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 Chapter 1 Deon

Afghanistan, Ten years earlier

The hot sun beat down on the mountainous Afghan landscape as Deon Kyle crawled
out of his foxhole and started scrambling up the narrow ridge as fast as he could. He
held the radio tightly in his hand, a rifle banging lightly at his back. The distress call
had come from his twin brother, Dane.

The radio crackled again. Falcon Scout Team to command. Were taking fire on all
sides. Requesting immediate back up.

Deons foot caught against a stone and slipped over the edge of the ridge. He
grasped for purchase, found his footing, and hurtled on.

When the radio crackled again, he just heard gunfire and shouting. Why wasnt
command responding?

Deon saw his goal about twenty yards away the command tent. His platoon had
been sent to covertly establish and guard an outpost on the mountain. The day
before, the lieutenant had sent scouts to map the area. Dane had been one of the
scouts; Deon had stayed with his own squad guarding the area that would soon be a
base for a U.S. Army division. Now, the scouts were under attack by the Taliban.

Deon knew he was putting the covert mission at risk. He kept his head low and ran
across the open space to the command tent. Not waiting to catch his breath, he
thrust aside the flap and burst inside.

Lieutenant Mason and the rest of the command team looked up, startled. Kyle?
What are you doing here?

Why arent you sending support for the squad team? Theyre taking fire, Deon said.
Sitting at a makeshift desk with a map spread open in front of him, Mason shook his
balding head. Though he was only in his mid-thirties, he had a rapidly receding
hairline. We have to let them fight it out. We cant afford to give up our location, he
said.

We have to do something! My squad can go; we can be there in ten minutes, Deon
pleaded.
No, Mason said. And, Kyle, you have already disobeyed your orders thats the
third time this year, I recall. Youve left your post. I suggest you return to it before you
are stripped of your rank.

The radio in Deons hand crackled. He could hear Danes voice, but couldnt make
out what he was saying above the shouting and gunfire. My brothers out there,
Deon said. If they die, its on you, Lieutenant.

Mason stood up. We are on a mission here. Your brother is a part of that mission.
Hes out there doing his job; I order you to get back to your post and do yours.

Eight hours later, Deon watched as a U.S. Army truck carrying eight body bags
trundled out of the outpost and back to the main base. In one of those bags lay his
brother, Dane.
 Chapter 2 Timothy

Present day

Virginia Governor Timothy Tedesco took his seat before the General Assemblys
Gubernatorial Inquiry Committee. His legal counsel William Creighton sat on his
right. His former wifes sister, Mallory, sat on his left. He didnt know why she insisted
on coming, maybe because he was the only connection that remained to her now
dead sister.

Looking in the mirror that morning, Timothy thought the strands of gray in his slick
black hair had multiplied rapidly over the past few months. His dead gray eyes fixed
on the chair of the Committee, Paul Cochran, a Democrat and his nemesis, who was
smirking satisfactorily. He would enjoy this.

As for Timothy, he would tell the truth, or at least as much of the truth as he thought
necessary.

The committee room was filled with reporters, political aides, and ordinary citizens.
The whir and click of cameras had started up as soon as Timothy walked in, but now
had subsided. Everyone looked somber, occasionally sharing a whisper with their
neighbor. Some citizens had shown up to support Timothy. The governor appreciated
that. But he still felt alone.

Well, not totally alone. Timothy twisted the wedding band on his finger. It was the
second one he had worn. The first he had buried in the casket with his wife, Helene,
when she had died of cancer. This second one came from his union with Elise
Cunningham (formerly Elise Mason). It had not come without heartache, though.
Their affair had begun late in his wifes illness. Elises pregnancy had complicated
things. After Helenes death, Timothy quietly married Elise in a small ceremony at the
Governors Mansion. Of course, this caused no small stir in the press when the news
leaked. Elise gave birth to a baby boy whom she named after her former husband,
Oliver Mason. However, the baby was sick: he had Edwards syndrome, a condition
that carried with it heart abnormalities, kidney malformations, and other internal
organ disorders. The baby had died within weeks of its birth.
In spite of that, Timothy, who often wondered if there were any honest things left in
his life, knew that he loved Elise and that she loved him.

Cochran lifted the gavel and let it down. The Committee will come to order, he said,
even though no one had been talking.

Cochran read a statement from a sheet of paper and then proceeded with his
questions.

Did you or did you not have an intimate relationship with Elise Mason while she was
married to the late Lieutenant-Governor?

I did.
When did this relationship start?
About two and a half years ago.
Did the Lieutenant-Governor ever confront you about this relationship?
No, he did not.
Is it accurate to say that, to the best of your knowledge, he did not know about this
relationship?

Yes, I believe thats accurate.

Based on hospital records, Oliver Mason died right around the same time Elise
Mason would have become pregnant presumably with your child. Did his death have
anything to do with your desire to cover-up your affair?

No.
Did you order that Oliver Mason be killed?
No. I had no ill-will toward Oliver Mason whatsoever.
 Chapter 3 Deon

One year, three months ago

There was silence in the car as Deon and his mother drove up the path that led to
the entrance of Dublin Cemetery as weary gray clouds scudded across a rain-swept
sky. They had done this together on the same day every year for the past nine years
following Danes burial there. Deons mother fidgeted with the bundle of yellow
flowers she brought each year. Deon brought nothingjust hate, and anger, and bad
memories of the reason why he left the Army, joined the Navy, became a SEAL, and
then left the Navy and became a private contractor after a single tour in Afghanistan.

Deon felt as though he let his brother down. He felt as though he had let his mother
and father down. (His father had died within two months of Danes death.) Even
though they were twins, Deon, who had been born two minutes earlier than Dane,
felt responsible for his brother. Dane had never showed an interest in the military
until Deon joined the Army. In a way, Deon had gotten Dane killed. His PTSD
counselor told him that such feelings of grief and self-blame were normal for
returning soldiers. But, for Deon, there was another emotion that he was struggling
with revenge. He wasnt the only one who had gotten his brother killed. Lieutenant
Oliver Mason (now a four-star general and the lieutenant-governor of Virginia) had as
well.

Were here, Deon said to his mother as he got out and stuffed his cell phone in his
pocket. There was only one other car in the parking lot.

They walked slowly to Danes grave the eighth marker on the ninth row. The white
marble stone that rose above the ground was identical to hundreds of others. The
epitaph read: Dane Anderson Kyle Son, brother, soldier.

Deons mother stooped and set the flowers down in front of the marble slab. Deon
stood with his hands in his pockets anger, regret, revenge boiling together inside
him. His phone vibrated against his fingers. He pulled it out and looked at the
caller ID.

Mom, I have to take this, he mumbled, stepping away from the grave.
Three minutes later, he came back, placing his hand gently on his mothers arm.
Mom, something came up that I have to take care of. We have to go.

Something you have to do for the governor? she asked.

Deon hesitated. Yes, he said. Its also something I have to do for myself and for
Dane.

Six hours later

Deon waited at the crossover on the highway a few miles outside of Richmond in the
pitch black of night. Although he had the air condition on in his nondescript black
sedan, he was sweating behind the ski mask pulled down over his face.

He had already radioed his partner from the private military contractor firm that
managed his jobs to ascertain the location of the gap in the guardrail on the
overpass. It would be a tricky operation one that would need to be carried out with
skill and precision, nothing his training as a Navy SEAL left him a stranger to. But
still

Hes coming, his partners voice crackled over the closed, short-wave radio.
Here goes, Deon thought as he switched on his headlights and pulled into the road
going the wrong way on the highway. The car heading toward him matched the
description he had been given a black Buick Verano; the driver: Oliver Mason.
Behind the Verano, Deons partner accelerated and tapped the Verano on the
bumper.

Mason slammed on the horn and swerved to the left, the side of his vehicle squealing
against the guardrails.

Almost, Deon thought. Almost.

Squinting into the Veranos headlights, Deon could see Mason shielding his face
from the glare.

Deons radio crackled again. Now. Get in there, his partner said.

Deon pressed on the gas pedal. As he accelerated closer to Masons vehicle, he

could see the panic in his face. For a brief moment, Deon thought about pulling off
his ski mask and showing Mason his face. Deon wanted him to feel the same
helplessness that he had felt when Mason had told him he wouldnt send backup
when Danes scout squad was under attack by the Taliban.

Mason was clenching the steering wheel tightly, sweat trickling across his forehead.
Just a few more feet, and the vehicles would collide.

At the last instant, Mason swerved hard to the left to avoid a direct collision.

Time seemed to slow down as Deon brought his sedan to a screeching halt. He
watched as Masons vehicle turned nearly vertical as it slipped off the overpass and
hurtled into the darkness below.

The job was done.

When his partner was out of sight, Deon got out of his car and walked to the gap in
the guardrail. On the pavement beneath, shrouded in shadows, he could just make
out the crumpled form of the vehicle, the moonlight playing eerily on the metal.

Revenge mission accomplished.

 Chapter 4 Timothy

Virginia countryside

Timothy stood looking out one of the large bay windows in the front of his familys
country home. It was morning, and the sun had risen, promising a day of sweltering
heat. Out of habit, Timothy was wearing black slacks and a white dress shirt, but he
had dispensed with the tie. His sister-in-law, Mallory, was fixing breakfast in the
kitchen.

At the end of the inquiry into the lieutenant governors death, the states investigative
commission had censured him, banning him from involvement in politics in Virginia
for sixteen years. He had been released from house arrest and had moved out of the
governors mansion; it had stopped feeling like a home several months prior. Gray
clouds had overshadowed the residence during the final days of his stay there. What
wasnt coincidence was Tamika and Timothy Jr. deciding to stay away from the
mansion during their fathers hearing. To make matters worse, Timothy and Elise
were barely speaking. They both were still grieving the death of their infant son and
neither one dared break the quiet mourning that the other seemed to be going
through.

