Shattered Lies (Web of Lies #3)(78)
“You’ve been talking to Manuel and Sebastian?” Roland asked, suddenly looking nervous.
“Sure have,” Valeria said, crossing her arms over her chest.
Roland’s eyes darted around the room. Lizzy snapped her fingers, drawing his attention back to her. “Right now is when you decide whether to live or die. You know the penalty for treason can be death, right? If you tell us everything from how you were recruited, to what you’ve done on behalf of the organization, to a list of active participants in Mollia Domini right now, then I’ll get the attorney general on the phone and ask him to spare your life.”
Roland was quiet for a second. “Maybe I should—”
“Maybe you should answer the question.” Dalton crossed his arms over his chest. “Live or die?”
“If I talk, he’ll kill me,” Roland said quietly as all the ego and bluster was torn from him. His body deflated. His head hung, his shoulder caved inward.
“We can protect you,” Lizzy promised. “But first you have to prove you deserve it.”
Roland nodded his head slowly and sat silently for a moment. Then he began to tell everything. “It started three years ago during President Mitchell’s campaign. I was contacted by Mrs. Mitchell. They needed money to win. She promised me a seat at the table if they won. I’d have the president’s ear. When I shuffled around some money to make it look like legitimate campaign donations, I was invited to sit at the president’s table at fundraisers and campaign rallies. He endorsed me and my bank as examples of the future.” Roland ran his shaky cuffed hands over his face and dropped them into his lap.
“Then his chief of staff approached me about a loan for the campaign. It would have to be hidden because it was illegal. I made it happen, and a week later I got an invitation to the Tech Summit Ball. I wasn’t going to go. What did I care about tech? But I was strongly encouraged to go.”
Roland took a deep breath. “It was there I learned about Mollia Domini. I was sitting at a table with Sebastian Abel, Bertie Geofferies, his prick of a son, Rue, Sandra Cummings, and George and Helena Stanworth. Their talk turned to how the country was really run from behind the scenes. They talked about President Mitchell’s hands were tied by public opinion, laws, and regulations. George mentioned that public opinion could be changed. The public did what he told them. He told them what movie was the must-see movie. He told them what book was the next bestseller. He told them what to spend their money on. And most importantly, he told them what to be upset about.”
Roland looked up at them. “Don’t you see? Stanworth ran the media, and through the media he ran the world.”
Lizzy nodded. They’d seen that firsthand with numerous celebrities and news anchors pushing their own agenda of lies. “So, what happened then?”
“Sebastian asked if anything could be done to help free up Mitchell. He had numerous policy ideas that would be beneficial to both Sebastian and Bertie and would get major pushback if the public knew.”
“Then what?” Lizzy asked. She may have looked relaxed, but Grant could see the tension in her body.
“Bertie suggested Sebastian help him from the background. Use his influence over Stratton to get things done. Apparently Sebastian had already taken his concerns to Stratton, who shot him down, claiming what he wanted to do was illegal. ‘AI should never be used to manipulate the market. Supporting bad people just because they’d let Americans come in and use up all the resources as payment wasn’t right.’ Stuff like that. Sebastian was going to give up.”
“But . . .” Lizzy prompted.
“But Bertie said, why did they need Stratton when they had all the power they needed at the table? They could form their own group to run things behind the scenes. To be the ones to pull the strings.”
“And Sebastian?” Lizzy asked, leaning back giving Roland room.
“He was called away from the table, and Mrs. Mitchell took his seat. While he was gone, Bertie talked about it more. Sandra would be the secretary of state if Mitchell won. She was already a powerful congresswoman. She said she knew of some people who wouldn’t mind crossing the line. That crazy colonel of hers, for starters. I didn’t know she meant murder. I thought she’d just take a tougher stance on handing out foreign aid or sanctions. But then she started having the opposition killed. I swear, I didn’t know that was going to happen.”
“Go back to the dinner. Sandra said she was in. Then what?” Lizzy asked, trying to refocus him.
“Then the Stanworths jumped in. They said if there was something in it for them, they could swing the media for Mitchell. Mrs. Mitchell promised them everything they wanted. Tax breaks for Hollywood studios, unlimited access to her husband, exclusive interviews, promotion of his movies . . . you name it, she said they would have it. Bertie thanked her, and Mrs. Mitchell smiled and left the table. He turned to us and grinned. That’s what fifty million will buy you—the presidency.”
“Bertie funded the Mitchell campaign?” Lizzy asked.
Roland nodded. “I handled the money myself. But then Bertie asked me if I knew someone who was good at cleaning money before we began to move it around. I told him about Manuel. I, um, helped clean his drug money for years. A deal was made for me reach out to Manuel and see if he had interest in partially funding and laundering the money to finance our group. He did, and as a result, Mitchell withdrew border patrol agents and ordered investigations against Manuel closed once he was in office. Bertie would make a business payment for one of his companies to Manuel, who would clean it, and I would help launder it to get it into the hands of whoever needed it.”