The hacker has included a lot of detailed documents, including records of arrests and prosecutions for both men, everything from pimping to drug peddling to fencing stolen merchandise. I check the conviction and sentence records. Romero never served more than a few years at a time, and he’s been out for almost five years, free as a bird. It looks like DeMarco still has ten years to go on his current stretch. No wonder he was so eager to share info—it could shorten his sentence.

The next window is a series of photographs so grainy, I almost blow past them. They look like surveillance photos taken inside a bar. What stops me is the sight of Tony Romero. He’s pouring drinks for patrons who register only as dark shapes. One guy is slightly clearer. He’s at the side of the bar holding a beer bottle to his lips, and his head is tipped back so that his face catches the light. Barely visible. Like some kind of gray ghost.

Burton Pearce!

I recognize the face, but it takes me a moment to believe what I’m seeing. The president’s chief of staff—and the man Eva Clarke says raped her—is also a known associate of Tony Romero.

Suddenly, all the pieces click into place.

CHAPTER
132

Number One Observatory Circle

Burton Pearce is sitting in Ransom Faulkner’s elegant living room in the vice presidential residence when the verdict is announced on TV. His first thoughts are for Maddy, but they’re immediately followed by thoughts for himself. He does his best to contain them all. He clicks the TV off and walks over to where the VP is standing.

A tailor is kneeling at Faulkner’s feet, pinning the cuffs on the pants of an expensive suit. Pearce is not worried about Louie’s discretion. He’s been with the VP for years.

“Well, I guess we can save the money on the suit,” says Faulkner. He’s still gaunt, but his face has regained some of its color, and he’s standing up straight.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” says Pearce. “Tess Hardy will appeal. The plan will go forward. We’ll just delay the Grand Bargain announcement for a time. Let the news cycle on this thing blow over.”

“Blow over?” says Faulkner. “The First Gentleman in jail for murder?”

Pearce puts a hand on the tailor’s back. “Louie, you know what? You can head out. We’ll send the suit over later.”

As Pearce pulls the double doors closed behind the departing tailor, a knock sounds on an interior door. A young aide pokes his head in. He looks at Pearce. “Sorry to disturb, sir. The president is calling for you on line one.”

“Thanks, Sean.” The aide backs out and closes the door. Pearce steps to a side table and grabs the handset from a phone console. He takes a breath, then presses the blinking button.