So, Timothy stood alone looking out at the pasture spread out before him. He could
see as far as the edge of their neighbors property where sheep and cows grazed.
When Timothy had inherited the Tedesco family homestead from his father, he had
sold off all their livestock. But, now, he was thinking of building up the estates
holdings once again. Maybe get some cows, a few sheep, a dog or two. He hadnt
had a dog since childhood.

Maybe hed even plant some crops. Some of the neighbors grew corn, soybeans,
and tobacco. One had a vineyard.

After all, Timothy had nothing better to do. Not unless one counted writing a book as
a better way to spend forced retirement. No sooner had his inquiry wrapped up than
he had three book deals on his desk. He had received three more since hed moved
back to the country property.

So, his choices were cowboy, farmer, or writer. None looked too attractive.
A dirt and gravel path curved around in front of the property. Timothy contemplated
this road as a path of possibilities before him. He could go one way or the other.
Without a task before him, he was beginning to feel caged. For twenty-five years,
hed been a man with things to do, places to go, and people to see. Now, all of that
had been taken away. The path of possibilities seemed to lead to nowhere.

Timothy was about to turn away from the window when a dust cloud rose up at one
end of the path. He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, so he took a second
glance.

He had not been mistaken. A black sedan ambled up the path toward the front of the
house. Timothy hadnt been expecting visitors. He frowned as the driver, a young
man hopped out and spun on his heel to open the back door.

Out stepped the last person Timothy had expected to see.

 Chapter 5 Timothy

The woman who stepped out of the car was in her early sixties, but she looked at
least ten years younger. Her hair was black and curly; it hung down to her shoulders.
Even after all these years, Timothy wasnt so sure it was dyed. The lines on her face
werent tiresome but elegant. Despite the heat the day promised, she wore a black
coat that hung down nearly to her ankles. She walked steadily on black heels up the
stone walkway that led to the front door.

Timothy, still standing by the window, watched transfixed. Of all the days

The doorbell rang once, but it took a second ring for Timothy to move. He walked to
the door, took a deep breath, and opened it.

Ma? he said.
Yes, Timothy. Who else would it be? The woman, his mother, peered past Timothy
into the house. Well, are you going to make me stand here all day, or what?

Timothy stepped aside quickly, holding the door open as his mother stepped in, her
heels clacking on the marble floor. She took off her coat and hung it on a peg by the
door then turned slowly, surveying the living room with a critical eye.

What are you doing here, Ma? California getting too hot for you? Timothy said.
Cant I come visit one of my babies when theyre in trouble? Angela Tedesco
walked slowly around the room, observing the paintings on the wall.

I dont need your help, Timothy said. There was a reason why, after his fathers
death, he didnt mind that he and his mother lived on opposite coasts.

Im not talking about you, Angela said sharply. I heard about what happened to my
grandbaby.

Hes not your baby anymore. You spoiled him, Timothy said.
Im the only mother that boy has ever known. While you and Helene were out
chasing your dreams or goals or whatever you call what you were doing, I was here
with Cat every day.
Timothy held up a hand. Lets not argue. Theres nothing you can do for Demas
anyway. Hes in a coma in the hospital.

There is something I can do, Angela said. I can sit by his bedside, hold his hand,
talk to him like any mother would. Hell hear me.

Fine. Timothy returned to the entrance, retrieved his mothers coat, and held it
open for her. And after you have your visit, I will personally make sure you are on a
plane back to California where you can stay out of trouble.

Angela slipped her arms into the coat. If only you knew the trouble Ive been getting
into in California

Timothy grabbed his keys and wallet. Mallory, tell Elise Im skipping breakfast, he
called out.

As he opened the front door, his mother turned to him. Have you heard from Phillip
Obermann, by any chance?

Timothy froze, his throat tightening. Obermann is dead, Ma, he said. You know
that.

Thats what the feds think I know, Angela said. But the truth is much, much
different. She turned to her son who was still standing in the doorway. She patted his
chest, just above his heart. You still have great, great things ahead of you Timothy.
 Chapter 6 Demas & Jia

Richmond, VA

It was an autumn evening. The wind was strong, rustling the leaves in the trees in
the nations capital. The streets of the city were clogged and noisy as people made
their way from work, to restaurants, to home.

Golden light gleamed from the windows and doors of government buildings where
important people made important decisions.

None of them knew what was coming.

High over the Atlantic Ocean, three streaks of light moved westward at supersonic
speeds. They looked beautiful like stars falling, burning up in Earths atmosphere.

Except they werent just falling. They were heading straight for the city.

And they werent stars.

Jia stepped away from the hospital bed as a doctor and two nurses rushed in. Its
happening again, she said. By it, she meant her husband, Demas, was going into
convulsions. His head thrashing back and forth; hands and fingers tensing rigidly.
The doctors had to keep him strapped to the bed lest he hurt himself. They told her
he was in a deep coma as a result of the bullet that had grazed his head and
fractured his skull. But Jia had never heard of a person being able to move so
vigorously during a coma.

Jia stood by, hands clasped over her mouth and nose, as the nurses worked to
register his vitals. Her long black hair, which was normally shiny and silky, looked dry
and tired. The past few months had been hard on her. She had been distraught when
she learned Demas was shot three times as he was leaving the Tedesco Industries
headquarters. She thought hed been killed. At first, shed been relieved when he
survived, but after months of him in a coma, she had begun to seriously consider the
doctors suggestion of turning off life support. (Itd be putting him out of his misery
and you out of yours, the doctor had said.)
That was until the brain wave monitor at the hospital detected abnormal brain activity
the exact same time Demas had begun having convulsions. They lasted for a few
minutes at a time and seemed to happen at random every few days. Jia had become
hopeful. Clearly, her husband wasnt dead, but nothing else seemed to have
changed.

After a period of bewilderment, the doctors came up with a drug to calm Demas
body when he entered one of his episodes. It also ended the activity in his brain, at
least temporarily.

They were getting ready to inject him once again when Jia saw something that made
her heart stop and then begin beating faster than it had been beating before. No,
stop! she said, grabbing the arm of the nurse who was holding the syringe.

The doctor and the other nurse looked at her.

I saw I saw He opened his eyes, Jia said. It had only been a little flutter of his
eyelids, but shed noticed.

The doctor and nurses looked at Demas who suddenly seemed to be calming down.
His head stopped thrashing and rested on the pillow. His arms and legs relaxed, his
fingers uncurled and rested limply. The brain monitor was no longer showing
abnormally high levels of activity in Demas mind, but it still indicated that some
action was ongoing.

Well, thats the doctor started to say.

Demas opened his eyes.

Jia gasped and threw herself on her husband, hugging him (as best she could with
him being tied down). I never I never thought Id see your eyes again, she said,
overwhelmed with joy. The doctor and nurses wore relieved but still uncertain smiles.

Demas lips moved, as though he were trying to say something. He licked his lips
and swallowed hard. It took him several tries, but Jia smiled encouragingly, one arm
over his head. Finally, he found words.

Who who are you?

Jia pulled away uncertainly. Im Jia. Your wife. Weve been married for a year and
eight months. She held out her hand, showing him the ring on her finger.

I dont I dont know you, Demas said slowly. But someone has to warn them.
 Chapter 7 Timothy

The drive to the hospital was not unpleasant. Timothy tried to get more information
about what his mother had been up to since they had last seen each other a huge
task considering that had been over twenty years ago.

Whats got Obermann on your mind? His people bothering you again? Nathan
asked as the driver turned onto the farm-to-market road that led to the highway.

No, theyre not bothering me, Timothy, Angela said. And if they were, I could
handle it.

Dad thought he could handle them, and look what happened to him, Timothy said.
Your fathers death was not Obermanns fault, Angela said, her face turned to the
window. And contrary to what you may think, Obermann isnt a bad man.

Timothy shook his head. All these years and youre still defending him. You, of all
people, know what he did to this family.

Its all in your perspective, Timothy, Angela said. You can make anyone into a
villain if you look at them a certain way.

But he is was a villain, Timothy said. Mobster, money laundering, hiring hit
men. Getting in bed with him was Dads ultimate mistake.

Like I said, its all in the way you look at things, Angela repeated. What your father,
Obermann, and I and a few others were trying to do could have changed the world
for the better. It could have worked created hope and unity where there was only
despair and disunity.

But the lies, the manipulation. If thats your idea of hope and unity
Youre hardly in a position to talk about the vices of others, Angela said, cutting off
her son with a sharp look. She sighed. Your father got cold feet in the end. The
whole operation started to fall apart.

He sued Obermann, Timothy said. Not exactly a panic move.

It was foolish and hasty.
Maybe he finally saw Obermann for who he really is, Timothy continued.
Obermann got scared when Dad turned on him, and he did what hes always done:
eliminate his enemies.

Im tired of this, Angela said. She leaned forward and tapped the driver on the
shoulder. Drive faster.

Hes going seventy already, Ma.

 Chapter 8 Timothy

When Timothy and Angela arrived at the hospital, Jia was waiting for them outside
the hospital room. She wore a pensive, frustrated expression, her arms folded across
her chest.

Whats happening? We heard he woke up, Timothy said as he rushed in.

He did, but he doesnt remember me, Jia said. He doesnt remember anything.
Hes talking some nonsense about saving the world.

Poor thing, Angela said soothingly, rubbing Jias arm. Lets have a look at him.
Timothy and Angela let themselves into Demas room. He was laying in the hospital
bed, his upper body raised slightly, his eyes closed.

Demas, Timothy said quietly, touching his sons hand.

His eyes flew open. He jerked away, startled. He stared at Timothy like he was a
stranger a dangerous stranger.

Angela sat down on the other side of the bed. She patted her grandsons cheek.
Demas, dearie, dont say you dont remember me.

I dont, Demas said. I dont know who you are. He brushed Angelas hand away
from him. I dont know any of you people. He looked down at the bed. Where am I?
When am I gonna get out of here? They lock the door at night so I cant get out.

Youre in a hospital, son, Timothy said. You were shot in the head. Youre
suffering memory loss. He motioned to himself, Angela, and Jia who had followed
them inside. We are your family.

