“I hope you know what you’re doing, Hawk. I’m not happy about a plan like this. But if anyone has earned the benefit of the doubt in a situation like this, you have.”
“Don’t worry, sir. I’m going to find a way out of this mess and keep you alive in the process. I just thought you should know.”
“Thanks for the heads up,” Young said with a tinge of sarcasm.
Hawk ended the meeting by wishing Young good luck and promising to resolve the issue of the blackmailer.
Young watched the door to his office close as he spiraled back into thoughts about the blackmailer who was trying to derail Young’s presidential aspirations. If only he wasn’t in the video, which made him look more guilty. If he’d just waited until Michaels was dead, the evidence against Young wouldn’t appear to be so damning.
Wrong place, wrong time.
CHAPTER 18
Springfield, Virginia
HAWK PARKED ALONG THE CURB in front of the one-story brick ranch and turned off his car along with the headlights. After grabbing the folder from the front passenger seat and switching on the dome light, he sifted through the Secret Service dossier prepared on Jared Fowler, the identity of Young’s blackmailer.
At first glance, nothing set off alarm bells for Hawk regarding Fowler. The twenty-seven-year-old majored in business at Georgetown and graduated with honors five years ago. Since then, he started working at a real estate development firm and was responsible for several deals that resulted in the revitalization of a handful of Washington metro area neighborhoods. Fowler didn’t have any parking tickets to his name, much less a criminal record.
The most curious thing was that Fowler had no known connections to the White House or Secret Service. However, this concerned Hawk. Video footage like the kind Fowler had doesn’t just tumble into someone’s hands on accident—not unless he happened to be there. And since Fowler was a virtual Boy Scout, Hawk questioned just how in-depth the report was. Hawk was convinced something was missing.
“Where’s the connection?” Hawk asked aloud. He pondered this question for a few more minutes but came up with nothing. He tucked the file away and climbed out of the car.
Hawk donned a fedora and put on a pair of fake glasses as he strode up the steps to Fowler’s home and rapped hard on the screen door frame.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” a man said.
When the door swung open, Hawk didn’t waste any time addressing the man.
“Jared Fowler?” Hawk asked.
“Yeah. Who are you?”
“I stopped by to speak with you on behalf of the president.”
Fowler glanced down at his dinner plate and set it on a table in the entryway. He brushed the crumbs off his hands by clapping them together and ran his tongue around mouth before opening the door.
“I guess if you’re here on behalf of the president, I ought to listen,” Fowler said.
“Thanks,” Hawk said as he ducked inside.
“Right this way,” Fowler said, gesturing toward the adjacent sitting room. “And I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Max Summerton,” Hawk said, giving an alias without skipping a beat. “I’m an advisor to the president, and he asked me to stop by and speak with you.”
“I would ask how you found me, but that would be a stupid question.”
Hawk sat down across from Fowler and chuckled. “There’s not a lot the president can’t find out about anyone, even those who come to him anonymously.”
“Look, I don’t want any trouble, and I’m not here to throw a fly in the political ointment just before the election. I just want the American people to know the truth out of respect for the office. And it’s with that same respect that I wanted to give Vice-Pres—I mean, President Young—the opportunity to tell the truth about what happened to President Michaels.”
“Help me understand why this is so important to you.”
“Do you like to be lied to?”
Hawk shrugged. “I don’t prefer it, but I realize it happens all the time. For instance, you could be lying to me right now.”
“I could, but I’m also recording this encounter in case something happens to me.”
Hawk cocked his head to one side. “If you don’t turn off your recording device, this meeting is over. I might say some things that aren’t for the general public but for your benefit.”
“Fine,” Fowler said as he stood and grabbed the phone in the corner of the room. “It’s off now. See?” He showed the phone to Hawk so he could that it was no longer recording. After placing the phone face down on the dining room table, Fowler returned to the couch across from Hawk.
“Thanks,” Hawk said. “You sure are paranoid.”
“And I have good reason to be,” Fowler fired back. “I never revealed my identity to anyone, yet here you are sitting in my house. And quite frankly, it’s a little intimidating.”
“What do you think I came here to do, Mr. Fowler?”
“I don’t know. Kill me? Anchor my body somewhere in the Potomac? Help me have an accidental drug overdose? I’m sure you have plenty of methods in your repertoire.”
“First off, President Young has never asked me to do anything like that. I’m simply here to meet with you on his behalf and see if we can come to some sort of resolution.”
“Any resolution that doesn’t include the American people learning the truth is a failed one.”
“I understand your concern, but this situation is complicated.”
“What’s complicated about the truth? Michaels committed suicide. I saw it on the footage. Young can’t get in trouble for this.”
“You’re a bright guy,” Hawk said. “I think you can appreciate this when I tell you that he didn't die of a suicide. His death was far more dishonorable and would be far too complicated and nuanced for anyone to explain in a sound bite on a television news program or through social media.”
“This is exactly the time the American people need to know who President
