Kristy had then stopped communicating with any of their family friends or her parents. Offers to send her to a treatment facility of her choosing, caused enough upset that Kristy all but ended what little communication there had been.
The Gables soon received a letter from Kristy, insisting she had been sober for several months now, and needed space and privacy to maintain the emotional stability she needed to remain healthy. The Gables had honored her request.
The following spring, they’d been shocked and heartbroken by a call from the Kennebunkport police informing them that Kristy had overdosed on a beach.
Medical records had subsequently revealed a pregnancy that Kristy had kept hidden from their family and friends. A baby girl had been born a mere week prior to Kristy’s death and was voluntarily surrendered to social services immediately upon birth.
The Gables had mourned the loss of both a daughter and a granddaughter at the same time, with too many unanswered questions to speak publicly about either loss. The single silver lining was that according to her medical records, Kristy had carried full term without using, which had contributed to what the police believed to be an accidental overdose.
According to hospital records, the baby was born healthy at 7.8 lbs. with a healthy appetite. By Kristy’s request, social services had picked up the baby, still unnamed, as soon as she was cleared to go home. No further information was disclosed.
By the time the Gables had access to the medical records and reviewed them, the baby had presumably been in the state's care for almost six months.
After a few more months of discreet inquiries for a review of the case, Social Services had stopped communicating with them altogether.
And then it was the first year of a new term for Senator Chris Gable. Mr. Gable threw himself into work, and Susan Gable threw herself into mojitos at the family’s lake house.
People like them didn’t divorce, but when Mrs. Gables returned from anextended trip abroadshe moved to her ownwing of the house, and Senator Gables proceeded to rent a series of apartments fora family friend.
The family friend in question was almost always a single woman in her early thirties with long blonde hair and fake tits; but discreet, and happy to sign a nondisclosure agreement in exchange for a substantial amount of fiscal support and a glowing recommendation to whatever well connected career they discovered next.
Susan Gable played her part and gloried in both its benefits and miseries until she passed away unexpectedly from cancer at the young age of fifty-four, at the very beginning of Governor Gable’s first congressional campaign. Polls showed that sympathy votes would all but guarantee a windfall victory, and a seat in Congress.
All it had cost him was all three generations of his family.
After everything that had transpired, Mrs. Gable’s dying wish was that the Governor find the baby; no matter where he was in an election year or campaign. Governor Gable had hired a private investigator again, but Social Services had refused to cooperate, and Gable, starting to look at presidential aspirations long term, needed client confidentiality now more than ever.
Subsequently, Cesare Lombardi III, attorney at law, had received a very interesting phone call; a call that now had him stewing on a semi-abandoned wharf in Portland, Maine.
Cesare let out a low growl as he paced the wooden plank beneath his favorite leather shoes, staring out at the storm-grey sky that loomed over Portland Harbor. He heard Monty’s solid steps approaching and straightened.
“Do you want me to make someone talk, boss?” Monty asked.
Cesare gave the offer very real consideration for a moment before shaking his head with a sigh. “I appreciate the willingness, but no. We’ve got to do this one by the book.”
He looked away from the water to face Monty. “Right now, the State thinks we’re representing some poor schmuck pro bono. When they realize the plaintiff is Governor Gable, and at some point they will, be it tomorrow or five years from now, they’re going to piss themselves. And then, if they know what’s good for them, they’ll hit back at us with everything they’ve got. Gable hasn’t done anything illegal, so they’ll attack our process by picking apart every step we’ve taken against them with a fine-tooth comb. Any strong-arming needs to be untraceable to the firm.”
Monty nodded, chewing on a toothpick in a way that was reminiscent of a mafioso. “Who do you want me to call?”
Cesare grunted. “I’ll make the call. My brother.”
“Which one?” Monty asked.
“The crazy one.” Cesare muttered, giving Monty a wry grin.
Monty stared at him in silence, a sardonic brow just barely twitching on his typically expressionless face. “Which one would that be, boss?”
Cesare bit back a grin and shrugged a shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. But I could use another burner.”
Monty returned a few moments later with a grey flip phone, handing it silently to Cesare. “I’ll be in the car when you’re ready, boss.”
Cesare gave a silent nod of dismissal. He pressed a series of numbers into the burner from memory. As predicted, the number went to voicemail. “Hey. It’s me. Call me when you getthis. On this number. I need a favor, and you still owe me for room service in Barcelona.”
He ended the call and put the phone in his back pocket before pulling out his personal phone.
Cesare looked back over the water, clenching his jaw before opening his socials and searching for Sabrina Hamilton. He narrowed it down to Kittery, Maine, and found her almost immediately. Her cheeky smile beamed up at him from the photo on her page. She was wearing bright blue medical gloves and her hazel eyes shone with palpable delight as she held a brown baby seal.
Cesare furrowed his brows and released a sigh, closing the app. He typed out a text to one of the private investigators at the firm.
