"Meredith, it's late."
It was late and he'd been wearing the same suit for the past two days. He needed to shower and then sleep but, late didn't matter to his sister because, among other things, she'd inherited their father's insomnia. He hoped the alcoholism had been written out of her genes, but that would remain up in the air for still some time now.
"Mom's firing Jenna."
Blake bent over and began untying the laces of his shoes.
"She shouldn't," he said.
He needed a shower and to sleep, but Jenna was like a sister. They laughed, they loved, and they fought— just as siblings did. She'd been with their family for nearly nine years, and she had proved herself worthy in the past. So, she messed up? He knew firsthand the lengths someone would go to when blinded by jealousy. He would ignore her for the next three months, give her the cold shoulder for the next year, and make comments reminding her of her sins for the rest of eternity, but he would eventually forgive.
"She's already made up her mind."
No one could talk Edie Moran out of a decision once she'd made it.
He didn't have the emotional capacity to worry about anyone else's employment status other than his own, so he asked, "anything else?"
"Just checking in with my baby brother," she said. "I doubt anyone down in DC is looking out for the wellbeing of your career." He heard her sip from a glass. Was she drinking? "Can I do anything?"
Being the eldest, she liked to parent.
He sighed as he sat back on the sofa. "Not at the moment," he told her. "Thank you for getting me the article." It had been nice knowing what they were up against.
"I tried to kill it, but you know freedom of speech and all. If we start coming for their constitutional rights, they'll come for ours." She chuckled.
"You helped us a lot by just getting us access."
"It wasn't fucking easy you know. Everyone there has deep ties to the damn Democrats." She was definitely drinking. She was usually tight-lipped when it came to politics. "But Daddy went to Wharton with Jim."
He hummed. "Gin or scotch tonight?"
"Ginger ale," she said. "I don't mix drugs and alcohol anymore."
So, she was high?
"What's going on?"
She hadn't overdone it on the Valium in years.
He heard her sigh. "That's mostly why I called." She paused and then said, "Dad's announcing his resignation in the morning."
His lips parted. "What?"
He had made it a point to check in at least twice a week since their trip up to Connecticut in May. Throughout their phone conversations over the weeks, the possibility of their father resigning hadn't been mentioned once.
"We're settling with the SEC for $102.5 million."
Suddenly, he wasn't tired anymore.
"But settlements happen every day. Does he really have to step down?"
"It's different if you've been misleading investors about a powerplant, Blake. It's fraud, and until trust is rebuilt, we can't have anyone who holds the Moran name in front of cameras."
"You're being passed up? Meredith, I—"
"We're naming Peter McLean. I trust him."
Her trust was hard to earn, so in the past, he'd often found himself falling into line with her decisions, but that didn't change the fact that she'd wanted this, been working for this since junior year of high school.
"I can see why you've been popping Valiums," he mumbled.
"I didn't tell you, but I um… I've been meeting with my lawyers since last month. I plan on buying out Mom and Dad's shares."
That would give her the majority.
"It's going to be okay," she said.
In four to five years maybe.
"I'll be okay," she corrected.
Deep down he knew so because Meredith was Meredith, and she was always okay… But she was supposed to be okay that night she'd nearly died from an untreated eating disorder. And she was supposed to be okay on that Tuesday in February when she'd overdosed during her first year of college. And she was supposed to be okay on that warm Saturday in May when she'd broken down over company secrets and lies.
"Promise?"
"Promise," she told him. "Jacob's going to have a busy year. This way, I can be the wife he needs. And the mother my kids deserve."
"One day you'll be able to do it all." He swallowed as he looked around his quiet apartment. "I should call Dad."
"Yeah," she muttered. "Hopefully no reporters bang down your door."
"Let's hope not. Talk soon," he said before ending the call.
Other outlets had picked up the story after Vox had published it this morning. It was now past midnight, and he imagined the handful of journalists on his street had multiplied. The McCord home in Georgetown was already swarmed.
When his head fell back against the couch cushions, he let his eyes slip closed. He didn't want to think anymore. It was late and he'd been wearing the same suit for the past two days. He needed to shower and then sleep. He would call Elizabeth and then Nadine in the morning.
