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CHAPTER TWELVE

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WHEN I WOKE THE MORNING after the shooting, I opened my eyes to find that Alex and I were still sitting on one of the sofas in the living room.  My head was resting against his shoulder, Alex was snoring lightly with his chin touching his chest, and CNN was still on the television across from us—reporting on the events of the night before. 

At some point late in the night, we must have fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion while watching the news.

At least we had changed our clothes after the party.  I was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, as was Alex.  I remembered coming home, taking a shower to clean the blood off my face and remove the night from my skin, and then answering the flurry of phone calls that had come in from Blackwell, Lisa, Madison and Brock, Epifania, and Kate Stone. 

Before he’d dropped us off, Tank had suggested that, with Diana Crane and Mike Fine dead, Alex might want to hold a press conference the following afternoon.

“I’ve already considered that,” Alex had said.  “Two of our board members are dead.  Even though tomorrow is a Sunday, I nevertheless need to get in front of this story.  Because come Monday morning when the markets open?  Investors are going to want to know what my plans are for going forward without Diana and Mike.  I know that sounds crass—as if their lives don’t matter—but it’s nevertheless how our investors will be thinking.  I need to ease their minds and assure them that the board and I will take great pains to select highly qualified people to take Diana and Mike’s seats.”

“What do you need from me in the meantime?” Tank had asked.

“Before I stand in front of the press, I need you to find out as much as you can about what happened tonight.  Because they’re going to hammer me with questions I won’t be able to answer otherwise.  I’ll call Ann in the morning to set up the conference for two p.m.  We’ll hold it inside Wenn’s lobby.  Later in the day, Jennifer and I will reach out to Diana and Mike’s families to pay our respects.  Call me at eleven to debrief me on what you’ve learned.  And thank you, Tank—who knows how much longer they would have continued to shoot if you hadn’t shown up.”

“I think I hit one of them, but whoever it was didn’t go down.  Instead, they got in their car and tore off.  Tomorrow, I’ll reach out to the police and remind them of my role in what happened tonight.  Because, in the sheer chaos, that might have been lost.”

Before he left, I’d given him a hug.  “You’re one of the bravest people I know,” I’d said in his ear.  “You always have been—time and again.  Thank you, Tank.  You saved dozens of people tonight.  I hope you know that.  I know for a fact that you saved our lives.  I can’t thank you enough for what you did for all of the people who are alive tonight because of you.  You’re a hero.”

I could tell that I’d embarrassed him when I said that, but it was true—and Alex and I would make certain that this city and our country knew what Tank had done, because he deserved that recognition.  After shaking Alex’s hand, Tank told us he was going home—and then he’d left.

Now, I gently woke Alex with a kiss on his cheek.

“Hey,” I said to him.  “It’s time to wake up.”

When I said that, he looked startled at me—as if I was something to be feared.  But when recognition struck, he swept me into his arms and held me close to him as if he’d thought that he’d lost me.

“I’m here,” I said.  “We both are.  We got lucky, Alex.  Unfortunately, too many others did not.”

“I had a nightmare that you were gone,” he said as he pressed his forehead against my own.  “It was awful.  I remember shouting for you to come back to me, but you didn’t.”

“I’m here,” I said to him.

“What in the hell happened last night?”

“A horror show.”

“Why would anyone do such a thing?”

“Look at the world we live in, Alex.  Look at Orlando.  San Bernardino.  Sandy Hook.  And all of the other mass shootings that have recently taken place in our country and abroad.  Who knows what motivated those two individuals to do what they did?  I sure as hell don’t.” 

I put my hand on his knee and kissed him firmly on the lips before I reached out and held him in my arms until I felt his body relax against mine.  “Let me get each of us a coffee.  We’ll listen to the news, we’ll call Ann to make arrangements for the press conference, and then we’ll discuss best strategies for going forward.”

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Just past seven.”

“Tank will be calling me at... what?  Eleven?”

“Eleven.  So, watch the news.  Let me get us some coffee—and then we’ll plan the rest of the day.”

*  *  *

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AT NOON, BLACKWELL called.

“How are you?” she asked when I answered my cell.

“Grateful to be alive.”

“I couldn’t sleep at all last night,” she said.  “But I’m also grateful that you’re still with us, as are Daniella and Alexa.  Each of them sends their love.”

