“No,” Rachel said, turning to walk away into the gray morning. “I’m a survivor. There’s a difference.”
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she said softly. “You’re going to forget you ever saw those emails. You’re going to call off your little investigation. And tomorrow, you’re going to announce your support for the energy bill. In return, I will personally shred the backup drive. No copies. No ghosts.” rachel steele gavin
“You’re a monster,” he whispered.
“Then I release the emails myself—but edited to show you as the mastermind. You’ll be facing ethics charges, a criminal probe, and a primary challenger by Friday. Your career won’t just end. It’ll be erased.” “No,” Rachel said, turning to walk away into
Rachel laughed—a dry, brittle sound. “Insurance? Gavin, I built you. When you were a nobody state rep with a DUI and a dying campaign, who gave you the playbook? Who wiped the slate clean, not once, not twice, but a dozen times? Those emails aren’t insurance. They’re proof of my loyalty.” “You’re going to forget you ever saw those emails
Now, Rachel sat in her silent Georgetown kitchen, the city’s lights blurring through rain-streaked windows. The text was from an anonymous number, but she knew the signature: terse, confident, and damning. Gavin had been quiet lately. Too quiet. He’d stopped taking her calls, started hiring his own staff, and last week, he’d voted against a bill she’d personally lobbied him to support. He wasn’t just distancing himself—he was preparing for war.
She met him at dawn in a deserted corner of the National Mall, the Lincoln Memorial looming like a stone ghost. Gavin arrived in a dark overcoat, his boyish face hardened by sleepless ambition.