Huck was sitting at his computer and typing furiously when Olivia walked into Pope & Associates.
"Huck," she said apologetically when she saw him.
He shrugged, "No questions."
Olivia smiled at him graciously and handed him a full paper bag. He peered inside of it and looked up at her, dumbfounded.
"Double toasted with smoked salmon and cream cheese. And don't look at me like that, it's not an apology. Just a thank you." Olivia laughed. "Are Abby and Quinn still at the Jovanni murder scene?"
"They left thirty minutes ago," Huck mumbled, mouth full of bagel.
"And Harrison's coaching the client?"
"He's in the room right now."
"Good. And you are?"
"Narrowing it down to 6 Richard Trudeaus in the DMV area, but no Silver Springs yet."
"Perfect," Olivia dropping her into the nearest chair.
She picked up her cell phone – "Missed Call (1), Voicemail (1)" – it was from Edison: "Liv, hey. I'm sorry I didn't call you last night like I said I would. I hope everything's okay. I ended up bumping into an old friend and had an impromptu sidecar down in Adams Morgan and I know that's not an excuse but –," Olivia quickly skipped over the message. She realized that she hadn't even thought about Edison ever since she had left the restaurant last night, and more importantly, she realized that there wasn't even a detectable part of her that felt badly for what had happened on her way out of her apartment. Unsure of what to do with him, Olivia decided to wait and figure it out later. She scrolled through the rest of her phone calls since this morning, hoping to see a name she knew she wouldn't find there. It was a little after twelve, six hours since Fitz had left her apartment, and she felt an unwarranted disappointment at the fact that he hadn't called, and a nagging fear that something had changed.
"Got him!" Huck yelled over his shoulder, breaking Olivia out of her thoughts.
She hurried over and leaned on the back of Huck's chair as he read aloud the information.
"Richard Trudeau, 36-years-old, Silver Springs, Maryland. Phone number 301-252-5462. Mother's maiden name is Baumgart, he was born March 6, 1976. Visa number 4532 5130 4623 1715 with a CVV of 337, social security number 497-09-4670. He last worked as a telephone service representative for Matrix Design from 1997 to 2001. He drives a 1999 Mercedes-Benz CLK Class, AB blood type, 6'2" at 231 pounds…" Huck continued to recite the information collected as Olivia nodded, listening carefully.
Huck paused, "Date of death, January 16, 2002. Cause…respiratory arrest." he said slowly.
"What?" Olivia blurted out.
She hovered over Huck's shoulder to stare at his computer screen. And there, in perfect size 12 Times New Roman font read, "DATE OF DEATH: JANUARY 16, 2002, 10:45PM, CAUSE OF DEATH: RESPIRATORY ARREST."
Olivia spun around, her mind quickly putting together pieces. A random, relatively unknown 36-year-old Silver Springs man who worked as a telephone service representative and died over ten years ago was getting memory cards from rigged voting machines? Too easy, she thought to opened up her phone and speed-dialed, waiting for an answer.
"I don't want to talk to you right now Olivia."
"Cyrus, please."
"I had to scramble out of bed at some God awful hour this morning because your precious President was nowhere to be found. In The White House that is, he was nowhere to be found in The White House."
"Cyrus – where are you?"
"I'm about to negotiate with Congress. I'm doing important things; I'm doing relevant things. I don't have the time nor the –,"
Olivia didn't wait for another word and quickly hung up, leaving Cyrus to ramble. She grabbed her purse, and checked her watch before heading to the door, "Huck, I'll be back."
x X x
Olivia's cab slowed down and came to a stop in front of the beautiful Georgetown brownstone she'd been to so many times before. She walked up the winding stone staircase, and knocked the old-fashioned doorknocker. A moment later, he opened the door.
"James," Olivia smiled.
"Olivia! Wow, hi. It's so good to see you. Cyrus actually isn't here."
"I know," Olivia nodded and stepped forward, "Can I come in?"
"Absolutely, of course." James said quickly, letting Olivia walk past him and inside the apartment.
"You know, every night I used to catch Cyrus texting you pictures of Albert. I might need to start charging."
"Is he awake?"
"No," James said, a little startled by Olivia's abruptness. "He's actually sleeping. It's a sleep-wake thing. Apparently, newborns sleep for like 70% of the day. And I guess none of the night," James laughed, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Olivia looked around – there were baby bottles on the kitchen countertops, a baby monitor on the coffee table, the television was on, and there was some commercial about IAMS®.
"So," James piped, "can I get you something to drink?"
"Who is Richard Trudeau, James?" Olivia asked.
James faltered, "Who?"
"Richard Trudeau. Telephone service representative, 6'2", 36-years-old, Visa number 4532 5130 4623 1715, AB blood type, mother's maiden name Baumgart."
