His Betrayal Forged Her Empire

Clara's fingers hovered over her iPad screen as if it might bite her.

"TMZ has the video," she said. "Forty-seven seconds. His face is clear. Her hand is on his-" She stopped. Swallowed. "They air in ninety minutes. The engagement party is in six hours."

Gemma took the tablet.

The screen filled with the photo: her fiancé, Daniel Moore, his mouth open in a laugh that looked ugly now that she knew what came next. Beside him, Lila Valdez-her stepsister, her father's second wife's precious daughter-with her hand on Danny's thigh as if she owned the territory.

Gemma spread two fingers on the glass. The image enlarged. She could see the thread count of his pants, the chipped polish on Lila's nails, the reflection of neon in the window behind them.

She closed the image. Opened her encrypted email client.

"The police report from last night's incident has been filed," Clara said quietly, her eyes on the tablet but her attention elsewhere. "Officially ruled an accident. All staff oaths have been countersigned. No risk of a leak."

"Good." Gemma didn't look up from her phone. One fire extinguished. Now the next.

"Miss Valdez, should we-" Clara's voice caught. "I can call the PR people. I can draft a statement. About needing time to process, to-"

"Draft this." Gemma's thumb moved across the virtual keyboard. "To Eleanor Moore. Subject: Capital consolidation and media strategy."

Clara's mouth opened. Closed.

Gemma wrote without looking up: "Dear Eleanor. I'm aware of the situation between Daniel and Lila. I'm also aware that your son's bid for the Commission seat is currently forty percent short of its primary funding goal, and that the transportation infrastructure bill your family has been lobbying for requires my father's support on the Commission."

She paused. Drew a breath. Her heart rate did not change.

"I propose we treat this for what it is: a logistics problem. The Valdez-Moore alliance generates approximately two hundred million dollars a year in political and financial capital. Daniel's personal conduct, while disappointing, does not change the underlying asset value. I have instructed my team to acquire the TMZ footage and replace the headline with 'Lila Valdez drunk at Georgetown establishment; Daniel Moore assists disoriented family friend.'"

She attached a spreadsheet. Highlighted cells showed Danny's funding shortfall. Another tab showed the lobbying calendar.

"I need your son's vote on the port modernization bill. I need him at the engagement party, sober and appropriate. In exchange, I will ensure my father supports your infrastructure package and suppresses any further investigation into his... recreational habits."

She hit send.

The whoosh was obscenely loud in the quiet office.

Gemma reached for her coffee. It had gone cold sometime in the last hour. She drank it anyway.

The phone on her desk rang. The landline, the unlisted number.

Clara jumped. Gemma pressed the speaker button.

"Gemma." Eleanor Moore's voice filled the room, compressed by the speaker into something metallic and cold and furious. "I just read your email. You cold-blooded little-"

"Eleanor." Gemma cut her off. "We have eighty-seven minutes. Do you want to spend that time on emotional processing, or do you want to save your son's career?"

Silence. Then a sound like air leaking from a tire.

"What do you want?"

"I want the Commission vote. I want Daniel sober and appropriate at dinner. I want Lila Valdez to disappear from Washington social circles for the next eighteen months." Gemma's eyes found Clara, who was staring at her with something approaching terror. "And I want you to stop thinking of me as your future daughter-in-law and start thinking of me as the woman who decides your family's influence on the Commission."

More silence. Longer this time.

When Eleanor spoke again, the anger had been replaced by something harder, more useful. Calculation.

"The vote is yours. Daniel will be at dinner. I'll handle the boy myself." She paused. "And Gemma?"

"Yes?"

"Your grandmother would be proud. That old bitch."

Gemma ended the call.

"Clara." She didn't look at her assistant. "Freeze Lila's credit cards. All of them. The Amex Black, the store accounts, the gas card she thinks we don't know about. Cancel her membership at Congressional Country Club. Remove her from the Corcoran dinner guest list."

Clara's fingers were already moving on her own tablet. "The Swiss school?"

"Le Rosey. Full semester. No breaks." Gemma stood and walked to the window. In the distance, the Washington Monument pierced the gray sky. "Get me the club's security footage. Every angle. I want to know who else was there, who saw what, who might have taken their own video."

Her phone vibrated. Her father's name appeared on the screen.

She sent the call to voicemail. Then opened settings and enabled Do Not Disturb for all three of Don Arthur Valdez's numbers.

From her desk drawer, she pulled a file she'd been keeping. Her grandmother's name on the cover in formal type: Beatrice Valdez, Consigliere Emeritus.

Gemma slid the file into her bag. She straightened her jacket in the reflection of the dark window.

"Clara, I'm going to the east wing. If anyone asks, I'm reviewing estate documents with my grandmother. If my father calls again, tell him I'm in a meeting and cannot be disturbed."

She opened the door to her office. The smile on her face was the one she'd learned at fifteen, the one that told people everything was fine and she was happy to be here and she had absolutely no idea what you were talking about when you mentioned the cooling body on the foyer floor.

It was a very good smile. It had opened many doors.