Excerpt from The Slate, Matthew FitzSimmons
Felix rapped lightly on the congressman’s office door, and the sound echoed in the hallway’s high, vaulted ceilings. Paxton’s chief of staff, Tina Lu, opened the door and shook his hand warmly. She didn’t like him much, which he attributed to his passing her on the career ladder despite being twelve years her junior. He took her antipathy as a compliment, and besides, the feeling was mutual.
The thing about Tina Lu was that she was exceptionally good at her job. She stood a hair under five feet, but woe unto anyone foolish enough to take that as an invitation to underestimate her. She’d more than earned her reputation as one of the toughest backroom negotiators in Congress. What Tina Lu wanted, Tina Lu generally got. Coming up, Felix had been outmaneuvered by Tina time and again. Painful, hard-earned lessons. He would have been grateful to her if she hadn’t made it a priority to kick him when he was down. Well, those days were over now, and he looked forward to reminding her and Prince Paul of the new pecking order.
Speaking of which, where was the congressman? Felix glanced around the empty office. Where was his staff? He hated surprise parties. Especially if he was the unsuspecting guest of honor.
“Is Paxton running late?” he asked.
“The congressman is in Boston,” she said, ushering him inside and closing the door in a way that felt distinctly like a trap being sprung.
“As of when?” He’d spoken to Paxton less than two hours ago. The congressman hadn’t mentioned anything about Massachusetts.
“He flew up yesterday afternoon.”
Yesterday? Felix felt his temperature begin to rise but kept it out of his voice. For now. He’d come up the Hill this morning expecting gamesmanship, but now he wasn’t clear what game they were playing.
“When’s he due back?”
“Will you sit?” she suggested. “Let’s sit.”
He did not sit. If it got around that Paxton was holding the White House hostage at the eleventh hour, how many other reps would follow suit? Felix needed to nip this petty rebellion in the bud here and now. “The vote is tomorrow.”
“And he has an early flight back in the morning,” Tina said, as if comforting a child. “It’s a good bill. Tell the president he can count on our vote.”
“Then what am I doing here, Tina? Why’ve you got me trekking up the Hill on a Tuesday morning?”
“It’s only a mile.”
It was 1.7 miles as the crow flies, but that wasn’t nearly the point. “Nothing is a mile in this city.”
“Northcott is stepping down,” she said.
His eyes narrowed, and he instantly regretted even that small indication of surprise. Albert Northcott’s retirement from the court was supposedly a closely guarded secret. Felix racked his brain for who might’ve leaked the story. It wouldn’t have been Northcott, would it? No, that didn’t make sense. If the justice wanted the story out there, he would’ve done it last week instead of calling the president. Anyway, the blame wouldn’t fall there. That left only the four people in the administration who knew—the president, Chief of Staff Steve Gilroy, White House Counsel Samantha Maddox, and Felix. It wouldn’t be any of those first three. That left Felix holding the bag. Damn. He already had a reputation for being too chummy with the media and could feel himself being fitted for the noose. Hell, he’d have blamed himself if he didn’t happen to know for a fact that it hadn’t been him.
“Still with me?” she asked amiably.
Felix smiled and spread his hands. “Northcott is considering it. That’s all. Nothing is set in stone yet.”
“Cut the crap, Felix. The man has pancreatic cancer and is afraid his legacy will be dying on the bench and gifting his seat to the other side. He called the president personally on Sunday to tell him he wanted to walk away on his own terms.”
“How the hell do you know all that?” The time for Felix’s poker face had passed. The chief justice had used those exact words, “on my own terms,” in his conversation with the president. Tina didn’t merely want Felix to know she knew; she was rubbing his face in it.
“It’s my job to know.” She gestured to the chair opposite her. “Sit. Please.”
Grudgingly, Felix lowered himself into the chair, trying to rediscover his lost poise, aware he was failing miserably. Tina reached for a glass of water, letting him sweat it out. He plucked lint from the sleeve of his jacket and waited her out in return.
“The congressman would like to be considered for Northcott’s seat on the court.”