"I uh…I'm sorry, I don't understand what you're asking, Olivia."
"You didn't know all that? But I bet you knew that Richard Trudeau died in 2002 from a respiratory arrest, right? That's why you took the name of some unknown deceased of eleven years?"
"If this is some sort of mistake, I don't know anything, really, Olivia." James dug his hands deeper into his pockets as Olivia stared at him, unblinking.
"I know that you know about the rigged voting machines and Defiance, Ohio, James. I know that you've been using Richard Trudeau to call up oil corporations and to post online articles. And we're not even going to play the game where you deny it and then eventually come clean after I present inarguable evidence. So let's just cut to it and talk openly now."
Olivia pulled out the printed posts on Capitol Jill and James dropped into the couch and put his head in his hands.
"Why are you doing this James? I know you're a journalist with a penchant for a juicy story but…Cyrus…he's your husband. You have Albert, you have this place, I –,"
"I know, I know," James muttered, rubbing his palms against his forehead. He looked up at Olivia, pleadingly. "I tried to think of everything to keep it away from Cyrus and away from me. I didn't want to be behind this Olivia, but we're talking about a possibly completely false election, a false presidency. The story needed to be run. Everyone always talks about how the American people's vote doesn't even count, and that we should completely eradicate the Electoral College. But vote count or not, this election was rigged Olivia. It's only been two years and even though next year's not an election year, this is big, major stuff. Cyrus knew we had our political differences during the campaign, but still, as someone who went out and voted, and as someone who's job it is to inform people, I can't just sit by and let this happen."
Olivia sat down next to James, "So you'd rather just secretly take down the President's job – Cyrus's job?" she asked quietly.
"Please, don't say it like that."
Olivia looked down at her hands before speaking again, "You need to end this James. Stop pushing whatever journalist agenda it is that you have because trust me, you can make this very, very messy for yourself. I've been in this kind of game long enough to see people get destroyed, get hurt, and have their images publicly eviscerated. You need to listen to me. Quit now and leave this alone."
"I can't, I wish I could. I've been up all night wishing I could…but," James's shoulders sagged in defeat, "it's out of my hands."
"What does that mean? What are you saying?"
"That blog post you have? Capitol Jill? When I found the information, they just wanted me to run it under them because I was an actual journalist. They thought I'd garner them some publicity, called me "chief journalist" and crap like that. They didn't really believe what I was saying. But then I got this phone call last night from this blocked number. It was some guy who saw what I had written and he said he knew more about it than me. He told me he needed to use it more than I did – I don't know, something like that. Anyway, he offered me this crazy amount of money to sell him the story. Said he had the means to get it out to a big newspaper and that he'd run my story under a fictitious byline if I wanted to. He told to me meet up with him last night at The Reef but when I got there, the bartender just handed me this check in an envelope; he said it was left for me, along with a free drink. So I just took the money, called this guy back and gave him that Richard Trudeau name, and e-mailed the story to an untraceable e-mail account he gave me. I haven't cashed the check yet, I feel nauseous every time I look at it – but the story's supposed to run in the Post Monday morning."
Olivia looked at James, who was wiping his palms on the legs of his khakis. She could hardly believe that Cyrus's husband and father to his son, was willing to sell a story that could potentially ruin Cyrus, and everyone else involved in Defiance. She didn't understand why, but in a way, she felt almost sorry for him and in her gut, she knew he was telling the truth about wanting to end it all and take it all back. Olivia opened her mouth to speak when suddenly, the "Special News Report" theme sounded and both of them turned their heads to the television. James fumbled with the volume button as a young blonde woman appeared on the screen.
"…Thank you Bryan. Time and temperature is 1:06pm at 69 degrees and we have a very special and heartwarming news report. Sources at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center have confirmed that at exactly 11:43am today, Wednesday May 16, 2012, The First Lady gave birth to son Isaac Fitzgerald Grant. Deborah is live outside The White House."
The screen zoomed to a brunette standing in front of The White House gates:
"Kathy, The First Lady is not due to return home with baby Isaac until the earliest expected day we're told, is Friday. But the atmosphere outside of The White House is simply euphoric. A growing group of people have –,"
Immediately, Olivia turned away from the television and sat up. Her entire body had just gone cold and all she wanted to do was get out of that apartment. Looking alarmed, James got up from the couch too.
"Give me your number," Olivia demanded, flipping open her phone. She stared at the numbered buttons in a weak effort to block out Deborah. "If he calls you again, don't answer and call me immediately. If he e-mails you, don't even open it and just call me immediately. Understood?"
Flustered, James nodded and recited his cell phone number to Olivia. When he finished, she snapped it shut and stuffed it into her purse.
"And James?"
"Yes?" James looked up.
"Don't tell Cyrus."
