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Story: The Senator's Wife

But to really make her believe all hope was lost, he had to do more. It really was brilliant. He thought back to the things he’d done that made even Athena realize that the most merciful thing was to put Sloane out of her misery.
Like the time he went to her room when she was asleep. He moved around to the side of the bed and nudged her softly. She didn’t awaken. He glanced at the nightstand next to her and saw the nail scissors. Athena must have forgotten to put the manicure kit away. He hated seeing things out of place. As he picked up the small scissors, an idea occurred to him. He began cutting Sloane’s hair in uneven swipes. She’d always been so vain about her hair. She’d wake up in the morning and think she’d given herself a haircut in her confused state. He pulled a long piece in the front and cut it to the scalp. He stood back and admired his handiwork. It would push her over the edge and serve to further convince her that she had lost control of her faculties. Putting the scissors on the pillow next to her, he smiled at his inventiveness and retreated from the room.
And when he’d taken her from the house and merely driven around, telling Athena they were going to the doctor, it was all a ruse. There had never been any MRI or follow-up visits. It had been a piece of cake to fool everyone. He’d worried about Emmy, of course, and then he did some research and came up with the idea to spoof a California number and text Sloane with it, claiming it was Emmy’s new phone number. He’d known that simply blocking Emmy as he’d done with Rosemary’s and Camille’s numbers wouldn’t be enough. So he sent fake messages from Emmy to Sloane’s phone. He’d also texted Emmy’s real number from Sloane’s phone while she slept, temporarily unblocking it, then blocking it again so Emmy’s responding texts would never come through. He made sure to call Emmy with regular updates to let her know that Sloane was sleeping most of the time.
He did feel a little bit bad that Sloane had had to suffer, but with her illness, all he’d really done was hasten her demise. Wasn’t it better that she had died in her prime, forever remembered as young and beautiful?
And now he could finally be free of Madelyn. Of course, he’d never stopped screwing her, and she was a good lay. But she’d gotten way too possessive. He couldn’t wait to tell her it was really over this time. He didn’t need her, Fred, or their money anymore. He was finally a truly rich man.
And what could he say about Athena? She had come into his life like a miracle. In the beginning, he’d only planned to frame her. To make it look like she was the one making Sloane sicker and sicker, until Sloane died when she accidentally took an overdose of painkillers. He’d made sure that the staff saw them dining together every night, taking evening strolls. When Athena had actually offered to help him kill Sloane, it had taken everything in his power not to whoop with glee. So far, no charges had been brought, but he had a feeling tomorrow would be a bad day for Athena Karras.
He picked up his cellphone and dialed Detective Monroe.
“Monroe.”
“This is Senator Montgomery. I’m afraid some items of my wife’s have gone missing. A pair of pearl earrings from Greece, and a one-of-a-kind wedding kimono from Japan.”

Whit had waited for this day his entire life, he realized as he drove to the meeting. He hadn’t been more than ten years old when he came to understand that those who had more looked down on those who had less, and Whit had always been one of those with less. His parents had always done well enough, but it was nothing compared to the over-the-top wealth of most of his friends. And then he’d married Peg and her money, but it turned out the joke was on him, because therewasno money. And the envy that burned in him grew greater and greater when he looked at Robert and all the riches he’d grown up with. But finally, Whit would get everything he’d worked for, everything he deserved after all these years. The kickbacks he’d been getting from Dominic Peterson were peanuts compared to what the contractors were paying him.
It was easy money. They had made connections with a handful of General Services Administration officers who tipped them off to the bidding on the new HUD multifamily apartment complex construction. Then the contractors that Whit and his band of raiders worked with would come in just under the low bid and be awarded the project. Cut a corner here and there, padding with numerous “change orders,” and there was money to be made for everyone. It had started when Bishop was governor and Whit did him a favor by backing a bill that increased funding to HUD for housing in his state. They became friends, and soon Whit was making more money than he ever could have dreamed.
There had been no hitches for a couple of years, until that idiot contractor made a stupid mistake and caused the Chicago fire that would have certainly ended all their careers if they’d been connected to it. The architectural drawings called for copper wiring, but to be a low bidder, he needed to save money somewhere. Thecontractor substituted aluminum wiring, thus giving him a substantial savings, since copper was four times the cost. That would have been okay if he hadn’t used copper terminals with the aluminum wiring, which caused a chemical reaction that started the fire six months later. The fire destroyed the building and killed thirty-five people in a matter of hours.
There had been some tense moments when they all worried the contractor would try to make a deal and roll over on them, but on their behalf, Peterson had sufficiently impressed upon him the fact that it was in his best interest not to do so. That is, if he wanted to keep breathing. They arranged for his family to be taken care of while he served twelve years in prison. To make sure they covered all their bases, they had dissolved the LLC associated with him, and were forming a new one today.
Smiling to himself, Whit turned onto an unpaved road that led to the rustic cabin belonging to Vice President Bishop. Meeting here guaranteed privacy. There would be no press or curious bystanders, merely an off-the-record transport of the vice president to his private residence by the Secret Service—no formal motorcade, no lights, no limos. A “flow of traffic” event with four unmarked black Suburbans; one for the VP, two for the Secret Service, and one for the White House Military Office. No stopping traffic, no going through red lights, no noise.
As he parked the Bentley, he saw that he was the last to arrive. He walked up the steps to the porch and nodded at the two suited men with earpieces, who waved him into the large room that took up the entire first floor. They were seated at a rustic farm table—Vice President Bishop, Congressman Horner, Fred Sawyer, and Faye Chambers.
“Come on in, Whit. Let’s get to work,” the vice president said, beckoning with his hand.
Whit sat at the empty chair and gave the documents in front of him a cursory scan.
“I think the first order of business is to review the list ofproposed new projects and decide which ones we want to have our new guy win bids for. What do you think?” Bishop looked around the table.
“Agree,” Whit said. “We’ve been to the dance before, so we have a good idea which ones are the most profitable. And it’s time to start building in Chicago again, since our vice president’s auspicious memorial address last week.” There was laughter around the table.
“Okay, then,” Bishop said. “Let’s go down the list and prepare the required paperwork. We need to get this all signed and sealed today.”
The work was tedious, and after two hours, Fred pushed his chair back. “I need to pee.”
“Why don’t we all take a short break,” Bishop said. “There’s coffee and snacks on the kitchen counter. Help yourselves.”
Faye stood up and put a hand on Whit’s shoulder. “Can I talk to you outside for a minute?”
“Sure.” Whit followed her out the back door, where they stood on the grass together.
“You left me in a bad spot with Rosemary, you know. I thought you were going to have her taken care of in the hospital. I did my part to make sure we weren’t implicated. Do you think I enjoyed letting that clown smack me on the head? I’m lucky I didn’t have a concussion.”
“I tried, Faye. The guy we hired was supposedly the best. If Lawrence hadn’t come back to the house, he would have finished the job at her house. After that, the family was on high alert. It’s not my fault she came through. At least he got the job done with Mac. And besides, there’s nothing that ties either you or me to anything. Stop worrying. She’s got nothing. Let’s go back in now; I could use a coffee.”
Back at the table, Whit passed out the papers for the new nonprofit they’d established. “Let’s get these signed, and I’ll file them with the state agency.”
“Hold on,” Horner said, looking it over. “I’m not sure I want my name on this. What if someone discovers I’m part of this LLC?”
“I’ve told you. We registered the LLC in Delaware because the state doesn’t require disclosure of the principals. You don’t have anything to worry about.”