Senator Sutton, the Dealer
It took everything in him not to backhand the little bitch across the face. “How many times were you told not to use the office computer for any personal purpose? Huh? How many?”
There were tears in the girl’s eyes, but he didn’t give a shit. He’d spent years carefully and expertly forming alliances, negotiating and making trades, maneuvering through the complex political machinery that formed Washington, D.C., all the while doing so in a manner that would ensure his reputation was above reproach. And now, this stupid, stupid girl could undo everything he’d worked so hard for.
“I don’t know,” she mumbled. “Once or twice.”
“Bullshit!” he barked, his vehemence surprising not just her but himself, as well. He grabbed the stapler off his desk and flung it across the room. It hit the wall and exploded into a barrage of plastic and metal confetti.
Everything was spinning out of control, himself included. He’d never felt so powerless. The latest reports showed that Essie Espinoza had edged him out in the polls. He was doing his damnedest to reverse that trend, but with China adamantly refusing to consider adopting the China–U.S. Partnership he’d proposed, he looked weak and ineffectual, the hundreds of earlier deals he’d managed to broker forgotten or ignored. He couldn’t afford a scandal, especially not right now. If the media discovered an intern had been dealing Molly out of his office it would push his campaign over the edge and that money he’d taken and spent would be for naught.
He wondered how this little twit even knew how to run a drug business, where she got the products. After all, there weren’t exactly want ads for this type of work. Sales help needed in illegal pharmaceutical industry. Sparkling personalities only, please.
He needed details, had to know how far his liability might extend. “How’d you get into this?” he demanded. “Who are you working for?” When she looked away he grabbed her by the chin and turned her head to face him. “I asked you a question,” he hissed. “And you’re going to give me an answer.”
Though her face was aimed in his direction, her eyes looked down. “Chaoxiang Wu,” she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper.
“Wu? The minister of commerce’s son?”
She nodded.
He let go of her chin. Fuck! He should’ve known that boy was bad news. The kid was too smooth, a charmer, a worldly boy with an exotic attractiveness. Chaoxiang had come to Sutton’s offices with his father several times, both in Washington and here in Fort Worth. Hell, it was Sutton himself who’d suggested the kid apply to TCU! The senator remembered coming out of his office here in Fort Worth after a private meeting with Chao’s father and finding the kid flirting with his intern. She’d been looking up at the boy with puppy-dog eyes, totally smitten.
The kid had probably obtained the drugs from China, where chemical regulation was more lax. It made little sense, he realized, but he was especially enraged that the drugs the kid was selling were from China rather than being made domestically. More dollars in the two countries’ trade gap.
But, being the expert dealer he was, Sutton also realized the situation gave him leverage, a big bargaining chip. Surely the minister of commerce would want to avoid the negative publicity the arrest of his son would cause, to minimize the effects on his son’s otherwise bright future, for his son to be able to finish college without the threat of criminal prosecution. Others in the Chinese government would want to avoid the embarrassment as well, sweep the matter under the rug, pretend it never happened, just as they did with the bloody massacre at Tiananmen Square in 1989.
If the senator could finagle things just right, he might be able to strong-arm the minister into supporting the CUSP legislation and lure voters back into his camp. He’d give this some thought …
But for now, he had to deal with the matter at hand. And the matter at hand was Paige McQuaid and the trail of electronic bread crumbs she’d left, bread crumbs that could lead the police—and a career-ending scandal—straight to his door.
Sutton leaned over Paige as she sat hunched before the desktop computer. “My chief of staff says he told everyone in the office multiple times not to engage in personal activity on the office computers. Any of your e-mails could be subpoenaed. Why didn’t you just use your goddamn phone?”
“My battery died,” she said, a tear escaping to slide down her cheek. She hiccupped, trying not to cry. “I didn’t have the charger with me.”
He waved his hand and she flinched, as if she thought he’d hit her. God, how he’d love to. “Delete it all!” he demanded. “Delete all of those e-mails from your account and delete your browser history, too. Delete! Delete! Delete!”
He stood over her while she frantically worked the keyboard and mouse. When she’d erased all of the e-mails in the funtimemolly account, as well as her browser history, he put his face right in hers, so close he could see the pimple beginning to form on her forehead. “If anyone ever asks why this information was deleted, you did it on your own. To cover your ass and that boy’s. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” she said meekly.
“Now,” he demanded, standing back up. “Are there any other loose ends we need to worry about?”