When she gets to that point, Maddy realizes that while she has been delving deeply into specifics, into policy and politics, the entire chamber has been silent. Unlike at the State of the Union, her Democratic colleagues haven’t jumped up in applause to show support for certain line items, and the people on the other side of the aisle haven’t murmured or blurted out opposing sound bites.

It unnerves her, but she finishes the details of the programs and pauses, preparing to deliver some rhetorical flourishes meant to convey solidarity and trust.

She doesn’t get the chance. The chamber explodes with applause, and after many minutes waiting for it to subside, she gives up.

She leans forward and says, simply, “Thank you.”

EPILOGUE

ONE YEAR LATER

CHAPTER
140

Manhattan

The morning news comes on my car radio as I’m searching for a parking space near Madison Square Park, just below Twenty-Third Street. As soon as I hear the first few words of the intro, I turn it up.

“And now, from Washington, DC, John Agro, the man sometimes known as Jack Doohan—among other aliases—has agreed to turn state’s evidence in the case against Burton Pearce, implicating the former White House chief of staff in a web of murderous conspiracies. Meanwhile, former Providence Mafia captain Tony Romero is due to stand trial next month for the murder of New England Patriots cheerleader Suzanne Bonanno more than eighteen years ago, a crime for which First Gentleman Cole Wright was convicted, then formally exonerated.”

Sounds like I might finally have my ending!

A van pulls out of a space just ahead of me and I swoop in to park against the curb. Perfect timing. I promised to be here at ten, and I’m just one minute late.

I head into an office building across from the park. The lobby has a worn marble floor and decorative pillars. Old-school New York. The elevator doors look like burnished bronze.

When I get to the sixth floor, I head down the hall to suite 605, the office of my literary agent, Marcia Dillion. After Nottingham chief Reginald Hamilton canceled the contract with me and Garrett, Marcia started her new career. She tells me ex-editors make the best literary agents, which is one way she justifies her 15 percent commission.

Fine by me. She earns every penny.

I see her waving from her office door like she can’t wait to see me. Marcia looks ten years younger. Being her own boss obviously agrees with her. I appreciate the enthusiastic welcome and the big bear hug she gives me.

She puts her arm around my shoulders. “They’re fantastic!” she whispers in my ear.

“What are?”

“The pages you sent last week! I love how this manuscript of yours is shaping up.”

She leads me through a reception area and past a conference room where two earnest-looking young women sit tapping on laptops.

“Black coffee, right?” asks Marcia.