“Thank them for that.”

“I heard on the news that Alex is having a press conference at two.”

“He is.  I should have called you, but it’s been crazy here, Barbara.  Tank called at eleven to brief us on where the investigation stands now.  Alex called Diana and Mike’s families to express his grief.  But since neither of us think that’s enough, we plan to see them in person later today.  We need to—”

“Enough,” she said.  “I get it.  I’m in my car now and I’ll be at your apartment in ten minutes.  Have either of you showered?”

“Not yet.”

“Plenty of time.  Do you know what you’ll wear at the press conference?”

“I was thinking something black.”

“And Alex?”

“The same.”

“That’s just right,” she said.  “Get Alex in the shower now.  We’ve got less than two hours until we need to be at Wenn.  I assume both of you have been busy writing his speech this morning?”

“We’ve done our best.”

“Then you might need my help in other ways.  With Diana and Michael dead, this is a critical moment for Wenn.  The markets must be reassured by Monday morning that Alex is on top of this.  You already know that.  I can help with the styling, and also by reading the speech Alex plans to give to the press.  If I think it’s necessary to tweak it and you agree, we’ll fix it.  If not, then we’re good.  So, get him into the shower.  I’ll be there in moments.” 

*  *  *

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AND SHE WAS.

While Alex was still showering, one of the doormen announced her arrival through the intercom in the entryway and soon Blackwell was knocking on our door.  When I answered it, she looked at me for a moment, and despite how well she had pulled herself together in her black Chanel suit, I could see the fatigue and worry on her face.

She came forward and held me in her arms.  “Thank God you’re alive,” she said to me as she came inside and I shut the door behind her.  “Thank God both of you are.”

She was so much like the mother I’d never had that I just sank into her.  “It was terrible,” I said to her.

“Of course it was.”

“I saw Diana and Mike die right in front of me.”

“Then you’re likely in shock.  Did Alex witness their deaths?”

“I don’t think he saw what I saw.”

She pulled away from me but still held tight to my hands.  “How did you survive with them so close to you?”

“We were in the process of leaving the party,” I said.  “In fact, it seemed like everyone was leaving at that moment because the crowd was so large.  When we stepped outside, someone nudged my arm and my clutch fell to the sidewalk.  Both Alex and I bent down to retrieve it, which is when the shots went off.  Alex threw himself on top of me, and we just laid there while they continued to kill people until Tank stopped them short.”

“Tank?” she said with surprise in her voice.  “I didn’t know that he was involved.  No one is reporting that he was involved.”

“Alex texted him to pick us up about ten minutes before we left,” I said.  “He was in the limo waiting for us to leave when everything went to hell.  When he shot at them, they fled.  It’s because of Tank that more aren’t dead.  Once again, he’s a hero.”

“What he did must be known,” she said.

“Believe me, it will be known—it’s in the speech.”

“As it should be,” she said.  “But time is against us, and I need to make certain that both of you are ready for the press.  Let’s go into your bedroom so I can have a look at your closets.  I already know exactly how I want each of you to present.  After that?  I want to have a look at Alex’s speech.  I know that each of you wrote it under duress, so it might need a fresh set of eyes on it.”

“We did our best,” I said.

“Of course you did,” she said.  “That wasn’t a criticism.”  She hooked her arm around mine and we walked deeper into the apartment.  “Finding something suitable to wear will take seconds,” she said as she held me closer to her.  “As for the speech?  I just want to read it to make certain that it hits all the right notes.  I’m not going to lie to you, Jennifer—I never have and I never will.  With Diana and Michael dead, this is a critical moment for Wenn.  That speech needs to calm investors’ nerves before the markets open on Monday.  It needs to quell any concerns that Alex isn’t completely on top of this situation.  And it needs to assure them that Wenn—while devastated by its loss—will be stronger going forward.  The three of us can work on that—and perfect it.”

*  *  *

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LATER, AFTER ALEX AND I had showered, Blackwell dressed us in what she thought was appropriate for an event as grave as this—Alex in a dark gray business suit and me in a black Dior business suit with matching black pumps.  In my dressing room, she personally tended to my hair and makeup before she read the speech Alex and I had written earlier that morning.

