CHAPTER 25
A WEEK LATER THERE WERE STILL A HUNDRED questions I hadn’t gotten answers to, but knowing the tight-lipped nature of the White House security personnel, I counted my blessings for having gotten as much as I had out of Gav.
I thought about this as I sat in the kitchen, today’s Washington Post on the countertop in front of me. It was quiet and I appreciated the solitude. I’d sent everyone home early tonight. Dinner was done, and with no big events scheduled till next week, I decided we all needed some time off. Agda smiled and promised to be in early the next day. Bucky actually thanked me again, and I was surprised to notice Rafe helping Cyan into her coat as the two of them made plans for spending the evening together.
The front page of the Post caught me up on the latest in the Blanchard Blowup, as they were calling it. There was yet another picture of Bindy, who, in every shot, seemed to be running past cameras, face covered, hopping into a waiting car or being hustled into the police station. Charges against her were still pending. Next to her photo was one of a smiling Senator Blanchard, who’d been indicted along with Manny and Yi-im.
Blanchard held his head high and gripped a microphone with both hands. The caption below the picture quoted: “I am innocent of these ridiculous allegations.” His wife stood behind him, looking stricken and gaunt. The kids were nowhere to be seen.
I scanned for updates, but it was mostly just rehash. I turned to page five to finish the article.
The Blowup was hot stuff-real news-and I was thankful for the shift in attention away from me. Even though all the articles still made mention of my leap under the table to prevent the explosion-after all, that’s where the Blanchard Blowup story started-my name was being mentioned less often. For that, I was grateful.
Secret Service personnel had been my constant companions. Two agents shuttled me back and forth to work since the big holiday commotion to keep me out of reach of the mob of reporters. Hordes of them camped outside the White House gates, every one of them eager to get an exclusive interview with the chef who had literally brought down the house-the gingerbread house. I didn’t complain about my escort service-instead of taking the Metro, I’d been riding in the back of a luxury sedan, with door-to-door attention. Tom had at first offered to take over body-guarding duties, but his schedule kept him busy until late in the evening almost every night. After all, his first duty was to the president. At least in the daytime. But he was always happy to do some extra undercover work with me.
Tonight, exactly one week after the fracas, I was on my own again. My personal Secret Service detail had informed me they deemed it safe for me to resume my normal commute. Thank goodness. As much as I’d miss the cushy comfort of the chauffeured car, I was happy to be free of constant surveillance. I wondered how the president and his family tolerated the never-ending attention.
I was about to close the newspaper when a related sidebar headline caught my eye: “Zendy Industries Sold.” The sidebar directed me to the business section-E, which I turned to as quickly as I could.
It can’t be true, I thought, as I pulled out the section to search for the article. Mrs. Campbell was adamant. What could have caused her to change her mind?
I didn’t have to search far. On the first page of the section, the Zendy headline was repeated and a lengthy update appeared below. I scanned, then realized I wasn’t comprehending. Starting from the top, I began again, trying to absorb this late-breaking news update.
Mrs. Campbell had, indeed, announced an agreement to sell Zendy Industries. But she’d done so in a spectacularly intriguing way. She was quoted: “With the recent developments of which we’re all aware, I have decided not to continue my association with my former colleagues. While Treyton Blanchard and Nick Volkov are occupied with their own personal issues, I have come to understand that they have neither the time nor the inclination to see to the best interests of Zendy. With that in mind, I have taken Nick Volkov’s offhand advice. He may have been joking, but I am quite serious.
“Although I am unable to finance an entire buyout, I do have sufficient resources to allow me a 51 percent share. The remaining 49 percent will be acquired by other investors.”
When pressed to name these other investors, Mrs. Campbell was further quoted as saying, “I don’t care to divulge that to the press, at this time. But I can tell you that it is refreshing to work with investors I can trust.”
Good for her. I smiled as I pulled the newspaper back together, and dropped it into the recycle bin. After taking a moment to disinfect the countertop, I headed home.