“J. T. Tower owns the FBI, the CIA, the SEC, the Treasury, the courts. Hell, that former FBI director, Conley, helped Putilov get my brother elected.”
—Brenda Tower on her brother, the president
Jules Meredith couldn’t believe Brenda had been taping her brother on the sly for the last ten years and was now playing the tapes for Jules.
She’d even said she was giving them to her.
The two of them listened to a small sample of Brenda’s tapes—five hours’ worth—and they were utterly mesmerizing in a macabre kind of way. Tower clearly proved in his own words that he was a psychopath of maniacal proportions.
The dawn sun was coming up over Manhattan, and the two women finally put the tapes and the recorder away. For a long moment, they stared at each other in silence.
“All of these recordings are yours,” Brenda said. “Just promise me one thing: Somehow you’ll make that bastard pay.”
“Why is it so important to you to punish Tower now?” Jules asked. “After all these years?”
Brenda handed Jules a manila envelope. “Open it.”
Jules perused it quickly. It was a recent medical report on Tower’s sister, and its findings were unmistakable. The words “stage-four uterine cancer” jumped out at Jules.
“My condition is irreparable and beyond hopeless,” Brenda said. “I’ve refused chemo and radiation.”
“What does Jim say about this?”
“He doesn’t know. He thinks I’ve been visiting Vegas for the drinking and gambling. I was, but I’ve also been seeing a cancer specialist secretly and incognito.”
Jules put her hand on Brenda’s arm, but Brenda gently removed it.
“Don’t worry about me. I just want you to stop that sonofabitch. He can’t go on doing these terrible things and profiting off them.”
“Brenda, this is a very difficult undertaking, and you’re ill.”
“I can hold up my end, and I have dirt on him—in his own words—that will shake even you. We can put my brother away forever.”
“I’m not sure I’m the one,” Jules said. “He’s the president of the United States. Really, the FBI would be better.”
“J. T. Tower owns the FBI, the CIA, the SEC, the Treasury, the courts. Hell, that former FBI director, Conley, helped Putilov get my brother elected.”
“All the more reason this won’t work,” Jules said.
“You’re the only one who has any chance at all at nailing J. T.”
“But this is too big—even for me.”
“You have to do it, Jules. Please. You’re the only one I trust. You’re the only one I can turn to.”
“Is the evidence you have on him really that incriminating?”
“I have stuff on him that would turn the heart to stone,” Brenda said.
What am I going to do? Jules thought, looking away.