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“Evidently, Jen might not be who you think she is.”
“Bullshit.” As of late, he’d been vigilant about using any language that might offend or be perceived as crude. This afternoon he didn’t care. “I don’t know what’s got you and Carl all worked up, but I know Jen. Whatever you saw is a fabricated story. Some stunt from Smith’s camp.”
Several seconds passed and Dad remained quiet. Finally he cleared his throat and said, “For your sake, I hope you’re correct. I’ll see you at Carl’s office.”
The call ended before he could demand more details. Brett considered his options. He could try Jen and see if she knew what the hell his dad was going on about. She’d still be at work though. He hated to bother her there. He could check the news feed on his cell phone. Doing so would mean pulling over. Rush hour traffic would soon descend on the highway and make his drive both longer and more frustrating. Stopping to read the news would only make the situation potentially worse.
Brett switched lanes and passed the driver in front of him. He’d have to wait to find out whatever shit had hit the fan today.
A three-car accident and the backup associated with it added at least forty minutes to Brett’s commute. When he finally parked in the garage near Carl’s building, he didn’t bother to grab his suit jacket or put his tie back on. He didn’t care if Dad would disapprove.
He had the elevator to himself for the ride up to the tenth floor. While he waited to reach Carl’s floor, he sent Jen a text letting her know his call might be late tonight. The elevator doors opened before he got a response.
This evening Dee, Carl’s personal assistant, sat at the reception desk. He’d never seen the woman seated there before, not even on the nights when their meetings had ended well after the rest of office had left. Instead the assistant always occupied her post a short distance from Carl’s door.
“Good evening, Mr. Sherbrooke,” Dee said, looking up from the project she worked on. She picked up the receiver on the desk. “Carl’s in his office. I’ll let him know you are on your way down.”
When he went into a battle, he liked to know what awaited him. Tonight, he felt as if he was about to walk into the worst firefight of his life. “Dee, who else is here?”
Dee’s finger hovered over a button on the phone console. “Only Mr. Sherbrooke is with Carl.”
Brett didn’t knock on the closed door. “What kind of situation are we dealing with?” he asked, walking inside.
Carl and Dad paused in their conversation. They wore matching grim expressions when they looked his way. A collection of newspapers and file folders littered the conference table.
“Good, you’re finally here. Have a seat,” Carl said. He picked up the remote control and muted the television. At the moment, a commercial was playing, but Brett had visited the office enough to know it was tuned to Carl’s favorite news network.
“I assumed you knew the type of woman a potential senator should date. Evidently, I was mistaken,” Carl said.
His grip on the chair tightened. It was the second time tonight someone had insinuated Jen wasn’t good enough for him. He’d had enough of it. “Get to the point.” Brett used the same tone with Carl as when he’d given orders to his men. He took the seat and looked from Dad to Carl when neither spoke up. “One of you talk. Now!”
“Smith’s camp has uncovered some skeletons in Jen’s closet,” Dad answered. “They leaked them to the press today.”
“Correction. They concocted some half-assed story about Jen and leaked it,” Brett said.
Carl rolled his chair toward the opposite end of the table and grabbed a newspaper. “See for yourself.” He handed it over.
The front page rather than the society section of the Boston Times featured a picture of them outside Peggy Sue’s Café. It wasn’t the picture or the fact it had been taken outside the café near his home that bothered Brett. It was the damn headline over it: Senatorial Candidate Brett Sherbrooke’s Judgment Called Into Question.
His eyes drifted to the article beneath the picture, and he started to read. Nothing jumped out at him as anything more than the typical political mudslinging until he reached the fourth line. Daughter of a convicted felon, the sentence started. He shook his head and kept reading. The rest of the first few paragraphs detailed what a man named Dominic Russo had been convicted of and when. From there the story only went downhill at a breakneck pace. The last paragraph opened by stating that according to a relative, Jen had had her own run-in with the law, although it didn’t go into any specifics. The article closed with the reporter not-so-subtly calling both Brett’s judgment and integrity into question for associating with such a person.
Absolute disgust rolled over him, and Brett tossed the paper down. Political campaigns got nasty. It was all part of the game. Pure bullshit like this was way out of line.
“This story ran on every news station today and in all the papers,” Dad said. “Even the Star Insider featured it.”
Great. Just what he needed, to be on that trashy gossip show. “None of it’s true.” He’d met Reggie Wallace. The guy was a retired Army vet who worked as an electrician. There was no chance in hell he was an ex-con who’d committed murder or any other crime.
Carl leaned forward. “Brett, I know Phillip Young. He plays dirty and will stoop as low as he needs to assure his candidate wins.” He tapped the newspaper Brett tossed aside with his index finger. “He wouldn’t concoct a story like this when the facts are easy to verify.”
“Carl’s right. Smith’s team wouldn’t make these claims if they hadn’t checked it out first. Information like this can be verified, and if it came back as fabricated, it’d backfire on them,” Dad said.
He searched for another explanation because he couldn’t argue with Dad’s statement. “Then Smith’s team got Jen confused with someone who shares her name. I’m sure there is more than one Jennifer Wallace in the United States. This article refers to a Dominic Russo. I’ve met Jen’s parents, Reggie and Erica Wallace. I also know her brother, Keith, and sister, Kristen.” Hell, he’d even met Jen’s niece and brother-in-law.
“Phillip and his team would’ve made sure they had the correct person before running with the story,” Carl said, shooting down Brett’s argument right away. “My working theory is that Jennifer is adopted and whoever you met are her adopted parents. I’ve got people looking into it as we speak. But whatever you know about her, you need to share with us now. We need to start doing some damage control before this really hurts you.”
Brett raked both hands through his hair and then down his face. Carl had a point. Jen could be adopted. He’d noticed the lack of any resemblance between her and the rest of her family. He’d ignored it. Not everyone looked like copies of their parents. Besides, it wasn’t the type of question people usually asked each other, and she’d never mentioned it. “I don’t know if she’s adopted. It never came up,” he said, wishing he did know.
“Like I said, I have people looking into her background as we speak,” Carl said.