Demas looked bewildered. I dont have any family. I never had any family. He threw
the covers off and sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed where Angela
was standing. Youll help me get out of here? he said. Youll help me? I have to
warn them.

No, no, Angela said. Sit down. Tell us what you remember. The very last thing you
remember anything at all.

Demas stayed seated, his fingers pressed against his forehead.

What is your name? Angela said.
Demas looked at the medical identification band on his wrist. De-mas Chris-to-pher
Te-des-co, he read slowly.

Does it mean anything to you? Jia said, her tone pleading.

No Its not my name.
Jia sighed in frustration and turned away to the window where midday sunlight
filtered in through the thin curtain.

Think, Angela said. Tell us you remember something.

Demas thought again, fingers to his forehead. He stared at Angela. He stared at Jia.
He stared at his father. Something flickered in his eyes. He pointed. I know Ive
seen you before. You are going to save the world.
 Chapter 9 Timothy

When they arrived back at the Tedesco Estate, Angela and Timothy were arguing
over whether or not Demas really had recognized his father.

Its a little boy memory, Angela said. Every boy wants his father to be a hero.
So, youre saying twenty years of his memory is wiped out and hes a little boy
again, Timothy said as he unlocked the front door. No, something else is going on.

Dad?
Tamika? Timothy looked up, surprised to see his daughter leaning over the
banister. She had a backpack slung over one shoulder and a duffel bag resting on
the step at her feet. Youre home.

Tamika shrugged. She dropped the backpack and came down the stairs. Yeah, I had
to come home some time. I hope you dont mind.

Of course, not. I never wanted you to leave. But I know why you did, Timothy said.
He hugged his daughter. Gonna tell me where you were?

We stayed with our cousins until school let out and then
We? Timothy asked.
Yeah, Timmys here too, Tamika said, motioning toward the stairs. Timmy! Get
down here!

Thank God, Timothy said.

Tamika looked past her father as Timmy came down the stairs. Grandma? she said,
surprised.

Oh, Ma was just getting ready to leave, Timothy said.

No, Im not, Angela said, taking off her coat and hanging it on the rack. Not when
my grandchildren are home.

Timothy and Elise ate a late breakfast in the kitchen as Angela caught up with Tamika
and Timmy in the living room.
I take it you arent too pleased with your mother being here, Elise said.
You take it correctly, Timothy said, as he sliced the sausage on his plate.
Why? Im sure shes harmless? Elise said, stirring sugar in her coffee.
Timothy snorted. You dont know her. Shes more trouble than its worth.

You think its coincidence that Tamika and Timmy came home on the same day,
Elise said. Maybe its providence a sign. You said youve been looking for one.

Its more like a mixed signal, Timothy said. He paused as laughter came from the
living room.

Elise smiled. Dont hear much of that around here. We might become a big, happy
family again.

Timothy shook his head. We might be a big family. But not a happy one. Not yet.
 Chapter 10 Timothy

The doorbell rang at the Tedesco residence.

Are we expecting visitors? Timothy asked from his seat at the dining table where
the family was eating breakfast.. He sat at one end with Elise and Mallory on one
side, Tamika and Timothy Jr. on the other, and his mother Angela at the other end.

No, but Ill get it, Mallory said. She got up to answer the door and came back a
moment later, telling Timothy, Its for you.
Timothy wiped his mouth with a napkin and went into the living room where he found
his former chief-of-staff Kent Rogers waiting.

Good morning, sir, he said.

Morning, Timothy said. I thought I was clear. I told you I would contact you when I
was ready to discuss possibilities.

I know, but they wont stop bugging me about it, Kent said. If I can tell them you
said no, maybe theyll leave us alone. He handed Timothy a letter printed on formal
stationery.
Timothy held the sheet at arms length as he scanned it, gradually drawing the paper
close to him as he read each line carefully. Halfway through, he muttered something
to himself. When he finished reading he folded the letter up, twisting it between his
fingers.

I can easily write a letter telling them you said no, Kent said uncertainly.
We wont reply just yet, Timothy said. This is a big decision, not one that should be
made quickly. Sit on it for me. I still havent decided where Im going to spend my
energies with all this free time that I have now. So, Ill be thinking it over.
Kent nodded.

Thinking what over? asked Angela from the dining room entryway.
Ma. Timothy hadnt realized she had been listening
The party chairman wants Timothy to consider the ticket and run for president in the
next election.

To consider the ticket, said Timothy, using the exact words from the letter.
Oh, well, thats a sign, Angela said.
No, its not a sign. Timothy ran his hand through his hair. This was what made his
mother so frustrating. This was what forced them apart. Go to college here, she said.
Dont date that girl. Marry this girl. Run for your fathers Senate seat. Hire this
campaign manager. Im leaning towards no, Timothy told Kent. I dont see why
theyre still asking.

Maybe they see something in you that even you cant see. Angela lifted her chin
and looked levelly at her son. Its something you should seriously consider.
Opportunity doesnt knock twice. She turned and went back into the kitchen.
Kent sniffed. My mother was the same way, he said. God rest her soul. Shes dead
now.

At least you can say that, Timothy said. Im not sure my mother has a soul to lay to
rest.
 Chapter 11 Jia

Mrs. Tedesco, Im just looking out for your best interest, the doctor said. Your
husband is really not fit to be living in your home. Its best that we keep him at the
facility.

I know. But you said it was up to me, Jia drew herself up to her full height to look
the doctor in the eye. I can take care of him. Hes my husband. She looked past the
doctor into the big glass window. Demas sat in a sterile room in hospital-assigned
whites. His eyes darted around, unfocused. He squinted as though seeing things that
no one else could. His lips moved intermittently.

Youll also be the one responsible for everything that happens to him and everything
that he does to others.

You said that already.

You have to understand: we dont know whats going on inside his head, the doctor
continued, His brain activity is normal, sometimes even hyper, but its just not
translating into his cognitive perception. He cant communicate with you. We dont
even know how much hes understanding us.

Itll be fine. I told you, Jia said. I can handle it. She wasnt sure she could,
especially not with a baby coming. She was just beginning to show.

Okay, just doing my job, lady. The doctor pulled a clipboard out of a plastic holder
on the door. Here are the discharge papers for you to sign.
Jia took the clipboard and signed her name to a trio of forms.

Mrs. Tedesco, a male voice addressed Jia from down the hall accompanied by
quick footsteps.
Jia looked up. Peter, hello. Her husbands vice-president was dressed in an ill-fitting
suit. His tie was loose and square-framed glasses squatted on his face.
Jia handed the signed forms back to the doctor.

I came to see if there was any, uh, improvement, Peter said. He glanced toward the
window of the room where Demas was being held. Oh.

Hes being released. Im taking him home today, Jia said trying to strike a hopeful
tone. But he wont be ready to take over his duties again anytime soon.

Yes, thats what I came to inform you about. The board has elected me CEO of T.I.
temporarily, of course.
Sure, Jia said. Please, do what you need to do. Ill let you know if anything
changes.

Certainly, Peter said. My sister, Maggie, is a mental therapist. I think she could be
of some assistance to you.

Thank you. I appreciate it.

Ill put you two in touch. Peter nodded as he walked away. Best of luck.
The door to Demas holding room opened and a nurse led him out. Jia took a deep
breath and wiped her suddenly sweaty palms on her dress.

Hes all yours, the doctor said.

Demas was muttering to himself as he came out. He faced Jia and the doctor but
wasnt really looking at them. Someone has to warn them, he said. Someone has
to.
 Chapter 12 Jia

Jia stood in the doorway of the spare room. She had planned on turning it into a
room for the baby. But now it would be a room for her husband. Her patient. Her
babys father.
The nurse who had ridden along to escort Demas home called from the front door.

Okay, bring him in, Jia said. She hurried through the living room to the front of the
house to watch.
The nurse led Demas up the steps and across the threshold. When Demas tried to
shake her off, she held him fast.

No, let him go, Jia said.

Demas stopped in the entranceway and looked around as though seeing the place
for the first time. Jia hoped that he would recognize something that would trigger his
memory.
Demas gazed up at the chandelier. Stars, he murmured. Stars falling. He shook
his head as though awakening out of a stupor. No, not stars. Something else.
He walked slowly down the hall and into the opening of the living room. He looked
around at the navy colored couches, the gilded lamps, the wildlife paintings on the
wall. What is this place? he said.

Its your home, Jia said.

I dont have a home.
Its your new home then, Jia said.
Demas seemed to accept this. He looked at her fully and then walked around the
living room, stopping by the fireplace. He looked at the framed pictures on the
mantel. Pictures of him and Jia from when they were dating, at their engagement
party, and from their wedding. You are everywhere I am, Demas said picking up
one of the pictures. His eyes narrowed with suspicion as he took a step toward Jia.
What are you trying to do to me? He held the photo up threateningly.
Out of the corner of her eye, Jia saw the nurse step into the room. She had
something metallic in her hand. It was about the length of a ruler. It looked like a
weapon.
Jia shook her head sternly at the nurse. Im trying to help you, she told Demas.
Help me? Demas looked around as if he were just remembering something, but he
lowered the picture. I dont need any help.

You do, Jia assured him.

Demas held up a finger. Yes. I must tell them. I must. The stars are coming. He
furrowed his brow and shook his head. No, not stars. Something worse.
Fighting the feeling of bewilderment, Jia put her hand on her husbands arm. Yes, I
will help you with whatever you need, she said. Now, lets go to your room. She
guided him out of the living room.
...

The doctor asked me to give you these, the nurse said carrying in a plastic carton
and setting it on the living room table. She held up two prescription bottles. These
are for his headaches. Hes been getting them about every other day.
Jia nodded.
The nurse held up another bottle. This is a mild sedative, just in case he gets too
aggressive. It will make him drowsy for a few hours. You can put it in water or any
drink. And this, she said, picking up the long metallic object, is a stun wand. If
anything goes wrong, this will knock him out cold. Just press this button right here.
She pointed to a blue tab. It wont hurt him. But its for your own safety.

