Tormented

“The Fair Political Practices Commission, a state agency that oversees the laws governing campaigns. I think they’re launching an investigation.”

Ben was silent for several seconds. “What did they ask?”

“They wanted to know what your involvement with the PAC was, what sort of communications my campaign has had with Oakland Forward. I said I didn’t know you were involved with the PAC, and that my campaign has had no contact with Oakland Forward. But the FPPC isn’t just going to take my word for it.”

“The formation of the PAC was my idea,” Ben relayed, “but I handed everything over to Ezra. I’m not involved with it anymore.”

“I believe you, but the article raises suspicions.”

Ben started to pull up the Tribune on his phone. “Let me read the article. I’ll call you back.”

Sure enough, there was an article on the website for the Tribune describing Oakland Forward as the brain child of Benjamin Lee, nephew to mayoral candidate Gordon Lee. Despite the name of the PAC, the article alleged that Oakland Forward was a developer- and business-based committee supporting Gordon Lee for mayor. According to the article, research on the donors to Oakland Forward were a perfect match to the donors of Gordon Lee’s campaign.

Just as Ben finished reading the article, he got a call from the pollster Stephens had hired to assess the potential impact Ben and Jason’s actions with the Scarlet Auction would have on Uncle Gordon’s campaign.

“You asked me about a pro-business committee supporting your uncle,” the pollster said. “Is this stuff aboutOakland Forward what you meant?”

“Yeah. Uncle Gordon got a call from the FPPC about it. What’s your gut read on this?”

“That it’s worse than any sex scandal involving extended family. Even if the FPPC doesn’t turn up any wrongdoing by Gordon or his campaign, the semblance or possibility of wrongdoing is enough to cost Gordon points.”

Ben could feel himself turning several shades darker.

“The public is used to sexual misconduct. You could be a grandfather banging an eighteen-year-old Russian whore and still get elected to high office. But political misdeeds, especially if the candidate himself could be involved, is harder to weather. Now, I can’t for say certain without seeing numbers, but you asked for my gut read.”

“When can you get numbers?”

“Give me a few days. My callers are still finishing your first inquiry.”

Fuck, Ben swore after hanging up. He stormed inside to find Kimani pulling a pen—the same kind of pen he had asked about on the jet—from a potted plant. She looked up in surprise.

“You swore you were only targeting the Scarlet Auction,” he accused.

She furrowed her brow. “That’s right.”

“Then how do you explain the article on the Tribune’s website?”

Her mouth fell open. She did not have the look of someone who didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.

“What article?” she asked slowly.

“The article your friend Sam wrote about a PAC supporting my uncle.”

Realization flickered in her eyes, evidence that she knew about the article.

“I didn’t know about the article,” she protested.

“Bull. Shit.”

“Look, I, um, I might have been interested—I mean I was open to there being—”

He didn’t want to hear any more. He needed air. Fuck. He wasn’t sure how Kimani had known about the PAC and his connection to it, but it was all his fault. If he had not been so careless around her. If he hadn’t allowed her into his life in the first place. If he had not bought her to begin with.

“I’m going for a drive,” he told her.

“Wait!”

But he was too upset for conversation.