65
Anne Davidson Broome
was no fool. She was well aware that Henry had his little flings on
the side. She had long ago told Henry the price of his freedom:
separate bedrooms, no scandals, and no questions about her frequent
trips to the world’s most expensive female-only spas. The problem?
The rules had suddenly been broken. Her husband had not exercised
proper discretion at the DNC Gala. She had seen his hands exploring
the soft terrain of at least a dozen women, all of them young
enough to be his daughter. Her own father and grandfather had not
always been faithful to their wives, who looked the other way in
order to benefit from the wealth generated by the Great Midwest
Petroleum Company. It was an unfortunate family legacy: the men
were allowed to sow their wild oats as long as the homestead was
well maintained and no bastard children received the name of
Davidson on their birth certificates.
Still, tolerance was
one thing, and humiliation quite another. She put down the P I’s
report on Henry’s latest mischief and walked to the living room of
her well-appointed Washington home.
“I think we need to
talk, Henry.”
“I’m busy, dear.” He
had his feet up while he drank his thirty-year-old scotch on the
rocks.
“No you’re
not.”
Henry frowned.
“What’s that supposed to mean, Anne?”
Anne stood before
her husband, looking down at him to give herself the psychological
advantage of height. “Henry, your lack of discretion when it comes
to women has become far too embarrassing. I see you have a new
chief aide—a Ms. Virginia Soo.”
“Yes, that’s
correct. Is that a problem? I can’t work without a
staff.”
Henry shook his
glass, watching the cubes rattle back and forth.
“It most definitely
is a problem. You’ve already brought her to two different motels
after lunch in the past week. Really, Henry. I would think that you
could make it somewhat harder for my private investigator to spot
you. If he can, then so can most of Washington.”
Henry rose to pour
himself another drink, but before he did, Anne could see the rage
on his face. Good.
“I’ll try to do
better,” Henry said, patting her derriere as he strode past. “And
don’t waste your money on an investigator anymore. If I catch one
in the act, you’ll both be sorry.”
Anne stiffened at
his touch, and then smiled. “Do not threaten me, Henry. And I’m
afraid there won’t be any more chances for you to do better. You
humiliated me at the DNC Gala, and things have only degenerated.
All those Asian women. At least one a week, according to the
investigator’s report. I’m guessing that they come courtesy of
Gregory Randall?”
Henry turned back to
her and headed toward the couch. “Don’t tax me, Anne. You’re
stepping over the line.”
Anne simply laughed
as she pushed Henry back onto the sofa, causing his scotch to spill
on the adjoining cushion. “I don’t think you comprehend my meaning,
Henry. You’re out.”
“Out?” Henry said,
laughing mockingly. “Out of what?”
“The coffee
business, for one, which I already technically own. The Senate, for
another.”
“And how exactly are
you going to accomplish this coup?”
“Let’s just say that
a little bird e-mailed a well-known reporter about how to find
information about the payments from Randall to Lanai, Inc.
Suggested he look through Transpac files to verify it. I don’t have
to remind you that Transpac files store lots of information, even
about that little hobby of handing around Asian
women.”
Henry stood,
red-faced. “Listen here, Anne. There’s as much damning information
on you in those files as there is on me. You own Transpacific
Coffee. You’ve got to be stark raving mad!”
“Mad? No, Henry,
dearest. I’m just a housewife who does fundraisers for charity and
occasionally signs on the dotted line—and someone who wants your
Senate seat. Imagine the outrage I’ll display when I find out that
my philandering husband gave me enough shares to make me majority
stockholder of Transpacific Coffee Imports, a company that sells to
Pequod’s, even though it doesn’t say so on paper. Exactly what’s so
special about those beans anyway, Henry? Why all the subterfuge?
They were your pet project when you first brought me to Lanai all
those years ago, and you’ve kept your little secret for all these
years.”
Henry threw his
heavy tumbler at a picture on the wall, smashing the glass inside
the frame. “You think I would share that with you? You think you
can topple me?”
“I don’t only think,
Henry. I know. Because I have an advocate. Phillip Trainor, to be
exact, the next Democratic nominee for President of the United
States. He thinks the sympathy vote for me will be enormous, plus
the press loves a good sex scandal. I’m an upstanding, scorned
woman whose father and grandfather were successful businessmen, a
woman who had the guts to blow the whistle on her husband, one of
the most powerful men in the world, simply because it was the right
thing to do.”
“You
wouldn’t—”
“Trust me, I would.
Assuming it comes to that. Of course, it would be far easier for
you to step aside for reasons of ‘health.’”
Anne never expected
what she saw next. Her comments hadn’t flustered Henry. They hadn’t
caused him to slump on the couch. Instead, they seemed to embolden
him. Henry put his hands in his pockets, and faced his wife
squarely. “Let me tell you why you’re not going to reveal anything
more—not ever. And why that reporter is going to be worth nothing
more than a three-dollar bill in a few days. And while I’m at it,
let me also tell you about those plants I grow, the ones you
‘technically’ own.”
Henry smiled his
most arrogant smile.
“We have Mark Stern
in custody—you didn’t know that, did you?”
Anne tensed, but her
face revealed nothing.
“And we have all the
data he collected at Transpac. As for Transpacific Coffee, its
offices in Pedregal are already empty. Nobody in that port seems to
have heard of the company. As for their files … what files? As of
11:15 this morning, there are no files, no Transpac … and no Mark
Stern to cause trouble. Whatever you blab will be regarded as the
ravings of a crazy woman. Might even land you in a rehab center if
I pull a few strings. So many wives of congressmen have drinking
problems. Now, as for the coffee … ”
Despite her strength
of character, Anne Broome suddenly didn’t feel so
confident.