I dont think Ill need that, Jia said.

Its my job to give it to you, the nurse said. And heres my number, in case you
need anything else. She looked up at Jia as she placed a business card down on
the table. If I were you, second year of marriage with a baby on the way and my
husband has lost his mind, I would be freaking out right about now. She smiled. You
are a braver person than I am.
 Chapter 13 Timothy

Timothy climbed the stairs to the study one of the few rooms he had yet to enter
since he had come back to the residence permanently. After six years in the
Governors Mansion, he still felt out of place in his own home. He was in a holding
pattern just waiting for something to happen.
Unlike the rest of the house, the study was cramped. When he lived at the residence
permanently before the governorship, he never used the room, and only rarely
entered it. It had belonged to his father and held too many troubled memories.
One trait of his fathers which he hadnt picked up was his voracious appetite for
reading. Three shelves crowded the corners at one end of the study. They were
stuffed with books worn out from being well used. Two cloth wingback reading chairs
sat in the middle of the room on an oval rug. A large desk stood at the other end with
barely enough room to squeeze around it. An old Eastman Johnson painting hung
over the wall above the desk chair. The small window between the shelves and the
desk looked out on the woods to the south of the property. The brown stained
curtains stood slightly apart. Everything was coated in a thick layer of dust.
Timothy squeezed around the desk and sank down into the chair. Dust motes rose
up in a swirl around him, tickling his nose, forcing him to sneeze. His eyes watered.
Looking around him, he noticed what at first appeared to be a patch of sunlight on
the desktop. But the suns rays from the narrow opening in the window couldnt reach
that place. He looked again and realized that what he was seeing was the actual
wood of the desktop itself without the coating of dust that covered everything in
the room. The bare space was in the rough outline of a persons palm.
Timothy realized that someone must have been in the room recently. Tamika and
Timmy would have had no reason to. Maybe Elise. Mallory might have come in to
clean.
Timothy got the distinct feeling that whoever had entered the room had come in
looking for something. He stared at the palm print on the desktop and then began
opening and closing the four drawers in the desk. The top left drawer was empty. He
shut it quickly and sneezed as a small wave of dust rose up. The drawer beneath
that one held small wooden figurines of animals the ones his father had carved for
him when he was a boy. How they had got in this drawer he didnt know. He felt a
tinge of emotion as he wondered if his and Elises late baby would have enjoyed
playing with them, but he quickly shut the drawer and moved on. The drawer on the
top right held half a dozen ball-point pens that began rolling when he opened it up
along with a stack of paper, yellowed with age. He shut that drawer and moved to the
last one. It stuck when he tried to pull it open and he had to yank it out.
Here was something interesting.
 Chapter 14 Timothy

Timothy stared down into the drawer. A small, rectangular wooden box intricately
carved with vinework sat at an angle in the bottom of the drawer. He reached down
and picked it up. He could tell from the dust-free rectangular shape left behind that it
had been down there for a long time, preventing the dust from collecting beneath it.
He turned the box over in his palm. Barely any dust clung to it. It had been recently
handled.
A tiny gold clasp was open on the long edge of the rectangle. Timothy flipped the lid
open only to find a smooth velvet mold with a depression in the middle. He traced the
shape of the depression. It had held a key and recently.
Timothy stood up, closed the box, and set it on the desk, his mind awash in
questions. Did the box belong to his father? Had he put it in that drawer? Why would
someone come looking for it now? And what was the key for?
As he pondered this, a scraping noise caught his attention. He looked across the
room in the direction from which the sound had come. It came again, like someone
dragging wood across carpet. Then he noticed that the shelf across the room was
moving, inching open like a door.
Timothy watched warily from behind the desk. He wondered if it would be good for
him to have a gun. The shelf kept inching open until a dark gap appeared behind
it. There are secret rooms in this house?
The next moment, the absurd scene seemed to make sense when Timothys mother
emerged from behind the shelf. Angela paused when she caught sight of her son.
Timothy threw up his hands and sat down, staring at her. Angela adjusted her hair.
She had streaks of dust on her skirt and jacket and an old-fashioned copper key in
her hand.

What gives, Ma? Timothy said. You didnt come here just to check on Demas. You
wanted something from this house. I knew I should have never let you stay here.

Last I checked, the house is still in my name, Angela said as she stepped out from
the opening. You havent bothered to change it, have you? She started to shove the
shelf closed again but paused to look at Timothy. No. You havent, she said
confidently.
She was right. His father had turned over the residence to his mother in his will.
When Angela had moved to California, Timothy had taken over the house, but never
got his name put on the deed. What is behind that shelf?
Some things of your fathers, Angela said, giving the shelf a final shove. There was
a loud click when the secret door was shut firmly. I just needed to see them again.

Things like what? A Batsuit?

Be serious. Angela came toward him brushing dust streaks off of her skirt. Your
father was a complicated man. And his legacy is not set in stone. Now, it all depends
on what you become. She held the key up in front of her face, and then set it down
with a smack on the desk. The metal against wood rang out dully, a swirl of dust
motes rising in the air around it.
Angela turned and left the room.
Timothy was left staring at the key.
 Chapter 15 Jia

Jia found that getting Demas settled in was easier than she had anticipated based on
the doctors warning. She didnt have to feed him or dress him or help him in the
bathroom. He was fully capable in those ways. And he was content to sit and watch
her with mild interest as she cooked or cleaned.
The real problems came when she tried to communicate with him, telling him who
she was, who he was, and who they had been together. He repeatedly pushed back,
denying everything she told him.

We werent married. How could we have been? I dont know you.

Jia took off her ring and showed it to him.

Beautiful, he said.
You gave it to me on our wedding day, Jia said.
Liar. There was no wedding day, Demas said. Stop trying to make me believe
things that arent true.

But it is true. Jia sighed, feeling like a total stranger had taken up residence in her
husbands body. She decided to try a different tack. What is your name?

You keep calling me Demas and Christopher, but He struggled to think, lines
furrowing in his forehead. Thats what you call me, he finished with a shrug.

When were you born? What date?

I wasnt ever born. Why is that important? Demas said.
Jia squeezed her eyes shut in frustration.

Why are you doing that with your face? Is something wrong? Demas said.
Yes, something is very wrong with you, Jia thought. No. Im sleepy. Im going to
bed, she said. You should to.

You mean I should go back to the room you made for me in this house?
Yes. Jia watched as Demas went into the room that they had planned for their baby
and shut the door. She turned the lights off in the kitchen, and went to lay down in the
master bedroom. She stared up at the ceiling, one hand resting on her stomach. She
had been praying for a breakthrough with Demas. Whatever he was suffering from
memory loss, trauma, some kind of mental block she definitely wanted him to
come out of it before the baby arrived. She didnt think she could bear seeing her
child growing up in the same house with a father who didnt know that child was his
own.
The constant worry kept her up for hours after she had retired, and tonight was no
different. She assumed that Demas had been sleeping fine. He was always awake
and waiting for her in the morning and he didnt seem to be suffering from sleep
deprivation. Still, she had never gone to check on him at night.
Getting no sleep herself, she got out of bed, put on her slippers, and went back
downstairs. She hesitated in front of Demas door. A dim light glowed beneath the
entrance, but that could be coming from the curtains being open. However, it didnt
explain the scratching noises.
Jia turned the knob quietly and slowly slipped the door open. Demas wasnt in bed.
He was hunched over the desk in the room. An array of sheets of paper were spread
out on the desk, and he was writing or drawing feverishly on one of them.

Demas, what are you doing? Jia stepped into the room.
Demas spun around, startled. No, you cant stop me. He held out his hand as if to
block her from coming nearer. They have to know.
Jia froze. It wasnt his words that gave her pause. It was his face. His eyes were
rolled back in his head, exposing the whites, pale and eerie.
Jia staggered from the room, slamming the door shut behind her.
 Chapter 16 Jia

Jia stopped in the hall, leaning against the wall to catch her breath. She glanced
back at Demas door, wondering if he would come out after her. After a few minutes,
she crept back quietly and listened. She could hear the scratching noises going
again, frantic and persistent.
What was he writing? If he was writing, that was a good thing, right? Jia started to
wonder if her mind was playing tricks on her. Maybe shed only imagined seeing his
face like it was something out of a horror movie. Maybe all the warnings shed heard
from the doctors and nurses were weighing too heavily on her mind. She shook her
head and went back to her bedroom. She hesitated at the door a moment and then
decided to lock it behind her.
Later that morning, Jia awakened to delicious smells. It was early. The last strips of
yellow sunrise were still in the sky, slipping in between the opening in the curtains.
Jia knew she hadnt put anything in the slow cooker the previous night, so she
gathered her robe around her and headed downstairs. She paused at the entrance to
the kitchen and looked in.
Demas was at the stove and there were scrambled eggs nearly done in a pan.
He was whipping them up with a spatula. There was a dusting of flour on the counter
and an assortment of spices that had been pulled down from the cabinet.
When the eggs were done, Jia watched as Demas picked up each of the spice
bottles. He turned them over in his hands, seeming to read the labels carefully before
opening each cap and dumping a little on his outstretched fingers and tasting it. He
made faces at most of them and, seemingly not finding what he was looking for, he
put them all back in the cabinet. He looked carefully around the kitchen until his eyes
alighted on the refrigerator. He went over and opened it, pulling out the Parmesan
cheese. He read this bottle carefully, tasted a little on his fingers, and nodded as
though this were what he had been looking for. He went back to the stove.
While he was occupied and not causing any harm Jia tiptoed away and slipped
into Demas room. The bed was unmade, so apparently, he had been sleeping some.
Jia headed straight to the desk. The surface was empty except for a lamp and half a
dozen pencils. She opened the single drawer in the middle of the desk revealing a
thin stack of paper.
Jia drew the stack of paper out of the drawer, setting it on the desktop. She flipped
over the first one. It was a pencil drawing of her father-in-law, Timothy Tedesco,
highly detailed. It was just his face on the right side of the sheet. The rest of the page
was blank. Did this mean Demas was remembering his family again? Remembering
what had happened to him?
Footsteps in the hallway made her spin around.
Demas stepped into the doorway carrying a plate full of scrambled eggs. He looked
surprised to see her, but then noticed the papers on the desk.

