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“Thank you for letting me know where you stand,” I start, slowly addressing each one of the members of my cabinet. “Let me assure you; there’s a way out of this, and it won’t require for us to sell our souls in order to save our careers. Your trust in me is, and has always been, well placed. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” I head for the door, buttoning my jacket on the way out, “I have work to do.”
Heading straight for the courtyard, I feel my resolve hardening with each step I take. My driver is smoking a cigarette, leaning against the car with a wistful look on his face, but he puts it out the moment he lays eyes on me, straightening up almost as if he were a soldier who just saw his commanding officer.
“Get the engine running. We’re moving,” I tell him as I step inside the car. I’m going to solve this—whatever it takes. I tell my driver the directions, and it doesn’t take long for the car to be rolling down the highway.
91
Liam
“There are of course multiple ways to look at this situation,” my attorney, John Barlow, is telling me as he leans back in the chair in my library. “But the only way that’s going to get you through it is by looking at it from a perspective of saving yourself.”
I shake my head and take another sip of the scotch. Honestly, I have no fucking clue what’s going on anymore. Every time it seems like I’m making some progress or even Vivian and I are getting somewhere or Carter and I are patching things up, something seems to drop and make things even worse.
I mean, this has been a litany of getting slapped around by life, if you ask me. Talk about what could go wrong actually going wrong? I'ss as if someone sat down and made a list of all the bad things that could happen to us and then actually made them happen. All so someone else could read about it and be entertained.
Well, as much as I hope you are entertained, I hope you fucking know that it's not fun being impeached by the people you used to call your friends.
Or watching the woman you love being forced to stay the fuck away from you.
Or watching someone you could have gotten along with pretty well end up stabbing you in the fucking back.
So, yeah, I hope you’re entertained. Because my life is a piece of shit right about now.
“I don’t even know if I can save myself right now, John,” I say, taking a deep sigh.
He looks at me and says, “Sure you can, Liam. You’re just going to need the mental discipline to be able to follow through.”
I look at him with a puzzled expression as he continues. “You’re going to need to follow along with what Carter is going to do and blame everything on Vivian Hawthorne. How you were working toward a deal with Carter before Vivian came in the picture. How the only reason you spoke to Tina Ling was to get all possible viewpoints. Remember, Tina and Vivian were at some fundraiser a couple weeks ago put on by China First Bank. That’s where you snare that sumbitch Carter too. How because you don’t play the money game they’re trying to get you out.”
I’m fucking shocked as I look at the lawyer sitting in front of me.
“Jesus, you want to take a breath in between stabbing people in the back that many times, John?” I ask my lawyer. “I don’t think Vivian or Carter would ever fucking work with Tina Ling, and I don’t see how Vivian could ever have led us to the shit show that’s going on right now.”
John shrugs. “It doesn’t matter,” he says looking at me with an almost open expression. “What matters is that we start getting it out there and get the media to start smelling for it. Before you know it, they’ll have done most of the work for us. They’ll dig out a story, but more than likely they’ll put enough allegations and half-facts that they find out there that it’ll cloudy up the waters enough to get you out of the predicament you’re in now.”
Jesus fucking Christ. John leans back in his chair, satisfied with himself for coming up with a brilliant approach.
“How long you been doing this, John?” I ask. He’s supposedly one of the best political operatives there are in the state. And I can see why. The man has the compassion of a snake.
“Fifteen years,” he beams at me proudly. “I’ve helped too many politicians through too many scandals. I can’t even remember what they are anymore.
John is the type of consultant and operative that people call when shit really starts hitting the fan hard. He’s the person they call when they need someone to fix up a giant and colossal fuckup that they may have committed.
He’s also probably right. Muddy up the waters. Confuse people. Give them a common enemy to get angry at. And they’ll devote less of their energies toward trying to crucify me. It’s a model that politicians on both sides of the aisle have used before. And they’ll use it again.
What’s even more fucking telling is that John doesn’t have any sort of allegiance to the fucking truth. The truth is to him whatever he fashions and other people believe. If all of a sudden people started believing in ghosts, John would probably accept it. But he’d have a plan ready to get people to start believing anything else as well.
There’s nothing fucking real about this man. It’s all 100% fake.
That’s not what I got into politics for. There’s nothing fake in how I grew up. Nothing fake in the misery of being poor.
“John?” I ask, walking towards the hallway as I head out the library.
“Yeah, Liam?” he answers, curious as to why I’m walking away.
“Get the fuck out of my house,” I say to him.
There’s a pause. I hear him sigh and shuffle some papers in the other room and slowly get up and walk down the hardwood floors till he comes to the hallway.
