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It’s a picture of Jeremiah Rollins, the same one that was used for his campaign for Senator, but this one has been defiled. His eyes are colored in with red, and there are devil horns drawn on top of his head—like what you would do in your yearbook to that person you hated more than anything. Only, it’s a little surprising to see this on a media page.
I click the link and let my eyes travel across the screen as I read the article.
Looks like the jaw-dropping story on the prized potential Senator isn’t going to happen after all. Our informant, who happens to be Mr. Rollins’s former head assistant Theresa Hollander, says she had a change of heart. Which, in politics, means she was paid off. Oh well. We’re sticking by our opinions of the politician, and if we’re right, it’s only a matter of time before someone else comes out of the woodwork in search of their payday.
The whole thing seems innocent enough. Smear campaigns aren’t uncommon, especially during such an important election. But as I scroll down and see an article linked to this one, my brows furrow.
There’s a picture on the top of the screen of a young woman leaving an office in tears. According to the article below it, she left suddenly. From what it sounds like, they were great. The perfect team that planned to take over the business world together. But then one day, they weren’t.
A part of me wonders if he got violent with her. After all, a woman at that point in her career has probably already gone through her fair share of criticism. I imagine it would take a lot for her to leave an office in tears. And if he has a violent history, maybe the loss of his son pushed him over the edge.
It might not be the most solid lead, but it’s something to go off of when we have nothing else.
IT TAKES AN OBNOXIOUSamount of time to convince the guys that I haven’t lost my mind, and that it might not be a total waste of time to look deeper into this by going to the woman’s house and asking her to talk to me. And it takes even longer to convince them that they shouldn’t come with Mali and me.
I have no idea what we’re dealing with here. But what I do know is that you’re either a shitty person or in a really bad place to sell a story to the press. Especially when it comes to someone’s campaign. From what it looks like, until things ended, Jeremiah and Theresa were a power team, and I want to know what brought her from being his right hand to almost helping attack his campaign.
And what was the story she was going to sell?
After a lot of begging, and the promise to keep them in the loop at all times, Mali and I finally get the go ahead. Though it also could be because I pointed out that at least I told them about it instead of just going and doing it.
Did it insinuate that I was going whether they liked it or not? Fuck yeah, it did. There’s a difference between being protective and being controlling, and I am nobody’s bitch.
I quickly kiss Hayes before rushing toward the door before he changes his mind and I have to go behind his back.
“Love you!” I call as I drag Mali with me.
He grumbles to himself, but I don’t stick around to find out what he said.
I have a lead to investigate.
THE HOUSE IS EASYenough to find. When you’ve been looking into anyone who has so much as glanced in your direction, something like getting an address is a piece of cake. It’s a cute little place, with a small porch and a garden out front. I can’t imagine anything but a happy life being lived here. One where the whole inside smells like cookies baking in the oven.
“What are you going to say to her?” Mali asks.
“I’m just going to beg her to talk to me.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
I huff, wondering why I bought her with me.Oh right, because the alternative was Hayes or Cam.“I’m not accepting no for an answer.”
Getting out of my car, Mali follows me. “Whatever you say, Nancy Drew.”
It’s clear she has zero faith in me, but what else is new? I’ve spent my life being underestimated, and I don’t expect it to stop anytime soon. But right now, I’m determined to get to the bottom of all this—before it destroys me and everyone I care about.
We walk up to the door, and I take a deep breath to calm myself before knocking. My heart is racing. The thought that she might shut the door in my face is right there at the forefront of my mind, but I have to try.
It takes a minute, but finally, the door opens a crack and the same woman from the pictures I saw peeks out. “Can I help you?”
“Hi,” I say sweetly. “My name is Laiken, and this is my friend Mali. We were just wondering if we could talk to you for a minute? It’s about Jeremiah Rollins.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t talk to the media,” she says.
But before she can shut the door, I rush to speak again. “We’re not the media. I promise.”
Theresa looks skeptical as she inspects us both. “Then why do you want to talk about Jer?”
Jer.That’s a rather intimate way to refer to your former boss. Most people would call him Senator Rollins or even Mr. Rollins.