Youre not supposed to be looking at those, he said.

 Chapter 17 Timothy

Timothy sat staring at the key for a few long moments. He picked it up and looked at
it. It was possible his mother had been bluffing, so he tried to fit it into the depression
in the key box.
It fit perfectly. This was real.
A hundred different ideas about why his father would have a secret room in the
house spun through his head. And are there other secret rooms in this house waiting
to be uncovered? Timothy picked up the key again and looked from it to the
bookshelf that hid the secret door. There was a part of him that wanted to toss the
key back in the desk drawer and let the past stay there. But doubts about his
mothers true intentions kept him considering the possibility of opening the door.
Although she had said she had come to see about Demas, she hadnt actually gone
to visit him and Jia after he was allowed to go home from the hospital. Whatever was
down there, if his mother thought it important enough to know, Timothy figured he
had a right to know too.
He picked up the key and strode to the bookshelf. There was a place where one
book had been removed and another book was now leaning in its place. He pushed
the leaning book aside, exposing a smooth circular black surface. He brushed it with
his thumb and then pressed it. The bookshelf shivered and then started to slowly
grind open. It left a cavity about three feet wide in the wall.
Behind the wall, there was an old looking, carved door. Timothy expected it to be
rough and worn with age, but the wood was still smooth. The doorknob, which had a
keyhole beneath it, looked large and cumbersome. He fitted the key into the hole. It
went in roughly, and he turned it one way and then the other before trying the door.
The door didnt budge. He went back to work on the key, twisting it this way and that,
turning it upside down and trying to fit it in that way.
Finally, after a good deal of negotiating with the lock, Timothy felt something click
inside the door. He pushed against it, and it swung open a little, revealing a wall of
woodwork. Pushing it open all the way, Timothy saw a flight of stairs rising up to meet
him. He wondered if his father had written about this secret part of the house in his
journals. But his mother had taken those with her when she left for California.
Timothy started down the narrow steps. They creaked and groaned under his weight.
He thought he could feel the rotting tear wood deteriorating beneath him. As he went
down, it became increasingly dark.Should have brought a flashlight. Instead of
turning back, he kept going, bracing himself against the wall to feel his way down.
Finally, his feet hit a different surface. Something soft. Carpet, perhaps.
Timothy rapped twice on the wall, and listened as the sound re-echoed. He appeared
to be in a big room. He felt around in the darkness for some kind of light switch, but
to no avail. Instead, his hand fell on something solid a small table, perhaps. He felt
it blindly and was just about to give up and go back up the stairs when his fingers
brushed a cylindrical object. He grabbed it before it could roll away. It was a
flashlight. Perhaps, his mother had left it behind. He felt for the switch, and flicked it
on.
 Chapter 18 Peter

Peter Miller had gotten used to wearing suits over the past couple of weeks. But he
still couldnt stop looking over his shoulder. Ever since the attempted murder of his
boss, Demas Tedesco, the shadows had him jumpy. He adjusted his glasses as he
peered out of one of the grime covered windows of the abandoned warehouse in
southern Virginia.

Since when did I start holding meetings with potential contractors in abandoned
warehouses? he muttered to himself. He was used to the black leather seats,
smooth mahogany tables, and LED screens of a Tedesco Industries boardroom. But
his new suitors didnt like to draw attention to themselves.
Peter walked over to a large mechanical contraption that was just beginning to rust.
He didnt know what the machine had been used for, but at least it had a flat surface.
He set his portfolio down on it and started arranging the buying contract, prototype
mockups, and production timetables. As the former head of innovation for T.I., he
knew every iota of the specs for the Hyper-Stealth Laser Carrying Missile (or LCM-
18, as it was referred to internally). He had been pushing for it to be developed for a
couple of years. The problem was it cost a boatload more like an aircraft carrier
load of money, and until some superpower wanted to bankroll it, it would always
remain in the realm of paper, printouts, and mockups.
But now, Peter had found that buyer. Potential buyer, to be exact. As he finished
laying out his presentation, he heard the noise of a vehicle drive up in the gravel
outside. Doors slammed. Voices sounded, speaking a language other than English.
Feet crunched over gravel. The entrance to the warehouse rolled back slightly and
three men walked in.

There he is, the first man said exultingly. Short and balding, he wore a black suit
and a white shirt without a tie. He spoke with a Russian accent.

Mr. Kursinska, Peter said, reaching out to shake his hand.

Please, call me Anton, Kursinska said. He motioned to the two men behind him
who both wore sunglasses. This is Lukyan and Markov. Lukyan is for security. But
you will like Markov. He handles the money. Kursinska grinned.

Yes, I see. Peter shook hands with the other two men. Lukyan appeared to be
disinterested, but Markov removed his sunglasses and went to stand behind Anton
who was looking at the weapon design specs. The two spoke together in Russian for
a few minutes.
Finally, Anton said, Peter, my friend, everything appears to be in order. And Markov
says it will cost even less than what we are willing to pay. I will be taking these back
to the Ministry

No, Peter interjected. Those are proprietary designs. Until we have a deal, I cant
let you take them out of the country. I can fax them to

No, no. No fax, Anton said, wagging his finger in the air. And dont worry. We have
deal. Secret deal. We already keep our end of deal.

What? We havent signed anything.

Ah. Deal signed with blood, yes? Anton nodded as though he expected Peter to
know what this meant. Peter just felt cold growing in his stomach as Anton continued.
Remember, we tell you we deal only with you to get these weapon. You say you not
head of company. Well, are you head of company now? Are you?

Yes, Peter mumbled, as realization dawned.

See, Anton said. He pointed to himself, Lukyan, and Markov. We make you head
of company. So we have deal, yes?
 Chapter 19 Peter

Peter sat in his modest office at Tedesco Industries headquarters. (He had decided
against taking Demas office.)
After refusing to let the Russians take his weapons designs, they had left the
warehouse but it was clear they werent happy. Peter had spent the next few days
in a panicky sweat, wondering what would happen next. They werent the type to just
take no for an answer. The masked man caught on security footage shooting T.I.s
former CEO had been a Russian operative hired by his potential buyers. When he
had received a note of congratulations the same day the board voted him the new
CEO, he should have known something was awry.
But things were settling down now he hoped. He hadnt heard from Anton since
that evening in the warehouse. Demas was back home now, hopefully nearing
recovery. Maybe all of this would blow over soon, Demas would return to the
company, and he would hopefully be out of the sticky position he had gotten into.
Too much hoping.
Peter picked up the phone and dialed Jias number. Mrs. Tedesco, Peter Miller
here.

Oh, hi, Jia said.

Peter tried to take the measure of her voice, but he detected no particular signal in
her tone. Or maybe he was just too nervous to pick up on it. He plowed ahead.
Hows Demas?

Hesfine, Jia said.

Fine?
If youre asking if hes remembering things now, Jia said, the answer is still no.
Unfortunately.

Oh, Peter said. Im sorry to hear that.

But, he is, um, functioning well, Jia said. Hes capable of taking care of himself. I
dont even have to watch him like I thought I would. But its like someone else has
taken over his brain. Her voice dropped to a whisper. Hes been making these weird
drawings.

Oh? Peter said, not sure if he should sound interested.

Like weapons and people Ive never seen before, Jia continued.
Peter sat up straight in his chair. What kind of weapons?

Missiles, bombs, I dont know. Its worrying. Demas never showed any talent for art
before.
Peters heart beat a little faster. Let me speak with him, please. He waited as Jia
called Demas to the phone.

Demas, sir, Peter said.

Who is this? it was Demas voice, but without the confidence, the slight arrogance,
that Peter had grown used to.

I hear youve been drawing missiles, Peter said, hoping he didnt sound like he was
talking to a child.

Jia told you that? She wasnt supposed to tell. Demas voice was low and
dangerous.

No, no. Its not her fault, Peter said. I make weapons for a living. Im interested in
yours.

Maybe you are one of the bad men then, Demas said thoughtfully.
What bad men?
The men who send the weapons from the sky the death stars.
Weapons from the sky. Death stars. Jia had said Demas had been drawing missiles.
Was it possible?

I shouldnt be talking to you, Demas said.

No, wait, Peter said, but a moment later, Jia was back on the phone.
Mr. Miller. Her voice was a mix of uncertainty and guarded hope.
Jia, can I come over later today? Peter said. I think he may be remembering
something.
 Chapter 20 Timothy