“For the most part, this is excellent,” she said after she read it.  “But the ending isn’t right.  It needs to be more promising.  While I believe that Alex obviously must reflect upon his relationship with Diana and Michael, I also believe that he must communicate a clear vision of Wenn’s future with them no longer on the board.  I don’t see enough of that here.  I don’t see clarity for what’s coming next for Wenn.  If you agree, let’s tweak these last few sentences before it’s too late.”

And we did.

*  *  *

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WHEN WE ARRIVED AT Wenn at one-thirty, only a few members of the press had assembled outside in anticipation of the press conference.  But that didn’t surprise me. 

After last night’s terrorist attack, this was the very definition of a big news day, and the press in this city were spread thin in an effort to cover the unthinkable deaths of nearly two dozen people.  How many reporters would turn out for us was an unknown, but we nevertheless had to address the media—however small or large—so we could get in front of the story and make certain that our investors knew that, despite the tragedy, Wenn was in good hands. 

As the three of us crossed the lobby with Tank, who had driven us to Wenn, I saw our executive assistant, Ann, working with a group of people to set up the podium for Alex.  I thought that she appeared unusually strained, regardless of how chic she looked.  Her blonde hair was swept up into a tight chignon and her dark gray suit was nothing if not polished and elegant, but in her eyes was a wealth of concern.  I took her hands in my own as I approached her.

“Thank you for doing this on such short notice,” I said. 

“Of course I’d be here to help however I can,” she said—and then she moved my hands aside and hugged me.  “I’m so grateful that you’re safe,” she said.  “That both of you are alive.  I’ve seen the news and the video of the aftermath.  It must have been terrible, Jennifer.”  She looked over at Alex and gave him a hug.  “Thank God both of you are here now.”

“We appreciate that, Ann,” Alex said.  “More than you know.”

She took a step back.  “I’m sorry about Diana and Mike—and about everyone else who passed last night.”  She shook her head at us.  “And I’m angry.  Why would anyone do such a thing?  Why would anyone want to murder twenty-two innocent people?  What in the hell is happening in this country?  How many mass shootings do we need to bear before something is done about it?”

“Precisely,” Blackwell said.

But then Ann took a breath and held up her hands.  “I apologize,” she said.  “That was unlike me.  It’s just when you have two children as I do, you can’t help but be concerned.”

“Of course not,” I said.  “When Alex and I have children, I’m sure we’ll feel just as you do, Ann—fiercely protective of them.”

The moment I said that, a look of horror came over Ann’s face.  Stephen Rowe had made my miscarriage public, and she knew it.  In her anger, Ann had simply forgotten. 

“Jennifer, I’m so sorry,” she said.  “That was beyond insensitive of me.”

“You have children, Ann,” I said.  “I certainly don’t want you to feel as if you can’t talk about your own children because of what happened to me.  That would be ridiculous.  And besides, Alex and I will get pregnant again.”

“Of course you will,” she said.

“Anyway,” Alex said as he pressed the palm of his hand against my back in a show of support.  He knew that talking about children was probably the last thing I wanted to do now.  “We’ve only got a few minutes before we begin.  While Tank meets with Cutter and the rest of his security detail, Barbara will join Jennifer and me in my office and then we’ll come down at two.  I’m not sure how much of a crowd we’ll draw, but since Jennifer and I were eye witnesses to the event, I have a feeling that they’re about to come out in droves.”  He motioned toward the elevator.  “Shall we?”

*  *  *

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“YOU HANDLED THAT BEAUTIFULLY, Jennifer,” Blackwell said once the doors closed in front of us and we started to rise to the forty-seventh floor.  Alex reached for my hand and interlocked his fingers with mine.

“It’s fine,” I said.  “Ann has every right to be worried about her children.  I’d feel the same way if I were in her shoes.  But let’s not talk about that now,” I said.  “Alex needs to focus.”

“Of course he does,” Blackwell said as she stood at my side and we watched the floors flash by on the screen above us. 

Sandwiched between them, I could feel their love for me coming off them in waves, and it struck me again how lucky I was to have them in my life.

“I love you both,” I said as the elevator slowed and the doors slid open.  “More than you’ll ever know.  Now, come on,” I said before either could respond.  “Let’s go to Alex’s office, give him the next fifteen minutes to collect his thoughts, and then we’ll face the press, honor Diana and Mike, and lay out our plan for the next several weeks and months to come.”

