Madame President - Tara Sue Me Page 0,34
me to find out, especially with my current position. But it’s more than knowing, I realize. I want him to tell me. For him to trust me with the reason.
Realizing I’m not going to get any sleep until I have some answers, I get out of bed and slip into a pair of casual slacks and a pullover. The hallways of the White House are never empty and there’s no way I’m traipsing through the place in my pajamas and robe. I pull my hair back into a ponytail and open the door to step into the hallway.
The Secret Service agents look like they don’t know what to do. One of them whispers into his earpiece.
“Madame President,” the other says. “Is something wrong?”
I suppose that’s nicer than asking what the hell I’m doing up and out at this time of the morning. “Everything’s fine,” I assure him. “I just want to pick up a few files. Insomnia, such a pain. Might as well work.”
He smiles and nods, but I’m not sure if he does so because he understands or if he thinks I’m batshit crazy and is only humoring me. I know I have a staff of people who are completely capable of retrieving whatever I request, but there’s no reason for them to be up just because I am. Plus, there’s a reason I’m doing this in the middle of the night. I don’t want anyone to know what I’m doing.
It’s odd to see the West Wing at this time of morning, so quiet and empty. I walk quickly, my destination isn’t far. I don’t know if Navin’s file will have the information I’m looking for, but it’s a start and somehow seems less invasive than the other ways I have of finding out. David’s office is down the hall from mine, and he has the files I want. I step inside, wondering where he keeps everything.
I try his desk first. The top is neat and tidy, though honestly, I expected nothing else. The only personal item is a picture of him and Oliver that looks as if it was taken on their honeymoon. They look so good together, their joy makes me smile.
The bottom drawer on the right side of his desk has a rack holding files, and there’s a large section labeled “Press Pool.” It’d be obvious if I only took the one I want, so I take them all, leaving a note on his desk telling him what I’d done.
Once back in my room, I don’t even change out of my clothes back into pajamas before pulling out Navin’s file. Sitting on the couch in my sitting area, I open it and start reading.
Before being allowed on the Press Pool, every reporter underwent a background check. The agent performing the check wrote an in-depth report included in the paper file I retrieved from David’s desk.
The first part of the report in Navin’s file is interesting, but doesn’t contain what I’m looking for. I don’t need to know anything about his parents or his younger sister or where he was raised. I know from hearing it at Harvard that both sets of his grandparents immigrated to the US from Turkey before his parents were born. I scan through his childhood and early teen years, though I admit I do take more time looking through his high school and undergraduate years.
His academic record is impressive, but I knew that already. As I’d been told all those years ago, he graduated first in his class from a large high school and Columbia as well. I’m a little surprised to read he majored in journalism, but I suppose it makes sense knowing his current job. After Columbia, still driven by his high school dream to become a judge, he was accepted into Harvard Law and entered his first year as one of the top students in the class.
All it states about his sudden departure is it concerned a medical emergency for a family member. Nothing else is mentioned about law school or Harvard. From that point, the report moves to when he took a job at a local TV station. I close the folder.
Damn it. The only thing I learned was he dropped out because of a family medical emergency, which could be about anything. I can look it up, but I yawn. I have a busy day scheduled tomorrow, and it’ll go a lot smoother if I get a few hours worth of sleep. I can look into Navin’s