The Fixer (The Fixer #1)(62)

“What do you mean the president and Adam’s father weren’t the only people in both places?” I asked.

Ivy threw her hands up in frustration. “Did you ever wonder who took the picture? Who might be standing right outside the frame? You have a fraction of the story, Tess. Don’t confuse that with the truth.”

Who took the picture? Ivy was right. I hadn’t wondered that.

“You said that you already knew the picture was taken at Camp David.” The words almost got stuck in my throat. “How?”

Ivy stared at me for a few seconds, then answered. “Because I was there.”

When I’d given her the photograph, she hadn’t said anything about recognizing it. She hadn’t allowed so much as a flash of recognition to cross her face.

Fixers are experts at covering things up. Henry’s words wouldn’t leave me alone. Your sister’s practically an artist.

“I’m going to help Vivvie, Tessie. I’m going to find the truth here. You just have to let me.” She tucked a stray piece of hair back into my braid.

The second she called me Tessie, my throat started to sting. “You can’t let the president nominate Pierce.”

“I won’t.”

“The article in the Post said—”

“I won’t,” Ivy repeated, her voice louder this time, more final. She turned to take her leave but glanced back at me. “For what it’s worth,” she said, “you can tell Vivvie that I wouldn’t pay much attention to that article.”

Bodie had said that there were two reasons for leaking a story like that—to help Pierce’s case or to hurt him.

“Are you going to track down the source?” I asked Ivy.

I’m not having this conversation with you. I could practically see her bite back those words. Instead, she lifted her chin slightly. “Trust me, Tessie, it’s not worth checking out.”





CHAPTER 46

By the end of the week, a slew of opinion articles had come out in Pierce’s favor. In World Issues, we had to watch people debate his merits on TV.

And with each day, I became more convinced that whoever had leaked that article had done it to help Pierce’s chances, not hurt them.

It’s not worth checking out. Ivy’s words rang in my ears as I watched Henry Marquette take a seat across the courtyard at lunch. He hadn’t spoken to me once since he’d told me about his father. Asher cast a glance at me but took a seat next to Henry.

“Has Ivy found anything?” Vivvie asked me. It was just the two of us at our table—the way it had been before all this had started.

“I don’t know.” I wished I had something to tell her, but Ivy had spent the past few days locked in her office, going over files she’d brought back from Arizona. I had no idea what kind of files they were. All I knew was that she’d brought boxes of them back—and I’d barely seen her since that night in my room.

“I need to do something.” Vivvie’s voice was quiet, but it vibrated with an intensity of emotion that told me that need wasn’t an exaggeration. “I need for us to do something.”

“What?” I asked.

“Something,” Vivvie insisted. “Talk to your sister again, or set up a meeting with the First Lady, or . . . or . . . something.”

It had been four days since her father’s funeral. A week since he’d killed himself. Eleven days since she’d told me what she’d overheard.

So much had happened. And now it felt like nothing was happening. Nothing except the media practically paving Pierce’s road to a nomination with gold. Because of that article in the Post.

Because of some anonymous source.

“Okay,” I told Vivvie.

Her eyes grew round. “Okay what?”

“Okay,” I said. “I have something we can do.”



Step one: Waylay Emilia Rhodes on her way to class.

“Oh,” she said. “It’s you. Turned anyone’s twin even more delinquent than usual lately?”

I took that as a cue that I didn’t need to bother with niceties. “The day you told us that Vivvie’s dad had been fired, you mentioned that you’d heard it from a freshman whose mom works for the Washington Post.”

Emilia arched an eyebrow, waiting for me to get to the point.

I obliged. “Which freshman?”

Step two: Make nice with the freshman.

Vivvie took the lead on step two. She was better at being nice than I was. Eventually, she dropped my name, and the freshman was all too happy to call in a favor with “Uncle Carson”—the man who’d written the article—in order to put herself in Tess Kendrick’s good graces.

Word of Georgia Nolan’s impromptu visit had spread, and that only served to remind people that my sister had some very powerful friends. What money was at most schools, power was at Hardwicke. It wasn’t about who had the nicest car or the biggest house. It was about who had the best connections. Through no fault of my own, I’d edged my way back onto the A-list—a problem I’d deal with later. For now, all I needed to do was prepare for my meeting with good old Uncle Carson, who thought he was being interviewed for some kind of school project.

“What’s step three?” Vivvie asked me, just before the final bell. Dr. Clark cast a warning look at us, but a second later, the bell rang. Vivvie and I made our way into the hallway.