mr. Evan Dimitri.”

Kevin and Troy shared a smile. The lad’s voice matched his stiff posture.

“Mr. Dimitri has a long history of supporting fiscal conservatives, but very few of his donations come close to the amount
he donated to Congressman Tolbert’s campaign.”

“What was the donation amount again?” Kevin could not recall details of a conversation held on the heels of learning about
Leah’s condition.

“A quarter million,” said Troy.

“Only two others have received as much from Mr. Dimitri,” Shaun continued. “Including Senator Josh Franklin.”

Kevin accepted the news as a compliment. “Really? Franklin?”

The look on Troy’s face deflated the moment.

“What’s wrong?” Kevin asked.

“Nothing.” Troy tried sounding upbeat. “I just want to withhold judgment until we know more.”

“What’s more to know?” Kevin pressed. “It makes sense that a Franklin supporter who backs fiscal conservatives would support
a congressman the senator invited to chair an important subcommittee addressing economic challenges.”

“Yes, it would.”

“Weren’t you the one who predicted Franklin’s coalition is a proving ground for potential cabinet appointments if he wins
the White House?”

Troy still sounded hesitant. “Yes, I was.”

“But?”

“But we received the donation a day before Franklin asked you to serve.”

“May I continue, sir?” Shaun still seemed worried about spilling the milk.

“Go on,” Troy said.

“The only other person to receive such a large donation was Congresswoman Nicole Florea.”

“Wasn’t it Nicole Florea who chaired the retreat Franklin interrupted in Scottsdale?” Troy asked. “The one who has given you
the evil eye every time she’s seen you since Franklin invited you onto his team?”

“I get it,” Kevin replied, copying Troy’s folded arms in a show of reserve-judgment solidarity.

“Thank you, Shaun,” Troy said to dismiss the aide. “Well done.”

“Yeah, great job, Shaun,” Kevin added.

Kevin followed Troy out of the office to begin his trek toward his next meeting. When they reached the stairs Kevin placed
a hand firmly on his friend’s shoulder to halt their advance. “One last thing.”

“Shoot.”

“I need a report on one other matter.”

Troy appeared puzzled. “What other matter?”

“A certain Angie Tolbert expects a briefing on your assessment of Julia Davidson.”

“Excuse me? What about Julia Davidson?”

“My guess is she wants an explanation for the way you were looking at her.”

Troy shook his head. “Can’t a guy enjoy an attractive woman’s company without his friends assuming—”

“No, he can’t. Nor can you send me home to a curious wife without a shred of intelligence. Angie senses you’re falling for
Julia. My job is to fill in details.”

“I just met the woman!”

“And?” Kevin pressed.

Troy’s brow made a show of resistance.

Kevin glanced at the time. “You have exactly sixty seconds to give me something or you can kiss our friendship goodbye. I
refuse to sleep on the sofa tonight!”

Troy rolled his eyes at the threat. “She won’t make you sleep on the sofa.”

“One sound bite. That’s all I need. Come on, Troy, don’t leave me hanging.”

Troy laughed. Then he reached for a suitable nugget. “OK. I’ve got something,” he said. “I overheard a phone conversation
between Julia and her nephew.”

“I think Angie wants something about you and Julia, not Julia and her nephew.”

“Just let me finish,” Troy said. “During the conversation with her nephew I sensed a maternal warmth that surprised me.”

Kevin appeared intrigued. “Hmm. That’s good. Would you say
pleasantly
surprised you?”

“OK. Pleasantly surprised me,” he conceded.

“Better.” Kevin winked.

“Julia portrays herself as a competitive, cutthroat journalist,” Troy continued. “But I saw something in her eyes and heard
something in her voice during that call that told me there’s more to Julia Davidson than a pretty face with an impressive
portfolio.”

“Such as?”

Troy hesitated, as if embarrassed to say any more.

“Come on Troy. You know Angie will want the punch line.”

“OK,” he relented. “I sensed a hint of what I see when Angie is with the kids.”

Kevin understood. And, more importantly, he had what he needed. “Perfect! She’ll love that. Thanks, pal. You’ve kept me off
the couch tonight!”

Troy punched his friend’s arm. “You better get moving. You don’t want to be late.”

An hour later Kevin extended his hand to the mysterious Evan Dimitri, who had already been seated in the congressional dining
hall.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Dimitri.” His usual warmth and enthusiasm concealed a lingering apprehension. “I hope you
haven’t been waiting long.”

“Fifteen minutes.” A rebuke.

Kevin looked at his watch for confirmation that he had indeed arrived early. To remind his guest of their scheduled time would
lack decorum. To apologize for an unspecified mix-up would show weakness.

“Well, thank you for taking time to meet.”

