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“Did any of the people threaten you with bodily harm?” I asked.
“My girlfriend at the time chucked a vase at my head after I told her to get the fuck out of my house. Does that count?”
I smiled despite myself. “She didn’t like the new Nathan Wilder?” I asked.
“Not sure she even liked the old Nathan,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
Nathan shook his head. “She was a prop,” he said. “Just like everything else in my life at the time.” He went quiet for a moment before saying, “Anyway, when she jumped on the “Blame it on Brody” bandwagon, I told her we were done. She tried to brain me with the vase, called me all sorts of very un-Southern-Belle-like names and stormed out of my house. Haven’t seen her since.”
“What about once the furor died down?”
“After a few weeks, there was just one left. [email protected],” Nathan murmured.
“Tell me about the emails.”
He turned his head to look out the window. “It seemed like the typical stuff at first. Ranting about how I was going to hell if I didn’t repent. After a while I didn’t even read the whole message.”
“Did you ever respond?”
He shook his head. “Figured that would just encourage him.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“No.”
“What about your campaign manager?”
“Preston would have freaked,” Nathan responded. “He’s seen a lot of shit in this business, so I knew he’d figure it was one of my rivals and insist we retaliate in some way.”
“So much for running a clean campaign,” I said.
“Hey,” Nathan said, his voice carrying an edge to it. I looked over at him.
“Any chance you can wait until after I finish my coffee before you start bashing me and my entire profession?” The anger glittering in his eyes had my dick tightening in my pants. God, I was so fucked.
“I make no promises,” I replied, but kept my voice light. The effect was devastating because I saw Nathan’s lips inch up just a little before he dropped his gaze.
Hell, what would he look like when he full-on smiled? And not that fake smile he wore in his campaign photographs or whenever there was a camera pointed in his direction.
“I’m not interested in running a campaign that’s based on mudslinging, even if that’s the norm. So I didn’t tell Preston about the emails. Besides, those emails were sent to my personal email address, not my campaign one.”
“Who has your personal email address?” I asked.
“Preston, a few trusted staffers, my mother.”
“Your mother? What about your father?”
If I hadn’t looked over at him at the exact right time, I would have missed the stiffness in his frame. When he saw me looking at him, he forced his body to relax and said, “My father’s not big on technology…devil’s lure, remember?”
“You’re lying,” I said without preamble. “None of this works if you lie to me, Nate.”
He held my gaze briefly and then hardened his jaw before looking away. “I don’t even know what this is.”
“This is me trying to keep you alive so you can-”
“Vincent, I swear to God, if you make one more crack about me lying to people to get votes…”
He shook his head and put his hand to his mouth as if to stop himself from continuing the sentence.
“I was going to say see your brother again,” I remarked.
His eyes shifted briefly to me before returning to look out the window. Several minutes passed before he said, “My father is in the early stages of dementia. He isn’t lucid for long enough periods to do something like email me, and I doubt he checks my mother’s email account for anything.”
His declaration surprised me, since I hadn’t seen any stories about Chandler Wilder’s declining mental health in the news. And something like that would have made the news. After all, the man had etched his name into history by defying the Supreme Court’s ruling making gay marriage legal. He’d gone so far as to order the county clerks in his state not to issue marriage licenses. He’d eventually caved, but the high-profile nature of the case had made him a household name and he’d become a political lightning rod. The fact that his mental health was on a rapid decline would have been a significant story.
“It’s being kept secret?” I asked.
Nathan nodded. “My mother moved him to Louisiana. Her sister lives there. The few people in his inner circle who know have convinced his supporters that he’s chosen an early retirement so he can reaffirm his commitment to God. People are convinced Brody’s and my defection have him seeking solace in his faith.”
“Would your mother give out your email?” I asked.
He was silent for a moment before saying, “I’d like to believe she wouldn’t, but I can’t be sure.”
The words were enough to tell me there was more to the story there, but I didn’t press him. It was irrelevant anyway. If the guy emailing Nathan had enough skill to mask his IP address, he sure as shit had enough skill to find his personal email without any help.
