Constance (Constance #1)(41)

“Don’t play dumb,” said the second man. “James called us. He says you informed him this afternoon that Palingenesis removed you from the board and now you intend to go forward with the appeal. Is it true?”

“Why don’t we all sit down?” Gaddis suggested amicably.

“Just answer the question, Vernon. Do you intend to move forward?”

“I do,” Gaddis said.

His guests exploded angrily, the pretense of civility eroding rapidly. Only the third man remained silent, although his eyes turned icy behind his benevolent expression. Gaddis sat stoically while they accused him of betrayal.

“We had a deal,” the second man said.

“I’m well aware.”

“We agreed that if your case made it to the Supreme Court, you would drop the matter first. That was the deal.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Gaddis said.

“You’re sorry?” the first man said, slapping the back of his hand against his palm. “That’s not good enough. Not nearly good enough. There’s too much at stake for all of us.”

“Yes,” Gaddis said. “We all have something at stake. We’re all in this together. That’s a lovely sentiment, but I am the one expected to sacrifice everything.”

“It’s your lovely sentiment,” the second man said, face so red that Con thought he was going to have a heart attack. “Yours. You’ve been preaching it since the beginning.”

The third man, who until now hadn’t spoken, cleared his throat. His colleagues grew silent and looked to him.

“No one is overlooking the impossible price you are paying, my friend,” he said with a politician’s voice, deep and compassionate.

“They’re my children, Aldous,” Gaddis said. “You’re asking me to give up on my children. Surrender my claim to them. To admit publicly that I wouldn’t fight for them to the bitter end. How do you think they will feel knowing their father placed political expedience ahead of them? Could you do it?”

“Vernon, we understand,” Aldous replied. “Believe me. We’ve all suffered. You know that. But you aren’t thinking clearly. If this case goes before the court, you will lose. Five to four. Maybe six to three.”

“We don’t know that for certain,” Gaddis said.

“Five to four. Best-case scenario. Garcia will vote with the majority, and you will lose. That’s what all of our opposition research tells us. It’s a done deal. And then we all lose everything. The Supreme Court will have dealt a death blow to the legal standing of clones in this country. Everything we’ve worked toward these past five years will be lost. I’m sorry, but this just isn’t our moment.”

Gaddis offered no rebuttal. He said nothing at all, but Con could see him digging in his heels. She knew the look intimately from growing up with her mother—it was when facts stopped mattering. When the truth became inconvenient, either contradicting her beliefs or becoming an obstacle to what she wanted. Con didn’t know what was happening inside Vernon Gaddis’s head, but either way, she saw there was no changing his mind.

That didn’t deter Aldous from trying. “But if our candidate wins in November, there are two judges in their late seventies. We have a chance to flip the court our way in the next eight years.”

“I don’t have eight years!” Gaddis snapped.

“I know,” Aldous agreed. “It’s not fair, but we have to be patient. Pick our spot. You know this.”

“Of course he does. It was his plan, after all,” the first man said.

Over the next hour, the three men tried every approach they could think of to convince Gaddis. Nothing worked, although by the end, Con would have sided with them had anyone asked her opinion. No one did. She felt like an uninvited guest at a family squabble. Never once did the three men acknowledge her presence. But neither had Gaddis bothered to introduce her, even though he claimed this concerned her. From the conversation, she had guessed that they were all clones, but apparently, Con was the wrong kind of clone. She might as well have been invisible. There was a lesson to be learned from that. Gaddis would let her listen silently, but it took a billion dollars to have a voice. She’d be wise to remember that.

When the three men finally saw there was no talking to Gaddis, they prepared to leave. Their anger had burned off, replaced by a muted sense of disillusionment. Aldous, the undisputed leader, turned back to Gaddis as he buttoned his sports coat.

“You know I’m not one to make idle threats, but if you go through with this, you understand that there will be consequences. You’ll leave me no alternative.”

“I understand,” Gaddis said. “I won’t hold it against you.”

“Let’s talk again soon. I’d hate for you to make an enemy of me.”

“I’d like that,” Gaddis said, standing to shake each of their hands as though the matter was settled. Con found the whole charade bizarre and didn’t get how rich people fought at all. When they were alone again, Gaddis slumped back in his chair and stared out at the bay for a long time. It seemed to be his favorite pose.

“They’re not wrong,” he said finally. “I will likely lose the case.”

“What case?” Con said, adopting a commiserating tone. It was better than the frustration she was actually feeling.