The glow of the flashlight illuminated the big underground room. A large, circular
table dominated the middle of the room. It was surrounded by seven high-backed,
wooden chairs. A brass chandelier swung from the ceiling. Timothy found himself
wondering why it hadnt fallen down yet. Four small tables, each with a lamp on its
surface, had been placed in the four corners of the room. A thick layer of dust clung
to everything and the air held a musty odor.
Timothys attention was drawn to the bankers box in the middle of the round table.
Its lid was slightly ajar, as though someone his mother, most likely had recently
opened it. One of the chairs was turned slightly away from the table as though
someone had recently sat in it.
Timothy strode to the table and removed the lid from the box, his fingers becoming
coated with a fresh layer of dust. His eyes fell on a framed and faded full-color photo.
He picked it up.
In the photo, seven people were standing, staring back at him. The expressions on
their faces varied from pleased to determined. Timothy immediately recognized his
mother and father standing next to each other in the second row. They were young;
the photo must have been taken at least thirty years prior. His father, James, glasses
askew with curly black hair brushed back from his face, gazed lovingly at his mother
who was smiling at the camera. To their right, looking on with what appeared to be
approval, was Philip Obermann. Even back then, he had white hair and mischievous
eyes. His hand was on James back as though he were trying to get his attention.
Timothy couldnt help but imagine a dagger in his grasp.
To Phillips right was a Japanese man, older than the rest of the people in the photo.
Timothy felt like he had seen him before, but he couldnt remember his name.
On the first row, three more individuals stood. An African man: bald, in a pinstripe suit
and expensive-looking shoes. Beside him was a short, stout man with tufts of white
hair at the sides of his head. He wore a long-jacketed suit and had one jeweled hand
resting on his protruding stomach. He was the perfect image of what Timothy
imagined a greedy banker would look like. Beside him, the last of the seven, was an
Indian woman in a purple Sari and long, flowing pants. Her right arm looked different
from her left, and Timothy figured it must be a prosthetic.
Who were these people? Why were they all together? Why were his mother and
father with them?
Timothy set the framed photo aside. There were a handful of unframed photographs
beneath them in the box. The first was of Obermann and the African man at a ribbon-
cutting. Then, the Japanese man applauding at some kind of award ceremony. The
Indian woman in a hard-hat standing in an unfinished building surrounded by
construction workers. Again, his mother and father at some kind of gala. This event,
he vaguely remembered: it was the victory celebration for his fathers Senate
campaign.
Timothy set the rest of the photos aside. Beneath these were what looked like
clippings from newspapers and magazines. Before he could get to them, however, a
noise sounded from the entrance. He turned to find his mother stepping into the
doorway. I knew curiosity would get the better of you, she said.
 Chapter 21 Peter

Before leaving for Jias house, Peter texted his wife, Belinda, to let her know he was
going to be late for their daughters soccer game.
Again?, she texted back almost immediately.
Yes, unfortunately, Peter wrote. Something important re: Demas. Cant wait.
Peter was worried that whatever lucidness Demas had been showing would fade. He
didnt want to let a possible breakthrough slip through his hand.
As he left the parking lot in his silver Taurus, he double-checked his rearview mirrors
to make sure he wasnt being followed. His eyes slipped to the woods on the other
side of the T.I. compound where Demas would-be assassins had come from and
vanished into. What secrets did the shadows between the trees hold now?
A chill ran over his shoulders, but he focused on the road ahead. He was not looking
forward to the commute back to Charlottesville. He had considered moving his family
closer to headquarters, but his wife had said no. On top of that, she had banned him
from bringing any work home, except for the occasional phone call. So, he typically
left as early as he could in the mornings before Charity left for school and cut
off at four p.m., so he could be home in time for dinner.
His phone buzzed on the seat beside him. He picked it up. It was another text from
Belinda. This is the face your daughter makes when shes getting negative energy
because of your absence tonight. She had attached a photo of Charity in her soccer
gear pouting into the camera, her black hair partly braided.
Peter chuckled to himself. He didnt see the dark green Humvee accelerating behind
him. He tossed the phone down with a start and swerved right to avoid a sidelong
collision. He skidded into the gravel and came to a stop on the side of the road.
Whew! Close call.
He looked up, expecting the Humvee to be a good piece down the road ahead of
him, considering the speed it was going. Instead, the Humvee had driven onto the
gravel and was backing up toward his car.
Oh no. Peter fumbled with the gear, trying to put the car in reverse. Just as he was
trying to turn back onto the road, the Humvee clipped his front fender bringing him to
a stop once again.
Peter scrambled for his phone to call 9-1-1, but it had bounced onto the floor board of
the passengers side. The front door of the Humvee opened, and Peter looked
around for something he could use as a weapons, if it came to that. (It was a sad
fact, but weapons designer Peter Miller had no fighting skills whatsoever. He didnt
even carry a gun. When he was a child, he much preferred video game wars to street
fights.)
A tall man in sunglasses emerged from the Humvee. Peter realized with dismay that
he was one of the men who had been with Anton at the warehouse. But which one?
Lukyan or Markov? Judging by the gun-shaped bulge underneath his arm, it was the
former.
Lukyan slowly approached Peters vehicle holding a manila envelope and something
else in his hand. He tapped on the window. Peter waited a moment to compose
himself before rolling the window down.

Anton has message for you, he said, handing him a miniature audio device, about
the size of his thumb.
Peter took the device, his hand trembling a little. His finger hovered over a triangular
silver button. If I press this button, am I going to blow up? He thought of Belinda
and Charity. Because I really dont want to blow up today.
 Chapter 22 Peter

If that were a bomb, I wouldnt be standing this close to you, Lukyan said as he
leaned against Peters open car door. The car was tilting into the ditch at the side of
the road. Lukyan nodded encouragingly. Listen, he said.
Peter closed his eyes and pressed the tiny button on the device. Antons voice
sounded through the recorder. Mr. Miller, we try our best to work with your company.
But you are making things quite difficult. We offer you all the money you asked of us
for production of the LCM-18. Even more than we think is necessary. I tell you, my
superiors in Moscow need to see contract. It is only way we finalize deal.
So? Peter looked at the recorder, then looked up at Lukyan who pulled a manila
folder from his coat and handed it over. Again, he nodded encouragingly.
Peter set the recorder down and opened the envelope. There were more than twenty
sheets of paper copies of bank transfer receipts for large sums of money,
purchase orders for weapons, grainy images of the companys R&D director
alongside smiling scantily clad women, and photographs of Tedesco Industry
executives shaking hands with people Peter did not immediately recognize.
Antons voice came through the recorder again. The files my aide has delivered to
you are irrefutable proof of corruption on the part of four of the senior executives of
your company. Your board chairman has set up a shell corporation and is using it to
supply cheap weapons to Hezbollah in Lebanon. He is turning quite a good profit and
has the money deposited into a bank account in Bermuda.
Peter flipped back through the sheets to the banking papers. They were indeed
stamped with the HSBC Bermuda logo and had his board chairmans name in the
account holder field.

Your chief financial officer recently went bankrupt, Anton continued. And he has
been embezzling money from the company to pay his own debts.
Peter turned a few more pages and, sure enough, he saw what appeared to be a
faxed copy of a Chapter 13 bankruptcy filing with his CFOs name on it.

Your acquisitions director has been caught on tape bragging about bribing the U.S.
ambassador to Brazil in order to get him to give a favorable recommendation of your
company to the Brazilian military.
Peter remembered the large order of munitions from the Brazilian Armed Forces. He
hadnt expected to get that deal. Was bribery and manipulation the real reason why it
had come through?
And then theres your research and development director who was caught on tape
cavorting with prostitutes in a nightclub in Canada, Antons voice continued.

If you do not allow me to take the contract and the weapons designs back to my
country, all of this information will be released to the media at a rate of What do
you think is appropriate? one scandal a week? Yes, four weeks of hell for your
company. Anton paused. Mr. Miller, you must honor our deal.
Peter looked up to protest to Lukyan. But he was already walking back to his vehicle.
 Chapter 23 Timothy

What is all this stuff? Timothy said. Who are these people?
We were called The Framework, Angela said as she sat down at one of the seats
at the round table. She picked up the photos Timothy had set aside. There was
seven of us recruited by Obermann nearly, oh, three decades ago.

Why you? I mean, why you seven?

Obermann was a visionary. He thought we could do some good in the world.
That doesnt answer the question, Timothy said.
Patience. Angela raised her hand as she looked at the photograph. Timothy
thought the emotion that registered on her face could only be described as love and
longing. She hadnt shown much emotion over her husband since his funeral.

He came to us because of who our parents were, who our families were. Bill
Tedesco, your grandfather, was well-endowed financially and had a hand in every
winning presidential campaign since 1960 and countless numbers of Senate and
House elections. His wealth was your fathers inheritance. And I just happened to be
married to him. Angela raised a finger. But that wasnt happenstance. My father,
Bradshaw Woodward, had his eye on a Senate seat and he wanted Bills money to
buy it for him. My parents literally ran me into your father and hoped that sparks
would fly.

Did they? Timothy asked. He had never heard this story before.
Not at first, Angela said. But we were married within the year.
Did you love him?
Angela twisted the wedding band on her finger thoughtfully. I learned to. But that
doesnt matter now.

How does any of this matter now? Timothy said.

Because we failed. Angela looked downcast.
Failed how? Timothy sat down across from his mother.
Angela placed the photo flat on the table between her and her son. She pointed to
Obermanns face. International investor, real estate magnate. You already know
about him.
Also had a private mafia-style army that he may or may not have used to eliminate
his rivals, Timothy said. Yeah, I know about him.
Angela ignored this. She pointed to the Japanese man. Akio Komatsu, biophysicist.
He owns pharmaceutical companies on three continents, focused not just on healing,
but on enhancing human life around the globe. She pointed to the African man in the
pinstripe suit. Anane Sarr, Oxford professor and childhood education pioneer. His
unique educational platform is being implemented in England, Egypt, and South
Africa. She pointed to the pudgy banker. Desmond Hasanic. No one ever knew
what his business was exactly, but wherever there was money, he seemed to be
involved. At one point, he was poised to be the head of the International Monetary
Fund. Angela tapped her finger on the Indian woman. Radha Goda, a bioengineer
and programmer. She was probably the most brilliant of us all. Between her company
and Desmonds money, they were going to turn the Indian subcontinent into an oasis
of renewable energy and from there, the world.

So, what happened? You said you failed. How? Timothy asked.
Angela shuffled in the stack of photos, and pulled out one that Timothy had missed. It
was of a mans face, silver hair, and thin, arched eyebrows. Adam Chronis, Angela
said. Obermann trusted him at first but no one else did. Everything started to
go south when he joined The Framework. All of our dreams, all of our goals. Ruined.

Why are you telling me all this? Why does it matter now? Timothy said. You came
down here because you wanted me to find this. Why?

Because we failed, Angela said. But you dont have to.