“It worked out. I had several other meetings on the Hill this afternoon,” Dimitri explained flatly.

Kevin took a chair across from the man who squeezed congressmen into his day. His solid frame matched a strong jaw beneath
a full head of thick gray hair. He wore a black, mousy suit that gave him the appearance of an accountant who played rugby.
He had apparently developed his social skills while banging heads with opponents on a muddy field.

“I wanted to express my appreciation for your generous donation to my reelection campaign.” Kevin dove right into his only
agenda item. “As you probably know, the next election cycle should prove tough in light of our economic challenges and—”

“Save the speech for campaigning,” Dimitri interrupted. “Elections are only tough when the other guy has more cash to spend
marketing himself. Consider my gift a down payment on what should be a very aggressive campaign.”

Kevin felt both flattered and uneasy, like a kid receiving a side-armed hug from the school bully who had selected him as
his new sidekick.

“We’ve been watching you, Mr. Tolbert,” Dimitri continued. “We think you have great potential.”

“We?”

“Let’s just say you’ve been the topic of conversation among friends who have the means to give you a bright future in Washington.
We like what we’ve seen thus far. A solid fiscal conservative with the brains to come up with innovative ideas and the will
to run toward rather than away from tough issues.”

Kevin remained quiet, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You remind me of Nicole Florea when she was younger.”

Kevin repressed any show of taking offense at the comparison. “Really. How’s that?”

“People liked her. Trusted her instincts. And when her influence was needed most she rallied the troops.”

“Rallied them for what?”

The question prompted a sardonic laugh. “What else?” He looked around for their waiter, impatient after nearly three minutes
without attention. Then he noticed the hostess escorting a couple to a table twenty feet away and gave a summoning motion.
“Two soups of the day,” Dimitri ordered without bothering to check with Kevin. “And more bread.”

He turned back. “The most important austerity measure ever enacted happened thanks to the political skill of Nicole Florea.
If she hadn’t managed to get the Western states on board, Lowman’s agenda would have gone down in flames. More importantly,
our financial crisis would be even worse than it is now.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Dimitri ignored the question. “You know as well as I do that things are about to get much more severe. We will need new, younger
voices with bold ideas like the one you plan to propose tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Kevin tried to sound surprised.

“At the austerity team meeting where you’ll present the Bright Spots proposal.”

Is he fishing
? Kevin wondered. “I’m not at liberty to discuss—”

“Have you cashed it?” Dimitri interrupted.

“Excuse me?”

“Have you cashed my donation check?”

“I suppose it’s been deposited. Why do you ask?”

“Then you’re at liberty to discuss, Mr. Congressman.” The rugby player’s tone changed from patronizing to lecturing. “You
plan to propose incentives that will make it easier and more likely for citizens to have and raise kids. You’ll show the annual
economic impact of each worker to demonstrate why creating a new crop of taxpayers is essential to our long-term financial
stability. Am I right?”

Kevin gave a reluctant nod. “Among other ideas, yes.”

“Good. I like it.” He sounded like an architect approving one last detail on an intricate blueprint.

“I’m glad,” Kevin replied. “But can I ask how you know so much about my proposal? Every member of our subcommittee pledged
to hold our sessions in strict confidence. Who’s been talking?”

Dimitri waved off the question. “Don’t worry. I don’t have many details, just broad strokes. Enough to know you’ll be an important
player when Franklin makes his move. Your proposal will round out a nice package.”

“Round out?”

“It adds a long-term strategy to the short-term measures we’ll need if we’re going to avoid a meltdown.”

The pieces of the Evan Dimitri puzzle began to assemble themselves in Kevin’s mind. A big player among political action committee
donors. A man who backed fiscally conservative candidates, reviewed confidential economic forecasts, and received briefings
on Senator Franklin’s secret austerity coalition. Kevin was having lunch with a man accustomed to pulling the strings of various
insider puppets.

A fresh basket of bread and two bowls of soup appeared on the table. Kevin hadn’t noticed the waiter’s arrival.

Dimitri spoke slowly as he concentrated on spreading a slab of butter across a hunk of the warm loaf. “Listen, Congressman.
You wanted to have lunch to say thanks for my donation. I get that, and you’re welcome. Consider the gift an expression of
my appreciation for what you’re doing to help this nation avoid economic collapse. It comes with no expectations.”

Kevin braced himself.

“But it does come with a request. I ask you to think both/and rather than either/or. Use your growing influence to advance
new ideas without undermining existing, proven austerity measures. Trust me, kid, that approach will take you far.”

Evan Dimitri had apparently selected his next useful marionette and made a first tug on the strings. In the middle of spooning
his soup Kevin felt a sudden loss of appetite.