Chapter 169

It takes a moment, but eventually Davis opens the door. He doesn’t seem particularly shocked to see me, though he doesn’t seem pleased about it either.

“I’ve been told that if you arrive again, I’m to send you away,” Davis says.

I would like to check on Thea and make sure she’s okay, but that’s not my main objective for today.

“I need to speak with my father about Edward Zimmer,” I tell him.

Davis looks at me for a long moment.

“If you tell him that, and he still doesn’t want to speak with me, then I will leave of my own accord,” I say.

Davis nods grimly. “Very well. Please wait a moment.”

“Thanks, Davis.”

He disappears back inside the house, closing the door behind him. I wait on the porch, anxiously wringing my hands together for the several minutes he’s gone.

What will I do if father sends me away again?

No. No, he won’t. Even if he loves Thea more, he doesn’t hate me. He knows, in part, what he saved me from, even if he never could find enough evidence to push charges. It was only ever my word against Edward’s. Father knows this. He won’t send me away now that Edward has resurfaced.

He’s still my father. He wanted the job. And I need my Dad right now.

After five minutes of anxious waiting, Davis returns to the door. “You may come in,” he says. “But you must go straight to your father’s study. You are not to detour, not even to use the bathroom.”

“I understand,” I say, though I’m still somewhat hurt that he and my mother seem to think that I’m some great risk to my sister. I’m part of the family, not someone out to hurt her.

But, whatever. I’m worried about Thea, but speaking to father is what I truly hoped to gain with this particular visit. So I accept these terms.

Davis opens the door and steps back, allowing me entrance. I don’t waste any time, following the familiar hallway down to where my father’s study is. He’s already there, sitting behind his desk, a grim expression on his face.

When I enter the study, he gestures to one of the chairs facing his desk. Only when I sit down does he look at me.

“I saw him start to rise, but I never would have guessed he would actually win,” Dad says.

I’d been so caught up in the campaign within Miles’s party, that I hadn’t given the other party’s primary election much consideration. Maybe I should have…

“He wasn’t even on the ballot in some states, yet he still won those states as a write-in candidate,” Dad says. “It’s unheard of.”

“How did he win?” I ask. Things that are unheard of generally don’t come true. Not without help.

“I suspect you can guess,” Dad says. “Several dozen rich backers.”

“That shouldn’t be enough,” I say. “Not this last minute.”

Dad frowns. On top of his desk, he weaves his hands together. “Perhaps. Unless those backers have more strings than the average person knows about.”

But who could be that powerful…?

Oh. A lead weight forms in my gut. “You mean the Whisperers.”

Dad’s eyes go wide as he glances at me. He likely hadn’t expected me to have heard of the Whisperers, since they were the most powerful and most secretive underground organization in the country.

“You forget than I’m an investigative journalist at heart,” I tell him, happy to have caught him off guard for one in my life. Hopefully he learns from this not to underestimate me.

“Sometimes I do forget,” Dad says, and for the first time in a very long time, he looks at me with something akin to pride in his eyes. It’s almost enough to ebb some of the recent hurt he’s pushed onto me lately.

Almost.

“If the Whisperers decided to back Edward Zimmer, that could account for his sudden success.”

“But why would they do that? I thought they were backing Miles. I’ve heard their influence was pivotal in helping lowering the age required for presidential candidates, specifically so that Miles can run.”

“I’m not sure,” Dad says. “Something must have changed. Maybe the usual players have shifted. They could even be displeased with Representative Hamilton’s recent broken engagement.”

“Selena initiated that,” I say, keeping with the story. “It was a mutual breakup.”

“A single candidate is weaker than a married one.”

“I don’t remember Edward being married,” I say. God, if there had been a wife in the picture back then, maybe she would have intervened. Maybe she would have tried to protect us.

Or maybe I’m fooling myself.

Dad frowns impossibly deeper. “His wife is… younger…”

He’s holding something back. He’s a good liar, but he’s not being particularly convincing right now. It’s almost as if he’s in debate with himself whether or not he should tell me the truth.

I’m in a sensitive state and I know it. I’ve had a shock and have since struggled to recover. He’s right to want to protect me.

But… “I’m going to find out anyway,” I say. “I’d rather it happen when I’m here with you. With family.”

That seems to soften him, and he nods. “His wife is Daphne.”

I know that name.

“Do you remember her?”

I do. She was with me in the orphanage. She suffered as I suffered. When I hid in the closet, she was right beside me the whole time.

I haven’t spoken to her since I was adopted, but she’s been on my thoughts often. I think one of the reasons I searched for my sister so hard when she went missing was because of my great regret at having abandoned Daphne, who was like a sister to me when we were young.

I’d left her there.

Years of therapy later, and I still feel the guilt.

Now, Dad is telling me that she married her abuser?

My stomach churns.

I’d hoped, when Daphne aged out of the orphanage that she would have escaped. Now I realize, she’s been trapped her whole life.

I really did abandon her. Oh, God.

“It’s not your fault,” Dad says. “You were a victim.”

He and Mom didn’t know they were my saviors until years later when I told them the truth of what happened to me. They went after Zimmer then, but without proof, they couldn’t do anything.

“Dad…”

“It’s okay, Esther.”

I try to hear him, but I can feel a panic attack coming on.”

“Dad…” I say more desperately.

Dad stands up and rounds the desk.

For the first time since I was a child, he leans down and hugs me. He holds me, unwavering, while I shake and cry. Only when my sobs turn to sniffling and I tell him, “I’m okay,” does he pull away. On his desk are a box of tissues. He grabs one and hands it to me.

His shirt is wet at the shoulder. He doesn’t make any comments about it as he returns behind his desk and sits down.

“I have contacts,” he says. “I will reach out and see if we can’t uncover the means of Zimmer’s sudden success.”

“I have contacts too,” I say. Yes, good. Having a task, something to focus on, will help me wrangle my thoughts.

I do have contacts, even ones with ties to the Whisperers.

Contacts like Hugo.