*  *  *

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FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, that’s just what Alex did in a lobby teeming with people from the media—print, television, and online.

As he remembered Diana and Mike in a moving tribute to them, cameras flashed and people listened.  When he spoke about how he planned to take Wenn forward in their absence, I was aware of some reporters lifting their recording devices higher to make certain that they missed none of it. 

But throughout it all, there was a clear sense of restlessness in the lobby that was almost palpable—and one didn’t have to be a genius to know why.  The real reason these people had come wasn’t to hear Alex’s thoughts about Diana and Mike, or to hear what his plans were for Wenn.  They were here to hammer him with questions about what happened last night.  At some point, I felt that even I might be questioned, and so I steeled myself when Alex asked the group if they had any questions.

And when he said that?  It was like a bomb went off as dozens of people spoke at once.  Alex, who was nothing if not cool under pressure, ignored the onslaught.  He held up a hand in an effort to silence them, but when that didn’t work, he simply started to point to reporters one by one.

“What’s your question?” he asked the first reporter he chose.

“Did you or your wife see the shooters?” the reporter asked.

“We did not.”

He pointed at another reporter. 

“Your question?”

“How did you escape from being shot yourselves?”

Alex told the woman about my clutch being knocked out of my hand, and how each of us had bent down to retrieve it when the shooters opened fire.  “I placed my body over my wife’s,” he said to her.  “And since there was nothing we could do to stop the killers, we were forced to lay there listening to the hail of bullets senselessly killing our friends.”

The questions continued, with Alex handling a crowd rightfully hungry for answers.

“Marion?” he said to one of the reporters.

“Did you witness the deaths of Diana Crane and Mike Fine?”

“Unfortunately, my wife did.”

“Is she willing to talk about what she saw?”

“Out of respect for the families involved, who are grieving as we speak, I think it would be inappropriate for Jennifer to give any details about what she saw.  As a city—and as a community—all of us must respect that.”

He pointed to another reporter as a rush of other questions rose up before him.  “Bill?” he said.

“Have you or Jennifer considered the idea that you might have been being targeted last night?”

“We have not.  The shooters killed those people with a random spray of bullets meant to murder as many people as possible.  Given what we witnessed in the aftermath, it was clear that they shot from left to right in a senseless act designed to target the Witherhouses’ guests as we were leaving the building.  If they’d wanted to kill Jennifer or me, they would have shot straight down the middle and finished us, which they could have done.  But they didn’t.  All I know is that right now, the FBI and the police are looking into possible motives.”

“What do you believe those motives are?” a reporter asked.

“I’ll leave that for the officials investigating this case to answer.  But there is one critical point that all of you must know about why the shooting ended as abruptly as it did last night—the killers fled the scene because of this man,” Alex said while motioning toward Tank, who was standing at his right. 

“Many of you know Mitch McCollister, Wenn’s longtime head of security,” Alex said.  “Many of you also know him as ‘Tank.’  Ten minutes before Jennifer and I left the party, I texted him to pick us up.  He was waiting for us in a car on Sixty-Seventh Street when the shooters began their rampage.  If it hadn’t been for Tank—a former SEAL—who opened fire on the shooters, thus cutting their massacre short, there is no question that many more would have died.  Who knows how many people he saved last night, but it was significant.  We all know that because they fled the moment he started shooting.  And he’s a hero because of it.”

Given the surprised expressions on the reporters’ faces, it was clear that this piece of information was something that none of them had known.  Alex welcomed Tank to the podium to answer questions, and the moment he did so, Tank became bathed in staccato rhythms of light as photograph after photograph was taken of him.  Typical of Tank, he handled their questions with steadfast ease until Alex ultimately intervened.

“This morning, Jennifer and I telephoned Diana Crane and Mike Fine’s families, but we haven’t visited them yet, which we plan to do.  I want to thank all of you for coming here today.  For asking your questions.  For caring about what happened last night.  And I also want you to know that each of us is here to answer any of your questions going forward.  With your diligent coverage and reporting—and the critical work being done by local law enforcement and the FBI—the people responsible for this will be found, they will be brought to justice, and in the end, they will pay for what they did.”