Page 35 of The Ruling Class (The Fixer #1)

Ivy picked me up after school, which I took to be a bad sign. Worse, she’d driven herself.

“Probation?” she said, the second I got in the car. “You’ve been at the school less than two weeks, and you’re already on probation?”

She started to pull out of the parking lot, and I hastily buckled my seat belt, remembering what Adam had said about her driving.

“What were you thinking?” she demanded.

Somehow, I was gathering intel on a political conspiracy you told me to stay away from didn’t slide right off the tongue.

“You know what’s going on right now, Tess. You know what I’m working on. Do you really think I have time to be dealing with some teenage discipline problem?”

That cut deeper than I would have expected. “I wasn’t trying to be a problem.”

“Can you at least tell me why?” Ivy’s voice was terse. “Is it because you feel like I’m ignoring you? Are you angry about the way I took care of Vivvie’s situation?”

“It wasn’t about you .”

“I have been trying so hard , Tess.” Ivy’s voice was softer now. “And I thought—” She cut herself off, then cut someone off in traffic. A horn blared behind us. “I thought we were doing okay. I thought you were starting to trust me. I thought …”

My eyes stung. I wasn’t sure if the tears were because she was acting like I’d crossed some uncrossable line or because a big part of me couldn’t help wanting to get somewhere with Ivy, wanting things to be like they used to be.

Wanting them to be better.

“Sorry if I’m complicating your life.” I stared out the windshield, my eyes on the road. It only hurts if you let it. I pushed back against the emotions building inside of me.

“Tessie,” Ivy said.

I stared down at my lap, willing myself not to care. It’s Tess.

Ivy’s grip tightened around the steering wheel. “Nothing is more important to me than you are.”

I felt like she’d slammed a knife into my gut. I pressed my palms flat against my stomach. I couldn’t do this. Not with her. We sank into silence like a drowning man sinks into water. Neither one of us could come up for air.

“I love you.” Ivy chose those three words to break the silence. “Whether you believe that or not, whether you even hear me saying it or not, I do. You’re my …”

Sister , I thought, the muscles in my throat clenching. For so long, that word had come tangled with meanings.

“You’re my family, Tess. And family isn’t something I have ever been good at. I wasn’t a good daughter. I haven’t been a good granddaughter. But I am trying to be the kind of sister you deserve.” Ivy pulled onto her street and slowed. “Consider yourself grounded.”

“Grounded?” I repeated incredulously.

Ivy pulled into the driveway. “Don’t plan on going anywhere for the next two weeks.” By the time she finished that sentence, her attention was clearly elsewhere. I followed her gaze to a dark-colored sedan across the street.

“Stay in the car,” she told me, unbuckling her seat belt.

A second later, she was standing in the driveway, and William Keyes was striding toward her, like this was his house and she was the visitor.

My hand went to the door handle. Ivy told me to stay in the car. I pulled the handle and cracked the door open. She never said I couldn’t listen from here.

William Keyes had the kind of voice that carried. “We need to talk.”

“You need to leave.” Ivy’s voice went up on the last word.

“I thought we’d reached an understanding. When the president came to you for your thoughts on Edmund Pierce, you were supposed to back him.”

Keyes wants Pierce to get the nomination. My mind raced. I thought about the photo on my phone. William Keyes had been there—wherever there was—with Pierce and Vivvie’s father. My hand curled tighter around the door handle.

“I never agreed to anything,” Ivy told the older man calmly. I wondered if she suspected him of being involved. I wondered if Adam suspected him.

“You were supposed to get your president in line.” Keyes clearly meant those words as an indictment.

“He’s your president, too,” Ivy replied.

“No,” Keyes barked out. “He is not, nor will he ever be, my president. You’re the one who put him in that office.”

“He won both the electoral college and the popular vote.”

Keyes scowled. “You got him the electoral college and the popular vote!” He balled his hands into fists.

His index finger escaped, and he pointed it at Ivy.

“I taught you everything I knew, I lifted you up from nothing, I treated you like a daughter , and you thanked me by putting a man I despise in the White House.”

Ivy adopted an icy countenance. “We came down on the opposite sides of a primary, William. You’re the one who told me not to come back if I left. You don’t get to come here now and ask me for favors.”

“I damn well do!” Keyes shook his fist, like he was pounding a phantom table.

A car door slammed nearby, and they turned in unison.

“The front lawn?” Georgia Nolan stopped several feet from them, flanked by Secret Service. “That’s the location you choose for this discussion? Really, William?”

For a moment, William Keyes was struck silent. His gaze lingered on Georgia. I craned my neck, trying to get a look at her face.

They know each other. It was there, in the way he looked at her. They know each other very well.

“We both know the Judiciary Committee will look more kindly on Pierce than some of his contemporaries.” Keyes recovered his voice. It was quieter than the one he’d used with Ivy, but just as authoritative.

“Thank you,” Georgia said, her tone dripping honey, “for your advice and counsel. We will certainly take that into consideration.”

That was a dismissal, as clear as if Georgia had ordered him off the lawn.

Keyes straightened his tie, then issued a parting shot. “It’s a pity about the doctor,” he said. “When a man kills himself over being removed from his position at the White House, that doesn’t look very good for the administration.”

“It is a tragedy,” Georgia said tersely. “Our thoughts are with Major Bharani’s family.”

I felt the blood rushing out of my head. My hands went numb. It’s a pity about the doctor.

“Major Bharani is dead?” Ivy said. “When?”

Neither the First Lady nor Adam’s father answered. Their eyes were locked on to each other.

Vivvie’s father is dead. He killed Justice Marquette, and now he’s dead.

Keyes finally ripped his eyes from Georgia’s and turned to Ivy. “You never did have the stomach for this business,” he told her.

Then he walked away—past her, past Georgia, past the car.

I leaned into the car door, pushing it open. One second I was inside the car, the next, I was standing beside it, separated from William Keyes by the body of the sedan and nothing else. When his eyes landed on me, they opened wider.

He hadn’t realized I was here.

Neither had the First Lady.

“Tess, dear,” Georgia started to say, but my gaze was locked on Keyes.

“How did he die?” The words came out in a whisper. Vivvie’s father killed Justice Marquette, and now he’s dead. My hand tightened around the door, like my grip was the only thing keeping me vertical.

“William,” Ivy and Georgia said in one voice, Ivy stepping toward me, Georgia toward Keyes.

Keyes looked at them, then back at me. “He put a bullet in his own head.”