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She scrolled through her phone to check her schedule. “Any time after six,” she reported.
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Where are we going?”
I chuckled. “It’s a surprise.”
“You always liked to surprise me.” She grinned.
“Maybe I still do.” I walked with her to the foyer.
“Good night.”
“Good luck with your crisis,” I called to her as she ascended the massive staircase.
By the time I was done with her, Kennedy Martin wouldn’t know what hit her.
Chapter21
Kennedy
Ihadn’t pulled an all-nighter since college, but that was exactly what happened when Renee called to tell me the sub-committee on gambling legislation wanted to postpone their vote.
I was on the phone with our lobbyist three different times. We scrambled to try to push for an early morning vote. I talked to every big donor I knew. I had to apply pressure. Someone needed to make this vote happen, or I was in jeopardy of losing the Crescent Towers.
I finally climbed into bed at 6am. I plugged my phone into the charger, turned the volume on high in case there were updates from the team, and pulled a sleeping mask over my eyes. The cool satin was soothing.
Six hours later, I awakened. “Shit. Shit. Shit.” I threw the mask on the floor. I had missed calls and texts from Renee. I quickly dialed her.
“Where have you been?” she asked.
“Sorry, just tell me. Did they vote? Did we get it?”
“The vote has been postponed indefinitely.”
My heart sank. “Indefinitely? That can’t be right.”
The blinds were closed in my room. Only sunlight filtered at the very edges near the drapes. I felt disoriented. I stood to open the curtains.
“I’ve got some ears on the ground. I think I know what happened.”
“Tell me.” I was desperate for answers.
“There’s a new lobbyist. He showed up last night. He has a big backer in the tech industry who are swaying Senators Merritt and Hyde. Apparently, a huge PAC was set up in the last few days with enough money to fund both of their re-election campaigns.”
“I can fund their re-election campaigns,” I argued. This couldn’t be happening. “Who is it? Who is the donor?”
“You know how these things go. Shell companies fund the PAC.”
“I want to know who it is. I want a name.” The landscapers were outside mowing. I turned from the window.
“We’ll find out who it is, but it’s going to take time. I need a few days, maybe a week.”
“Do you have any leads? Anything?” I was grasping at straws.
“All I know is the PAC is called BONO. For the Betterment of New Orleans.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell.” I felt despair. Dread.
