Page 149

Pearce clears his throat and reads aloud from the paper.
“‘My fellow Americans, I have made the most difficult decision of my life, which is to resign the office of president, effective at noon tomorrow. Vice President Faulkner will take the oath at that time.
“‘You all know the burden that my personal life has been for the past nine months. I love Cole Wright and believe he’s innocent of the charges. With the verdict two days ago, I have realized that I need to focus all my strength on seeking justice and vindication for my husband. I cannot do that and give the daily duties of the presidency the concentrated attention you deserve.
“‘I want you to know that our administration has been driven by a new vision for America, one that puts us on the path of financial stability and makes the investments necessary to secure the future for generations of Americans to come. The responsibility for seeing that vision through now goes to Vice President Ransom Faulkner, a man who has turned from being my fiercest rival to being a steadfast supporter, loyal partner, and devoted friend. You will be safe in his hands. I leave this office with gratitude, humility, and a sense of peace. I know in my heart that I am doing the right thing for my husband and for the country. I wish you all well. Good night.’”
Pearce lowers the paper and slides it onto the desk.
“What do you think?” asks Maddy.
“Madam President, I’ve never said this before, but—I wouldn’t change a word.”
CHAPTER
135
Washington, DC
Ihave to see Burton Pearce in person. I spend the drive south formulating a plan to intercept him, but in the end, all it takes is a phone call.
When I arrive in DC, I pull out my phone, scroll to Burton Pearce’s number, and dial.
It rings. Once… twice…
“Ms. Cooke, I’m guessing this is not a sympathy call regarding the verdict against the First Gentleman. Whatever the reason, is it important?”
I wait a beat. “Was Eva Clarke important?”
A long pause. Then he says, his voice low and intense: “What are you after, Ms. Cooke?”
“I’m after the truth. Just like Garrett Wilson was.”
“You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“Prove it. Meet me. I’m in DC and I’d be happy to come to your house. I have the address right here. Or I’ll come to the White House—”
“Don’t be stupid. Meet me at Montrose Park near Georgetown in thirty minutes.”
“Where in Montrose Park? You need to be more specific.”
“The Rittenhouse memorial. There’s a bench nearby.”
He sounds worried. Good.
He should be.
CHAPTER
136
Montrose Park, Washington, DC
Ileave my laptop in my car for safekeeping and catch an Uber to the edge of the park on R Street. I start looking for the landmark that I googled on the way, the Sarah Rittenhouse Armillary Sphere—interlocking bronze circles of the celestial spheres on a marble base.
It’s a cool night, but I’m hot; my adrenaline is burning. A guy jogs past with his dog, but other than that, the place is pretty much deserted. In the glow of the streetlights, I see neat gardens and lawns and paved trails surrounded by dark woods. I walk past the monument and down the stone path.
Maybe twenty yards in, I see a man on a bench. Lanky, balding, wearing a suit.