The door to her hospital room opened and they wheeled Naomi in. Three people waited for her inside. The two who faced her bookended a third who did not, all three dressed casually in workout clothing, the person facing the window in hooded sweats, the window’s curtains closed. The nurse reattached Naomi to her monitors. Her meds were fine, she told the doctor and nurse. They both left the room because one of her three visitors suggested they needed to.
She knew who this was, even through the calm of the medication, just wasn’t sure the reason for the visit.
The black cotton hood slid back to rest atop squared shoulders that presented good posture, revealing tight cornrows of black hair tinted slightly red. The visitor appeared every bit a professional boxer or mixed martial arts fighter in training, her sweats bulky, not flattering. She wore no makeup yet was still photogenic, her dark skin thick, smooth, almost perfectly so, benefiting from the coupling of two ethnicities, African American and Native American, whose ancestors on both sides had spent a millennium in the sun.
“Madam President.”
“Hello, Madam Justice.” POTUS Lindsey reached for Naomi’s hand, gripped it. “I’m so incredibly happy to see you’ve survived this mess. I have something you need to hear, in private.”
The two Secret Service agents exited. The president dragged a vinyl armchair over to the bed and sat, man-spreading her legs. “We call these ‘incognito sweats.’ I have many. Pardon my familiarity, but they’re too bulky for me to sit any other way.”
She began. “Cards on the table. A few influential people have in their possession some interesting documentation regarding your birth parents. I know these people came to you about it, for political leverage. You’ll know how I know this in a minute.”
Naomi’s meds, hearing this, they didn’t stand a chance at keeping her fully calm. Sleepy a moment ago, she was now hyper-aware.
“Sealed by the courts,” POTUS continued, “like all closed adoptions were back then, this documentation could become a showstopper for a Supreme Court justice’s career, regardless of how strong her character is. For her, it might mean a whole new perspective regarding certain issues. Pro-choice versus pro-life comes to mind.”
Naomi cleared her throat. “That Supreme Court justice,” she said thickly, “would be lying if she said it hasn’t affected her. But you should also know that one case in particular is still to be decided.”
The president shook her head. “Good.”
“These people with the documentation, Madam President…I assume you know who they are.”
“Yes. As a matter of fact, they’re on their way over here right now with it, but they won’t make it in to see you.”
“Please say you’re not planning to…”
“No, no, of course not. We intend to simply relieve them of their trump card. Not because the documentation speaks the truth. We need it as evidence.
“The records are forgeries, Naomi. A kind but desperate man falsified them to satisfy their blackmail demands thirty years ago. When you were confirmed as the newest Supreme Court justice, he realized the potential enormity of the fallout, the…power his sleight of hand had given them. He provided the Executive Branch with proof of his forgeries, the real birth documentation, to make us aware of the prospective power play. The perpetrators don’t know they’re not the real thing.
“We intended to tell you, Naomi, but not until after Senator Folsom played you.”
“And the man who did the forgeries is…?”
“Dead. An elderly Texas pastor whom the guilty parties felt knew too much. Murdered last week, by the same woman who came after you tonight. The pastor planned to contact you after he alerted us. He just didn’t live long enough.” The president leaned in. “Naomi…”
She took Naomi’s hand in hers and squeezed it.
“Last year, an extensive vetting process uncovered the Jane Roe baby’s identity, to prove that, as an adoptee, she was still an American citizen. Before she could assume her newest duties…very visible duties…as a public servant. This was never publicized, for a number of reasons.”
The president’s stare waited for Naomi’s groggy mind to catch up, to let this revelation sink in, with the president acting every bit like a sister sharing a secret about herself, a secret that must never be shared again.
“I can assure you, Naomi,” President Lindsay said, “this person is not you.”