Felix sat in stunned silence. That was it? This was Paxton’s big play? If so, then Prince Paul had lost his mind. Instead of being angry, Felix almost felt sorry for Tina. They’d never been friends, but he’d always respected her strategic nous. How had she let herself be roped into this suicide mission while her boss hid out in Boston? When things went sideways—and they would the moment Felix reported back to the White House—there was a good chance she’d get thrown under the first bus headed out of town. She had to know that.
“You’re joking,” he said, trying to give her an easy out. The president had made promises during the campaign about whom he would nominate should a seat on the court become available. None of those promises involved Paul Paxton.
“That’s not something I’m known for.”
“Paxton isn’t even a judge, Tina.” He didn’t know why he was letting himself get drawn into this debate, but Paxton’s ask was so outrageous that he couldn’t help himself. He had to know what the congressman was thinking. After all, he’d be telling this story at parties for decades.
“He went to law school,” Tina said dismissively. “Besides, a judgeship is not a requirement of the court. Earl Warren was the governor of California when he was nominated.”
Felix looked at her in disbelief. “Warren died in ’72.”
“Seventy-four,” Tina corrected.
“Whatever. The point is, this is the twenty-first century. It doesn’t happen anymore.”
“Well, we believe the court is long overdue for a course correction. For too long it’s been overrepresented by judges from the court of appeals. Nominating an experienced lawmaker to the bench would inject a valuable perspective,” Tina replied, as if this were the most reasonable request in the world.
Felix stood to go. This had ceased being amusing and was becoming pathetic. For her sake, he hoped Tina had updated her résumé. “The president appreciates the congressman’s support on the bill tomorrow.”
She put out her hand, and he shook it. That proved a mistake, because her grip was like a python that had gone too long between meals. “Always a pleasure, Felix. We look forward to the president’s swift reply.”
With her free hand, she passed him a manila envelope. He took it. Anything to get out of here.
“What’s this?” he asked, turning it over in his hands suspiciously. It was neither marked nor labeled, but the flap had been sealed with wax. “What are you, a medieval squire?”
She smiled at his joke. “For the president’s eyes only. It should make clear our position.”
For once Felix was at a loss for words. What was the old saying about messengers and bad news? He allowed Tina to usher him out of the office. In the hall he turned back to face her. She was smiling warmly—not at him, but for the benefit of staffers passing by.
“Always good to see you, Felix. Give the president our regards,” she said and closed the door on him.
from The Slate, Matthew FitzSimmons
Text copyright © 2024 by Planetarium Station, Inc.
All rights reserved.
Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle
An exiled political operative in search of redemption is drawn back into her past in a piercing thriller about secrets, scandals, and capital chaos by a Wall Street Journal bestselling author.
In another life, Agatha Cardiff was Congressman Paul Paxton’s chief of staff, a coolheaded fixer who made all his problems disappear. At Paxton’s behest, she covered up a shocking scandal that would have ruined a powerful senator’s career. It was one moral compromise too far and Agatha vowed, Never again.
After twenty years in exile, Agatha’s life in the margins of Washington, DC, is about to become much more difficult. The rules have changed in her absence—that senator is now president, and Paxton, number three in the House, expects a nomination to the Supreme Court. After all, he knows where the president’s skeletons are buried.
At the same time, Agatha’s quiet life on Capitol Hill shatters when her tenant—a woman with complex connections to DC—vanishes. Suddenly, Agatha is drawn back into a mire of corruption, blackmail, and deception precisely when she can least afford it. Any hope of redemption won’t come easy, because the true cost of Agatha’s sins is finally coming to light, and it is far from certain who will pay.
Thriller Psychological | Thriller Political [Thomas & Mercer, On Sale: October 8, 2024, Trade Paperback / e-Book, ISBN: 9781542009515 / ]
Matthew FitzSimmons is the author of the Wall Street Journal bestselling Gibson Vaughn series, which includes Origami Man, Debris Line, Cold Harbor, Poisonfeather, and The Short Drop. Born in Illinois and raised in London, he now lives in Washington, DC, where he taught English literature and theater at a private high school for more than a decade.
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