Page 26 of The Ruling Class (The Fixer #1)

“The process for appointing a judge to the Supreme Court is an involved one. It starts with the president and his staff vetting candidates for the nomination. Who can they get past the Senate? Who best serves the party’s needs?

” As Dr. Clark lectured, I thought of the president telling Ivy to dig for skeletons in someone’s closet.

I tried not to think of the voice on the other end of the phone line.

You’ll get your money when I get my nomination.

As the class wore on, we got a brief overview of some of the biggest cases the Supreme Court had ever taken on. Voting rights. Segregation. Women’s health.

“The president’s nominee eventually goes before the Senate Judiciary Committee,” Dr. Clark continued.

“During the hearings that follow, the nominee is questioned on everything from their record to their personal life. The committee then issues an assessment. A negative evaluation might send the president’s team scrambling for a new nominee.

Eventually, to get a confirmation, the would-be justice will have to be confirmed by a majority vote of the Senate. ”

Dr. Clark leaned back against her desk. “It probably won’t come as a surprise to most of you to hear that long before the nomination goes to the floor, lobbyists and special interest parties will already be attempting to sway votes, one way or another.”

Lobbyists. Special interest. She was speaking a language that was foreign to me, but for many of my classmates, it was their native tongue. I understood only that there were a lot of reasons for different groups to want—or not want—a person on the Supreme Court.

I tried not to think about the fact that there were probably just as many reasons to want a Supreme Court justice dead.

There were two numbers on the phone’s call log . I couldn’t stop the gears in my mind from turning. One of the numbers had belonged to the man I’d talked to. And the other?

That one was a giant question mark.

“For the next two weeks, you and your partner will be playing the role of the president.” Dr. Clark began handing out an outline of our assignment.

“You’ll be researching candidates, putting forth your own nominee.

Think of it like March Madness, but instead of putting together a bracket, you have your eye on the prize, and instead of winning a championship, the appointee instantly becomes one of the most powerful individuals in our country. ”

I took the sheet someone passed me and stared down at it. There were dozens of names on this list: possible nominees to research.

“Mr. Marquette.” Dr. Clark lowered her voice as she came to Henry. “If you would prefer an alternative assignment …”

“No,” Henry said, his posture almost supernaturally straight, his face giving nothing away. “This will be fine.”

“You know something,” Vivvie said the second we settled in the back corner of the room to “brainstorm” for our project. “I know you know something. You have that look on your face.”

I tried to think of a way to catch Vivvie up to speed without hurting her. That way didn’t exist.

“There were two numbers on the phone.” I stuck to the facts, as bare-bones as I could make them. “We called both of them.”

“We?” Vivvie leaned toward me, her eyes wide and panicked. “Who’s we ?”

Her voice carried. Several other students—and Dr. Clark—turned to look our way. Vivvie lowered her voice again. “Who’s we?”

I broke it to her that Asher had overheard her—and that his twin had been the one to retrieve the call log for us. Vivvie weathered that blow, pressing her lips together and bowing her head.

“What happened when you called the number?” she asked quietly, looking up at me through impossibly long lashes. She must have known, from the expression on my face, that the answer wasn’t good. She gripped the paper in her hands so hard I thought she might tear it.

“The first number was disconnected,” I said, pitching my voice as low as I could.

“And the second?”

I told Vivvie what the person who’d answered had said, verbatim.

“So we’re dealing with what? A person who’s hoping to get the nomination himself? Or someone who has a candidate in mind?” Vivvie stared down at the paper in her hands—the list of names.

“How are we doing here, girls?” Dr. Clark came to stand beside us.

Vivvie forced herself to snap out of it.

She smiled brightly, an expression so sweet it could make your teeth ache, and so utterly artificial that I wanted to cry.

“We got distracted,” she said, sounding like a copy of a copy of the happy, chattering girl I’d met that first day.

“But, hey, procrastination is the mother of invention, right?”

Dr. Clark bit back a grin. “I believe that’s necessity ,” she said, studying Vivvie a bit more closely. “Are you sure you’re okay, Vivvie?”

“Great,” Vivvie replied forcefully. It hurt me just to hear her say it.

“In that case,” Dr. Clark said, “I’m going to suggest you two switch partners. Procrastination, I am afraid, is the mother of nothing but more procrastination.”

Before I could object, Dr. Clark had steered Vivvie in the direction of a new partner and brought someone else back to work with me.

“Do you two know each other?” Dr. Clark asked.

Henry Marquette looked about as happy with this development as I was. “We’ve met.”