Page 15 of Small Sacrifices
"See that he isn't," Coleman says. Reid doesn't grin. He really doesn't. But he has to expend a lot of energy and attention on it.
"Of course." Mr. Wright's tone reminds him of what Everett said about politicians when they first met.
It's warm and polite and completely fake.
As is the smile Lieutenant Governor Coleman directs his way.
Then, she turns on her heel and walks out, blue scarf billowing behind her.
Reid feels powerless to do anything but watch her do it. Is he in trouble now?
Coleman seemed to agree with Reid, and what she instructed Mr. Wright to do would work in Reid's favor—if Mr. Wright follows through. But will he? They're alone again, and the smile is melting off Mr. Wright's face.
Reid wants to ask, but he feels paralyzed. The words just won't come. He has to wait until Mr. Wright lets out a deep sigh to learn his fate.
"Alright. I want you to stop what you're doing until we have something we can tell the parents. It'll be better that way."
Reid nods and breathes. Best not to think right now. He'll only get angry. "Yes, sir."
It gets him an indulgent smile. "Good. You can help your colleague research Agrifarm since you work so well together. Maybe dig up some dirt to distract people with. Stick your nose in, you're good at that."
He makes it sound like it's supposed to be a compliment. It isn't, and Reid has no idea how it ever could be. But that doesn't matter, does it? He just got what he wanted. Roughly, anyway. So he says, "Thank you."
The tilt to the corners of Mr. Wright's mouth is disgustingly self-satisfied. "Well. Right. Off you go, then. I need to make some phone calls."
When he tells Marisol about this, all she cares to muster is an apathetic eye roll. "That man, I swear."
She doesn't say what she swears, so Reid assumes it's just a figure of speech.
"But that's a good thing, right?" he asks her. "If he now has to see to it that I can work properly. And someone knows that I'm doing the work!"
"It's good if you do it well," Marisol says.
It sends a bolt of tension zinging down Reid's spine because—well. He kind of assumed that he would do it well. He's been doing well so far. Does Marisol not think that he can do it?
When he asks her that, she sighs. "I think there's a difference between doing good work and achieving the desired results. Not always, but sometimes. And I can guarantee you that Mr. Wright would see that differently. For him, results mean you did good work. No matter what you actually did."
"But that's unfair!" Reid says.
Marisol rubs a finger across her lash line, catches herself and curses in Spanish. Reid has to bite his lip to prevent himself from smiling. It seems that she has forgotten that she isn't wearing any make-up today. At least he thinks so. She doesn't shimmer as much as she usually does.
"He does plenty of other unfair things," she reminds him once she's convinced that she didn't smear anything. Which is a fair assessment, but not any less upsetting.
"Is there anything I can do to help you?
" he asks. Because he'd be happy to do it.
It's just that Marisol always seems to work with a ruthless sort of efficiency.
Reid doesn't want to disturb her process and annoy her by getting underfoot.
Instead of the expected "no," Marisol covers her face with both hands and groans. Loudly.
"There absolutely is." This time, she rubs her eyes without fear.
"Do you have any idea how many documents I've had to trawl through?
There are thousands of newspaper articles, dozens of studies, binders full of tweets and their quarterly reports are roughly the length of the Lord of the Rings trilogy and about as easy to read. "
"So you want to give me something to read and take notes on?" he asks. The temptation to cross his fingers behind his back and pray to the heavens that she won't give him the reports is intense.
Marisol frowns. "Is that how you would do it?"
It isn't. Reid isn't good at working aimlessly. But can he say that? He's supposed to be helping her, not doing his own thing. Marisol rolls her eyes.
"Geeze. You really need to get a poker face sometime. Just research it the way you normally would and document it properly. Don't force yourself to work the way I do."
Well, that's a relief. "Is there a particular subject you want me to do that research on?"
Marisol considers this. "Well, I've been reading up on the project with the school. Maybe you can look into the lobbying in general?"
Reid nods. That's good. He really doesn't want to risk discovering something and then have to lie to the parents about it—or even just have to keep it from them.
It takes until he's sat down at his desk and readied his notepad, highlighters, and sticky notes until he realizes what just went through his mind.
That… no. Does he really believe that there is anything to find?
That maybe Raymond Mackenzie had something to do with this horrible incident, is at all responsible for the negligent poisoning of elementary age children?
No. He shakes his head to banish the thought.
That's not the kind of person Governor Mackenzie is.
Clearly, he isn't perfect. The fact alone that Everett speaks about him how he does shows that his family life must be…
suboptimal. But sometimes, things just fall by the wayside.
Reid can imagine Mr. Mackenzie, first as senator and then as governor, focusing too much of his attention on keeping other people's children safe to pay his own the attention that they need.
That could explain Everett. He seems like the type to absolutely crave attention.
Reid takes a breath and tells himself that he's worrying for nothing. He won't find anything bad. Neither will Marisol. The worst thing that could come to light is some sort of negligence. He's sure of it. Even that seems improbable.
With that in mind, he starts researching all legislation concerning agriculture, pesticides, and general environmental concerns that the governor has sponsored over the years.
Most of what he finds is familiar. Old campaign leaflets, news clips, and such.
Reid reads about the importance of engineering high-yield crops and about the deleterious effects of factory farms on their direct surroundings.
He watches the then-senator explain the importance of wastewater treatment for both communities and factories and extol the virtues of controlling emissions.
None of it is extreme or even novel. Reid wishes politicians could make policy much more in favor of the environment without committing career suicide.
But they can't, and so Governor Mackenzie likely sacrifices the loftier goals to reach the urgent ones.
Such is the fate of a politician who aspires to be reelected. Reid's dad always says so.
The problem comes to light when Reid compares all of this to the "goals" sections in Agrifarm's quarterly reports.
Early in 2008, they made it their goal to gain market shares from their competitor Farmex.
Later in the year, Senator Mackenzie sponsored legislation to ban several substances from use in agricultural operations, among them paraquat, one of the key components in Farmex's flagship pesticide Maxcrop—causing both Farmex's stock and market share to plummet.
Similar incidents of suspiciously good luck for Agrifarm repeat all throughout Mackenzie's career.
Most importantly, after they closed down an old warehouse in 2012, and made it their goal to advertise their clean production processes and excellent waste treatment, Mackenzie proposed tightened regulations for chemical plants.
And, fatefully, he oversaw the donation of this oh-so-clean, now unused parcel of land to the city of Chesterton and sponsored the construction of a brand-new elementary school.
It only takes a second for the chill to overtake Reid's entire body.
No. This… no! He presses his thumbs into his tear ducts.
This isn't what it looks like. It can't be.
Right? The article in the Times had mentioned campaign contributions and Governor Mackenzie's active participation in the Lacrimosa project.
But they didn't make him sound nearly this involved.
Surely, if this was anything at all, the Times would have mentioned it?
There’s a possibility this is a coincidence.
Perhaps Agrifarm donated to Mackenzie's campaigns, and he developed his policies independently.
But no one will believe that. This doesn't just look bad; it is bad.
It's so bad it makes Reid dizzy. If this one thing the press is saying is true, what about the other accusations?
Reid doesn't tell Marisol because he doesn't know what to say.
It's probably not the best way to approach this, but it's the only way he thinks he can get through this right now.
The notes he takes are meticulous—annotated, color coded, and worded as neutrally as possible.
It's difficult because he's quite jittery. But he stays professional.
And then he goes home right on time, leaving his notes on Marisol's desk without comment. He tells himself it's her fault for choosing to go to the restroom at such an inopportune moment.