Our client is a quarter of the way around the world right now, having left D.C. immediately after his fundraiser. He makes himself available on video as soon as I message him, though, which I like.
Cole joins me for the call. The two of us are in our boardroom and Jeff Mayfair is in a room in his estate in England.
“Jeff, we’ve had an interesting development,” I begin. “We’ve made contact with a journalist, Melinda Gray. You can look her up. She’s the one who wrote that book about Gerome Lively that led to his arrest.”
He makes a note on a pad of paper.
“Ms. Gray has requested an interview with me, which of course I declined. But over the last couple of days, our paths have crossed a few times, and I have good reason to believe she can be trusted—not on the record, I assure you. But for deep background purposes, I’d like your authorization to share some of what Wilson has discovered. Not the images you shared with us. Perhaps the emails—redacted—and the banking routing numbers. I think she may have information that could help our investigation, but I need to show her some of our hand first.”
“And do you trust her?”
That’s a big question. I ignore the images flashing through my mind. Her body twisting beneath mine, the fierce look in her eye as I gripped her jaw, the softness that immediately followed her stunning release. Do I trust Ellie? It depends. But the question is moot, as I don’t think she trusts anyone, and that kind of fear is dangerous. “I think we can manage the sharing of information, with safeguards to protect you. And if we can gain any insights at all from her, it will be worth it. There are a lot of moving pieces here, and I think she has a different angle on the situation than we do.”
“All right. Make it happen. Carefully.”
Cole clears his throat. “Jeff, there’s one other thing we want to discuss. And again, this falls under our confidentiality and non-disclosure agreement, although we understand you may not be able to comment. But we want you to know that it is on our radar that you are being talked about as a potential PRISM council member.”
The billionaire on the other end of the line doesn’t react.
My heart sinks.
Cole doesn’t react, but the silence on our end of the line is palpable, too.
Mayfair frowns. “On your radar, how?”
Cole smiles politely—but coolly. “That’s confidential for other reasons, sir.”
“It’s not true.” Mayfair clips the three words out, sharp and short. It’s the first time I’ve seen emotion seep into his demeanor. “I don’t want to get Scott involved, but let’s just say, there is no love lost in our family for that organization.”
“There’s a summit this weekend…” I trail off. Leading.
Jeff gestures at what looks like a very old, very expensive tapestry hanging on the wall behind him. “And I’m nowhere near Hilton Head, am I?”
“So you’re aware of it.”
“Aware of it for the singular purpose of avoiding it, yes. In the same way I went out of my way to not do business with Lively, too. There’s overlap there, as I know you are aware.”
“We are aware.”
He pauses, then leans in to the camera. “We are in turbulent times, Mr. Evans and Mr. Browning. But there is no safety in being suspicious of absolutely everyone. We also need to choose who to trust. I’m choosing you, and Ms. Gray. Show her whatever you want, including the photos. This has gone beyond damage control if I’m being used as cover for whatever PRISM is up to.”