Capital Offense

Heat suffused his neck and face. He could feel the blood pulsing against the pain in his temples. Warner rose to his full height.

Hands on her hips. Carolyn stood her ground.

He didn’t care if he deserved her wrath, he refused to take it.

“I’ll be filing for divorce,” she whispered.

Warner began to shake. He wanted to hit something, to hit her, to unleash his frustration and failure through his fists.

The defiance in her eyes stopped him, and he sat abruptly.

The full weight of her words struck him like a blow to his solar plexus. “You can’t-” He looked at her, desperation seeping into his voice. He knew he sounded like a little boy. “Don’t – please – you can’t leave me.” A sob, pitched and quaking, bubbled up from deep within him.

Carolyn remained silent.

After a few moments, he wiped at the tears on his cheeks, and cleared his throat. “We’ll both be finished if you do that.”

“No.” Carolyn said, “you’ll be finished. You are finished.” She turned and walked out.

Oh, my God, Warner thought. Rings of sweat soaked the underarms of his shirt. If Carolyn left him now, he’d be lost. She was his source of strength and direction. He knew that losing the senatorial race would prompt Edmund to cut him off and without Carolyn’s income, he’d be destitute. He’d never had to worry about money before, but now, he realized, his future was doomed without her.

He stood in the middle of the study feeling disoriented, not knowing where to turn or what to do. For the first time in his life, his charm meant nothing; he couldn’t talk his way out of this. Convinced that destiny was self-determined, he felt his world fly off its axis. He felt on the verge of suffocation, each breath shallow and short. “I can’t deal with this. I just can’t.”

Warner walked over to a portrait that hung on a far wall of himself in cap and gown on graduation day at Harvard Law School. Edmund had not attended. He’d told Warner that he’d show up when Warner accomplished something worth celebrating.

Warner pulled the frame forward like a cupboard door to reveal a wall safe. He stared at the steel door behind the picture, hesitating for a moment as he tried to make some sense out of his confused emotions.

He reached out and grasped the dial to the safe, his decision made. With numb fingers, he dialed the combination. The lock clicked, then the door opened.

He pulled out a.38 caliber snub nose.

He was Warner “Fucking” Lane, the promising young Senator from Missouri. On the fast track to the White House. The presidency was his lifelong goal, and the senate was a key component to reaching that goal. Shit, what did it matter? Everything was gone now.

Warner inspected the gun as it rested in the palm of his shaking hand. A sob caught in his throat.

***

Carolyn sat on the corner of her desk at their mansion, scribbling notes on a yellow legal pad, and fielding calls from all over the country. High-level politicians and powerbrokers wanted her read on what had happened to Warner. She answered their questions in polished political fashion, spinning the situation to her and Warner’s advantage. The national attention was incredible.

Carolyn knew that the balance of power between her and Warner shifted on the night of the election. She’d never aspired to anything other than a full partnership with her husband, but fate had stepped in and turned their world upside down. She’d promised herself that same night that they would recover from defeat and triumph again, although she would lead the team. In her own way, and on her terms. Then, and only then, she realized, would she be able to reform the foster care system. Then, and only then, would she be able to salvage her dignity, despite Warner’s rejection and his shockingly self-destructive behavior. She would not fail Warner a second time, at least not professionally.

The phone rang again.

“May I speak to Warner, please,” a baritone voice drawled.

“I’m sorry, he’s not available. May I ask who’s calling?”

“This is Senator Richard Young. I wanted to offer my condolences.”

Carolyn cringed. She knew that the Senator from Georgia was one of Warner’s drinking buddies in Washington. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Senator. I’ve heard Warner speak of you often, and I’ll be sure to tell him you called.”

“Thank you, ma’am. He knows where to reach me.”

“Good day. Senator.” Carolyn wrote his name down on a message slip, then tore it up. She’d be damned before she’d encourage that friendship. Warner knew she didn’t trust Young. but they were close friends and, as usual, he didn’t care what she thought. Carolyn dropped the ripped up message into the garbage can at the side of her desk.

The phone rang again. A female voice told her to hold for the Speaker of the House.

Carolyn moved behind her desk and sat.

“Carolyn, hello.” The hearty voice of Jonathan Daniels boomed over the phone lines.

“Well, hello, Mr. Speaker. It’s so nice to hear from you.”

“I was sorry to learn of yesterday’s outcome.”