 Chapter 24 Peter

Peter had never felt himself in a stickier situation. His hands trembled a little as he
pulled back onto the highway after Lukyan had drove off. He pressed the button on
the voice recorder again to see if there were more to the message, but there wasnt.
Anton had made himself perfectly clear.
As he drove, Peter glanced over at the folder containing purported evidence of
unseemly activities by four high-ranking members of his staff. He had never
suspected one of them of the allegations Anton had produced. But, somehow, he had
dug up what seemed like proof that, at least, raised the need for verification. Peter
wondered how he would go about doing that without raising the suspicions of his
staff. He picked up the envelope and stuffed it into the glove compartment.
Then, he thought of something. Anton would be expecting a response. He pulled into
a 7-Eleven and found Antons number in his phone.

I thought I would hear from you soon, Anton said when he picked up.
I got your, um, threats, Peter said.
It didnt have to be that way. If only you had honored our deal.
We dont have a deal, not yet. And we wont have a deal if you go through with
these threats.

I dont see how that hurts us, either way, Anton said.
You have to give me time to investigate these accusations on my own, Peter said.
I give you time. Two days, Anton said. My superiors will not wait any longer. Then I
must hear from you.

You do realize that if you tarnish the name of Tedesco Industries, you will harm
yourself if you continue to try to do business with us, Peter said.
Anton was silent for a moment. He clearly hadnt thought of that. That seems true,
he said finally. But there are other ways to twist an arm. Still. Two days. I need to
hear from you. The phone beeped as the call ended.
Peter sighed and got back on the road to Jias house.
...

Sorry Im so late, Peter said as Jia shut the front door of her house behind him. I
got held up on the way over here.
No problem, Jia said, wringing her hands. But I actually dont think its a good idea
for you to see Demas right now. Hes been disturbed ever since you called.

Oh, well, I can come back another time, Peter said.

Jia picked up a handful of loose leaf papers from a side table. I managed to pull
some of these from his room before he locked himself in there. Its just a little bit of
what hes been drawing.
Peter took the papers and began looking through them. Some he couldnt make
anything out of. In one, he could see a city and what looked like missiles heading for
it. Then he got to the drawings of the people.

I only recognize the one of his father, Jia said. Maybe you might recognize some
of the others.
Peter kept looking through the papers. He flipped past one that gave him pause. So
he flipped back to it, and this time it gave him chills. The drawing bore an eerie
resemblance to Anton Kursinska.
 Chapter 25 Timothy

Ma, youre insane, Timothy said. You cannot possibly think that I am going to pick
up the pieces of what you and your buddies were doing decades ago and carry on.
No way.

You arent doing anything else, right now, Angela said.

Timothy didnt know what to say to that.

What we did as The Framework and what we hoped to do was not just about
us, Angela went on. It was about the future. About our children and our
grandchildren. Yes, when we began, some people didnt understand that. They were
looking for, at maximum, a ten year return on their investment. Not us. We were
looking at forty years, sixty years, a hundred years down the road. How will the good
we do now affect future generations?

I dont see how any of this has to do with me, Timothy said.
Angela reached across the table and placed her hand on her sons arm. Because,
whether you want to believe it or not, you are a child of The Framework. You dont
think we made plans for who would carry on our work? We knew we wouldnt live
forever.

Well, if you planned on me taking it over, you forgot to tell me before it all went to
pieces, Timothy said.

Theres a lot you werent told, Angela sighed. Admittedly, our hubris didnt allow us
to anticipate failure so easily. So many brilliant minds, so much potential. She
seemed wistful. But failure doesnt mean death. The pieces of The Framework can
be brought back together under a strong leader. Thats what it needs.

You said Obermann wasnt dead. Why arent you talking to him? Timothy said.
Angela gave him a piercing look. Youve been blaming Obermann for your fathers
death for a long time now, she said.

Are you going to tell me again that it was an accident? That he shouldnt be
blamed?
Angela shook her head. No. Your father wasnt accidentally killed and he wasnt
murdered. She paused. He was martyred.

Oh, is that supposed to make it better? Dad died for a cause? He died because he
believed so much in The Framework? Is that the story now?
Your sarcasm is getting old, Timothy, Angela said sharply. You need to accept the
truth.

Then stop lying to me, Timothy said, hoping he sounded sincere.

Adam Chronis killed your father.
What?
Thats the truth, Angela nodded.
How do I know?
Angela looked around the dark room as if looking to see if someone else was around
to address her sons concerns. Because Im telling you.

Why?
Adam was a threat to The Framework. Your father tried to oppose him. We all did,
but James most bravely. Adam was obsessed with guiding The Framework. He
believed in some radical measures that not all of us were willing to take. He hated
that we all looked to Obermann for guidance. So he tried to tear us apart, tear us
down. Angela paused. For the first time, Timothy saw what could only be described
as fear in her eyes. He made us turn on each other. There was so much fighting.
The only thing that brought us together was knowing that we had to stop him.

What happened to him?

Angela shook her head again. He had a dark soul, that one.

Did he ever get caught? Timothy said.

Angela shivered . We stopped him, but he got away. Sometimes, I still feel like hes
out there. Watching us. Waiting For something.
 Chapter 26 Peter

Peter had arrived home feeling distinctly confused. He tried to convince himself that
his mind was playing tricks on him, but when he got home and compared Demas
drawing with photos of Anton Kursinska in Russian media, the likeness was
undeniable.
But how much stock could he put in anything Demas produced considering his non-
ideal mental state? Still, when Jia told him that Demas had asked for paint, he
encouraged her to indulge him.
If Demas was indeed beginning to remember things from his life, then this would
mean he had come in contact with Kursinska before. Peter wanted to know if this
was, in fact, true. Perhaps, Kursinska had tried to cut his weapons deal with Demas
and Demas had refused. So, Kursinska had gotten rid of Demas. And, now he
thought he could threaten and bully Peter into giving him what he wanted.
But, why? Why did the Russians want these weapons so badly? Why was Peter
willing to jettison a good deal on a technicality? He could hand over the weapon
designs and let the Russians do what they claimed they needed to do.
Peter put his head in his hands as he sat at the desk in his home office. Belinda and
Charity had already gone to bed.
He was tired of thinking. But he had to figure something out. Heavy is the head
This is what I get for becoming CEO. I should have encouraged George to take it.
As if to remind him that his troubles were greater than he thought he could bear at
the moment, Peter caught sight of the folder Lukyan had hand-delivered the folder
that contained evidence of corruption at the highest levels of Tedesco Industries:
embezzling, illegal side-deals, bribery, immorality. Unbelievable, Peter thought. He
had to face these people almost every day.
Peter placed the stack of paper on his scanner. As the pages ran through the
machine, he looked through his address book for an old contact, a private
investigator. Finding a number, he placed a call.

This is Steele, a voice answered.

Donovan, this is Peter Miller. Sorry to call you this late.
No, its fine. Im working anyway. What can I do for you?
Im sending over some files that I need you to look into. Apparently, some of my
people are not on the up and up. Youll see. Everything I have is in there.
Uh-huh, Donovan said.
And for heavens sake, if theres any possibility that any of this is not true, please let
me know quickly.
 Chapter 27 Jia

The morning after Peters visit, Demas didnt come down for breakfast. Jia knocked
on his door, but he told her to leave him alone. So Jia did. She figured he was just in
one of his moods and that he would be back to normal or at least what passed for
normal within a few hours.
She waited anxiously to hear something from Peter about the drawings he had left
with the previous night. He didnt say he would contact her, but she could tell he had
noticed something or someone in them. She didnt know if this was good or bad. She
wanted some good news, wanted him to tell her that her husband had remembered
something significant. Curbing her expectations was difficult. The doctors had told
her that progress in Demas recovery, if any, would be incremental.
What she needed was a distraction, something to occupy her time. After Demas had
nearly been killed, she had taken a leave from her teaching position at the
elementary school to stay with him in the hospital. Even though he had been in a
coma, she did not feel good about leaving him for any length of time. But maybe now
was a good time to go back to work.
Jia picked up the phone to call the schools personnel director.

Its another perfect day at Standerson Elementary, where we are always learning.
This is Anne. How may I help you? Jia had always thought Annes voice could only
be described as sweet.

Hi, Anne. This is Jia.

Jia! Anne exclaimed. I havent heard from you in forever. I mean since you left, but
it feels like forever.

I know. Im ready to get back to work now, Jia said.

Today? When?
Jia hadnt thought about that. Say, Monday?

Thats great. Ill pencil you back into the schedule and let the substitute know, Anne
said. Weve missed you around here and weve been praying for your husband.
Now, how are you really doing?

Im well. Um, Im pregnant. Thats new.

Yay. Annes voice dropped to whisper-shout level over the phone and Jia imagined
that other people had entered her office, but her voice suddenly rose. Guys, Jia is
pregnant, she proclaimed. Jia could hear cheers and applause over the phone.
Oops, Anne said. Did you want to announce it some other way?

No, Jia said. That was perfect.

And your husband is home now, so that must be Anne trailed off.
Itsinteresting. Hes not one hundred percent yet. But Hes hardly like himself,
she thought. Were working it out, she finished.

We will keep praying for him, Anne said, her voice full of conviction. And whens
the baby shower?

I have not planned that far ahead, Jia thought. When do I hold a baby shower? She
made a mental note to order some maternity books on Amazon later that evening.

I think Im the one too far ahead, Anne was saying. A sudden noise from the
direction of Demas room had distracted Jia.

