A Billionaire's Redemption - By Cindy Dees Page 0,23
a bill because it was the right thing to do. Instead, she even found an email from him to a junior senator berating the young man for voting with his conscience. Her father’s letter closed with a line declaring that conscience had no place in politics.
Was that why her father had been killed? If only the police could make some headway in identifying her father’s murderer. Maybe she’d be less jumpy at night and sleep better. Even if all they discovered was why he’d been killed, that would be better than this giant black hole hanging over her family.
She clicked on yet another file and scanned through a mind-numbingly dull list of people to pressure into delaying a vote on something or other having to do with oil companies’ right to privacy. It had to do with proposed legislation that would force oil companies to turn over complete lists of the chemical formulas of the liquids they injected into the ground as part of extracting oil and gas from shale rock.
The technique, hydraulic fracturing, commonly called fracking, involved pumping water and a propriety blend of chemicals underground to break up oil and release it from the rock it permeated.
She clicked on the next email, and started as a bright red screen popped up, warning her that the contents were classified. What had Larry said about that? It had been hours ago and her brain was fried. She pulled out the piece of paper she’d scribbled all her father’s passwords on and tried the main one that he supposedly used for just about everything. It didn’t work. She tried the others, and of course, it was the very last one that caused a new folder to pop up on her screen. It was labeled only Senate CMA.
She clicked on the first file. The letterhead made her frown. Senate Committee on Miscellaneous Affairs? She’d never heard of it. But apparently, her father was a member. She paused in her reading to do an internet search of the term and frowned as a message blinked, “No result matches your search.” It must be some sort of secret committee. She wasn’t so naive as to think that everything Congress did was known to the public.
She went back to reading. The letter outlined a schedule of meetings for the past year. She noted that more than a few of the closed sessions were actually scheduled for late in the evening. What senate committee started meetings at ten o’clock at night, for goodness’ sake?
Alarmed, she opened the next file. This one outlined an operation by...somebody...a group called Excelsior...to infiltrate Mexico and kill the governor of a Mexican state. Stunned, she read it again. That was definitely what she’d just read. Someone who worked for this secret committee was killing government officials of another sovereign nation. Last time she checked her civics textbook, that was illegal!
She opened another folder. This one outlined some sort of mission in the Middle East to fund bombings in a country whose regime she recalled hearing the United States didn’t like. But that was terrorism!
U.S.–sponsored terrorism.
Very afraid, she clicked on the third folder. God only knew what the dozens of remaining folders held. She started to read. Assassination. California. Oh. My. God. Whoever this Excelsior bunch was, they were killing Americans on American soil, too.
Folder after folder gave up its secrets, each more horrifying than the last. For nearly two hours she read about the activities of this secret committee. It created mayhem and death wherever it touched.
Finally, she reached the end of the last file. She leaped up from her father’s desk, pacing in agitation. What was she going to do with this information? She couldn’t just do nothing. But then that stack of paperwork the governor’s assistant had shoved in front of her to sign after the press conference came to mind. Some of it had to do with not revealing classified information. Was she seriously required to keep her mouth shut about this secret committee and whatever it was up to?
She couldn’t do it. Wouldn’t do it. Even if she was prosecuted for revealing classified information, there was no way she would stand by and let something like this go on in her country. Not in her government. Being a United States senator stood for something, and even if she had to throw herself on her sword, she would not sully that institution.
She paused by the French doors opening out onto one side of the back patio. The garden