Page 67 of The Ruling Class

“Vivvie.” I knelt down next to her.

“Sorry,” she said roughly. “I’m sorry. I’m fine.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You weren’t in the courtyard,” Vivvie said. “It’s stupid. I came to find you, and you weren’t in the courtyard, and—”

“Breathe.”

Vivvie breathed. Then she thrust something toward me. It took me a second to realize it was a newspaper, and another after that to realize that she wanted me to take it.

I took it. Slowly, I unfolded it. Then I understood instantly why Vivvie had come.

PIERCE FRONT-RUNNER FOR SUPREME COURT, the headline declared. My mind whirred. This wasn’t an op-ed piece, and it wasn’t some two-bit newspaper. This was the front page of theWashington Post.

There was a knock at the door.

“Everything okay in there?” Asher called. “I ask in the most unobtrusive possible way!”

I looked down at the paper in my hand.

“You can show him,” Vivvie told me, pushing herself to her feet. “He’s going to see it anyway. Everyone’s going to see it.”

I reached out and squeezed Vivvie’s shoulder, and then we made our way out into the hall. Asher was standing next to the door. Henry was behind him. Wordlessly, I held up the article.

PIERCE FRONT-RUNNER FOR SUPREME COURT. The headline was just as disturbing the second time, but not as disturbing as the subheading.Sources say the president is moving toward nomination at an unprecedented rate.

“What sources?” Henry asked the question before I could. I had no answers. All I could do was move a step closer to Vivvie and take her hand in mine.

Her father had died on Friday. She’d just buried him—and now theWashington Postwas announcing that some anonymous source had gone on record saying that the president was preparing to nominate the man who’d hired her father to commit murder.

“They can’t do this.” Vivvie found her voice again, her hand squeezing mine until it hurt. “Tess, the president can’t nominate Pierce. He can’t.” She pulled her hand away from mine and stepped back. “What if they killed him, Tess? Whatif Pierce and whoever he’s working with killed my father, just like they killed …”

Vivvie’s eyes darted to Henry’s. Her words dried up, and the two of them were suddenly caught up in the kind of staring contest that nobody wins. Neither one could look away.

“Henry.” Vivvie swallowed. “I …”

“I know,” Henry said softly. “About my grandfather. About your father.”

Vivvie flinched. She waited for him to lash out.

“You could have kept quiet.” Henry was so focused on Vivvie that I felt like I was eavesdropping, like neither Asher nor I had any place in this moment. “You didn’t,” Henry continued, his voice just as soft. “You spoke up.”

Vivvie’s eyes filled with tears.

Henry reached out and laid a gentle hand on her arm. “I owe you for that.”

“I’m sorr—”

“Don’t.” Henry’s voice was implacable. “Don’t apologize. Not now, not ever, not to me.” He turned back to me. “We need to know if the article is true.”

Was the president really on the verge of nominating Pierce? And if he was—what did that mean?

The president was at the gala. The president is in the picture. The president has the power to see this nomination through.

“Maybe Ivy knows something,” I said, turning the situation over in my mind, trying to come at it from a different angle. “She won’t give me details, but I can ask.”

“Right.” Henry’s voice went cold. “Because talking to your sister will make everything better.”