Anne, I have to go, Jia said hastily, not waiting for a reply before hanging up.
She got up and knocked on Demas door. No answer.
She turned the knob. It was locked from the inside, but the outer knob was the sort
that could be opened with a fingernail or with a coin. She dug her fingernail in and
turned. The door swung open and Jia stumbled on the threshold.
The four walls of the room were awash in painted color, still damp from the look and
smell of it.
Demas was lying on the floor, looking sweaty and exhausted. I did it, Jia, he said. I
did the whole thing.
Two Months Later

Chapter 31 Killeena

Killeena Kyle turned into the driveway at the Greensville Correctional Facility where
her husband Deon was an inmate.
Her husband who once worked for her arch-enemy, Timothy Tedesco.
Her husband who had stolen her moment of revenge.
Her husband who had tried to kill her.
Well, Deon claimed that he had only wanted to injure her in order to stop her from
going to the press. But she ended up in the hospital for months with broken ribs, a
broken leg, a bruised head, and a sketchy memory of the previous forty-eight hours.
Of course, Deon had been operating on the orders of his boss, which made it all the
more ironic that he would be the one to take up her cause.
But Killeena hadn't asked him to do that. The glorious revenge was to be hers and
hers alone. Only it hadn't worked out that way.
In another irony, the fallout from the scandal ended with Deon being the one sent to
jail for murder. After the State Senate inquiry into the matter, the governor got off with
a resignation, an admission of conduct unbecoming of a public servant, and a
censure from holding political office in the state for the next ten years. Killeena was
pretty sure he was back at his family's estate, living it up with his new bride, Elise.
(The child that had come out of their affair had died, and Killeena genuinely felt bad
about that.)
Her husband, meanwhile, was in jail. In a turn of events that Killeena found hard to
believe, Deon testified that the governor hadn't ordered him to kill Lieutenant
Governor Oliver Mason to cover up his affair with Mason's wife. (He had only been
ordered to injure him too.) But Deon apparently had his own desire for revenge
against Mason who had been his commanding officer in the Army when he served in
Afghanistan, and he had taken license with the governor's orders. Killeena figured
that Deon and Timothy had worked this story out ahead of time, and Deon was again
playing his role, as loyal to his boss as ever, even if it was to his own detriment.
Either way, Timothy's fellow party members had the most seats on the Inquiry
Committee, and they were all too glad to take any excuse to let their man off easy. In
their minds, he was still politically valuable. People could forgive adultery. Murder?
Not so much.
Shortly after her release from the hospital, Killeena had decided that she was done
with it all. Done with seeking revenge on Timothy Tedesco for leaving her just to
please his mother. (Okay, maybe it wasn't as clear cut as that. But Timothy would
have never met Helene unless Angela had introduced them.) Done with her job
teaching at Virginia Commonwealth University. Done with her life in Richmond
altogether. She had driven from her new home in Denver to see her husband one
last time.

Ten minutes later, she sat in front of the glass divider in one of several visitation
booths inside a long, dimly-lit room. The walls were all concrete and a security
camera hung from the corner of the ceiling. The door at the end of the room buzzed
before opening. A correctional officer came out.
"You said you had something to give the inmate," he said.
"Yes." Killeena handed him an envelope with her lawyer's return address on it. The
guard took it and went back through the door.
On the other side of the glass, a door opened and Deon, wearing a black and white
jumpsuit, was ushered in by another officer. He was fully shaven, and his eyes held
the look of a man who had spent more than a few sleepless nights. He forced a half-
hearted smile as he sat down and picked up the phone.
 Chapter 32 Killeena

Killeena waited a few seconds before picking up the phone on her side of the glass.
She wondered why she felt bad about following through with this part of her plan.
Sure, she had fallen in love with Deon. But Timothy had introduced them to each
other. And considering how badly things turned out, she could only think that was a
part of Timothy's plan to tangle up any attempts she might make to get back at him.
In order to be completely done with Timothy and that part of her life, she needed to
excise even this. She picked up the phone.
"Hi," Deon said, his voice dry. "What's wrong?" He must have seen the conflict on her
face.
"Nothing," Killeena said. "I'm fine. How are you?"
"Fine, I guess." Deon shrugged and looked up at the walls and ceiling. "Not many
ways to be inside of here."
"I just came to let you know that I'm making some, uh, changes," Killeena said.
"Okay?" Deon said slowly.
"I sold our house. It's too big and lonely for one person."
"What about Gary?" Deon said. Gary was their silver Labrador.
"Him too."
"You sold Gary?!"
"No, no." Killeena shook her head. "I gave him to your mother."
Deon looked relieved. "Okay, what else?"
"I quit my job at the university. I want something less demanding."
Deon nodded. "It's your life."
"And there's something else I need to tell you." Killeena pinched the finger on her left
hand where she had once worn a ring.
"Tell me," Deon said.
Killeena hesitated, searching for the right words.
On the other side of the wall of visitation booths, a door opened, and another
correctional officer walked in. He was holding sheaf of unfolded papers and the open
envelope Killeena had given him. He set them down in front of Deon, dropped a pen
on top of the pile, and left the way he had come.
Deon picked up the envelope and looked at it. Killeena watched as his brow furrowed
in confusion as he read the address. He scanned the first page and turned to the
second, his eyes clearing with realization. He dropped the pages on the table and
asked, "You want a divorce?"
Killeena looked away, unable to bear the hurt in his eyes. "Yeah," she said softly.
"Why?"
"You know why," Killeena said.
"I told you. I was never trying to kill you."
Killeena laughed. "Yeah, you said you only wanted to hurt me. Well, you did."
"But I did the right thing in the end," Deon said. "I did what you wanted."
"You didn't do what I wanted. You did what you thought would save your own ass,"
Killeena said. "Then you pled guilty to murder. Now you're in here for the next twenty
years. And you know what? The man you did it all for got off scotch free. He never
cared about you."
"I thought at least you did," Deon said.
"I did," Killeena said. "But not anymore."

Killeena let out a huge sigh as she dropped the sealed envelope containing the
signed divorce papers into the mailbox at a Post Office in Richmond. She tried to tell
herself that she wasn't having second thoughts; but she was having other thoughts.
Maybe she needed to get back out of the state of Virginia and back to her new condo
in breezy Denver in order to regain clarity. In the meantime, she turned on the radio
to drown out her thoughts.
The radio in her car was still set to one of the local news stations she used to
listened to. "In politics," the host was saying, "former Governor Timothy Tedesco
announced today that he will seek his party's nomination for president. Surprisingly,
he has already received backing from three state officials"
The report ended as Killeena punched the button to turn off the radio.
 Chapter 33 Peter

"Are you telling us that, before you took over Tedesco Industries, you were not aware
of any of the company's deals with Brazil?" the Chairman of the House Armed
Services Committee asked.
Peter rubbed his eyes before answering. He was sure the chairmanwho had what
he, in his elementary school days, would have called a "snooty" facehad asked
that exact same question in about ten different ways within the past ten minutes.
"Yes, that is correct," Peter said.
"What is correct?" the chairman said in a tone of mock exasperation. "That you didn't
know before or that you didn't know at all?"
Peter blinked in confusion. That's what I said. Politicians were expert word twisters.
He leaned toward his legal counsel seated beside him and conferred in a low tone
before turning back to his microphone. "What I said in the written testimony that was
submitted to the Committee is correct. Tedesco Industries is a huge company. And
before I became CEO, I was not particularly aware of any weapons shipments to
Brazil."
"You were not particularly aware," the chairman said. "Just like you were not
particularly aware of the rogue employees who were shipping your weapons to
terrorist groups, Hezbollah and Hamas."
"Again, the company offers its sincerest apologies," Peter said. "Everyone who had
ties to our Middle East shipments has been terminated. And the employees involved
in this situation have been handed over to the appropriate authorities. We stand
ready to do everything in our power assist the U.S. government in the recovery of
those weapons."
"Yeah, well, you can tell the Israeli people that when U.S.-made weapons are used to
kill their citizens," the chairman said.
Peter was keenly aware that the chairman was playing up to the nearly two dozen
reporters and photographers seated across the room in the press gallery. Peter had
to keep reminding himself that he had fully expected the government inquiries into
the illegal goings-on at Tedesco Industries. Over the past two months, he had been
public and aggressive in his effort to weed out the corruption that had taken root in
the companynow his company. So far, at least according to his PR department, the
company's public image was holding up and their stock hadn't taken too much of a
hit. And, most importantly to him, he hadn't heard from those damned Russians
again. Only a few more weeks of this type of scrutiny and he could breathe easy.
"I will allow the representative from Massachusetts to ask his question before we
adjourn for two hours," the chairman was saying.
The bespectacled representative cleared his throat and smoothed his graying
combover with one hand as he leaned toward his mic. "Mr. Chairman, in the course
of our investigation of Tedesco Industries, we have asked the company to provide a
record of all contacts with foreign powers over the past three years," he said." As we
reviewed this material, one thread of communication stands out that is particularly
concerning. In the time period mentioned, Tedesco Industries has had a high level of
contact with Moscow and Russian military and intelligence organizations. That being
said, considering what has transpired with this company, I move that this Committee
ask that Tedesco Industries supply open access to recently closed and ongoing deals
to supply weapons to foreign powers."
Speak of the devil.
Peter turned to his legal counsel who looked equally surprised. He leaned toward his
mic to say something, but the chairman spoke first.
"Thank you for that recommendation," he told the Massachusetts representative.
"This Committee will take it under consideration." He slammed a gavel on his desk.
"We adjourn for two hours. Please be back by two p.m."

"Now what?" Peter asked his counsel as they both hustled out of the hearing
chamber amid reporters' shouted questions and the shutter-click of cameras.
"We'll handle this," the counsel said. "There are multiple legal obstructions that we
can raise. We can conduct an internal investigationyes, another oneand provide
the findings, but then we waive attorney-client privilege which could be bad if the
Committee recommends that the Justice Department bring charges."
The sound of heels click-clacking rapidly on the Capitol's marble-floored hallway
pierced the general hubbub around them. Peter looked up to find his assistant
Megan running toward him with his cell phone in one hand.
"What now?" Peter asked as she reached them.
"You have an urgent message from your" Megan paused. "Um, your wife?"
Peter thumbed his way to the text message screen. There was one from his wife's
number: We need to talk. -Belinda.
And then another in all caps: NOW.
A video was attached to the message. Peter tapped to play.
His heart slammed once inside his chest and then stopped. Belinda's face filled the
tiny video screen. Loose strands of her brown hair were plastered to her sweat-
slicked forehead. She was shoutingtrying to say something as she leaned toward
the camera. But Peter only heard muffled screams because a hand was clasped
firmly over her mouth.
To be continued...