chapter 5: Game of chess

Evelyn

The burner phone felt strange in my hand.

I’d bought it that morning at a convenience store three towns over, paid cash, because I woke up with a plan . I kept my sunglasses on the whole time. The clerk didn’t look up from his magazine.

Now I sat in my car in an empty parking lot, staring at the number I’d written on a scrap of paper. Patrick Mane’s campaign office. His opponent. Alfred’s rival for the governorship.

My hands were shaking again but I made the call anyway.

It rang twice before someone answered. “Mane for Governor, this is Jessica speaking.”

I disguised my voice slightly, made it lower, flatter. “I need to speak with Mr. Mane.”

“May I ask what this is regarding?”

“Tell him I have information about Alfred Cole. Information that will help him win the election.”

Pause on the other end. “Can I get your name?”

“Tell him I have proof of campaign finance fraud, affairs, and connections he doesn’t want the public to know about. If he wants Alfred Cole out of the race, he’ll meet with me.”

“Ma’am, I can’t just…”

“Tomorrow. Two PM. Riverside Park, west entrance. I’ll be wearing a red scarf. He comes alone or I walk.”

I hung up before she could respond.

My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. I’d just called my husband’s political rival. I’d just offered to help destroy Alfred’s campaign.

There was no going back from this.

I started the car and drove home, the burner phone heavy in my purse like evidence of a crime I hadn’t committed yet.

~~~

That night Alfred came home late, smelling like whiskey and cologne that wasn’t his. He didn’t speak to me, just went straight to his office and closed the door.

I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. There was a time when Alfred couldn’t sleep unless he was wrapped around me. When Nathan was born, he’d complained that the baby was taking too much of my time, stealing my attention. He used to pull me back to bed when I’d get up for midnight feedings, whisper that he needed me more.

“You’re my one true love,” he’d say, his arms tight around my waist. “My soulmate. I can’t breathe without you.”

I’d loved that obsession once. Thought it meant he loved me more than anything.

Now I realized it wasn’t love. It was ownership.

He didn’t want me. He wanted me to belong to him. There was a difference.

I rolled over, pulled the covers tighter. I closed my eyes and didn’t sleep.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

~~~

Riverside Park was nearly empty when I arrived the next day. I’d told Alfred I was meeting Margaret for lunch. He’d barely looked up from his phone. “Fine. Take Marcus.”

Marcus. Our driver. The man who’d been working for Alfred for three years, who drove me everywhere, who reported back everything I did.

I couldn’t avoid him so I didn’t try.

“Riverside Park, Mrs. Cole?” Marcus asked when I got in the car.

“Yes. I’m meeting a friend.”

He nodded, started driving. I watched him in the rearview mirror, tried to read his expression. He gave nothing away.

The park was quiet, just a few joggers and mothers with strollers. I got out near the west entrance, the red scarf wrapped around my neck despite the warm afternoon.

“I’ll be about an hour,” I told Marcus.

“I’ll wait here.”

I walked toward the benches near the fountain, sat down, and waited.

Patrick Mane arrived exactly at two.

I recognized him from the campaign posters, from the debates Alfred had complained about for months. Tall, gray hair, wire-rimmed glasses. He looked like a professor, not a politician. One security guard hung back near the parking lot, trying to look casual.

Patrick sat down on the bench beside me without looking directly at me. “You have five minutes. Who are you and what do you want?”

I took off my sunglasses.

His head snapped toward me. “Jesus Christ. You’re…”

“Evelyn Cole.” I kept my voice steady. “Alfred’s wife.”

He stood up immediately. “This is a setup. Did he send you?”

“Sit down, Mr. Mane. If Alfred sent me, would I be meeting you in a public park where anyone could photograph us together?”

He hesitated, then sat back down slowly. “What do you want?”

“I want my husband to lose this election. I want him destroyed. Publicly. Completely. And I have everything you need to make that happen.”

He studied my face, looking for the lie. “Why would you do this to your own husband?”

“Because he’s not my husband anymore. He’s a liar and a cheat and I’m done protecting him.”

“The photos. You uploaded those.”

“That was just the beginning.”

“What else do you have?”

“Nothing tangible for now but I will get you everything you require once i am certain we’re partners on this”

He giggled “What do you want in return?”

“I want you to win. I want Alfred humiliated. I want him to lose everything the way he made me lose everything.”

Patrick turned facing the wind “Five years ago Alfred leaked fake corruption charges about me to the press. Destroyed my reputation. Tanked my campaign. Took me this long to recover.” His voice went hard. “So yes, Mrs. Cole. I want him destroyed too.”

“Then we both want the same thing.”

He nodded slowly. “Alright. You have a deal.”

We shook hands. His grip was firm, professional.

Then it lingered too long.

“You know,” he said, his voice dropping lower, “I’ve always admired you. The way you carry yourself at these campaign events. Poised. Elegant. Wasted on a man like Alfred.”

His hand moved from mine to my knee.

I stood up immediately, took his hand off me. “Let’s be very clear, Mr. Mane. This is business. Only business. Touch me again and our deal is over.”

He raised his hands. “My apologies. Got carried away.”

“I’m helping you because I want Alfred destroyed. Not because I’m looking for his replacement. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly.”

“Good.”

I walked away without looking back, my heart racing, hands shaking again.

When I got back to the car, Marcus was leaning against the hood scrolling through his phone. He looked up when he saw me, and something in his expression made my stomach drop.

He’d seen who I met with. He had to have seen. The security guard, the bench, Patrick Mane sitting where anyone could see him.

I got in the back seat. “Let’s go.”

Marcus started the car, pulled out of the parking lot. I watched him in the rearview mirror. He kept glancing at me, then looking away.

“Marcus,” I said finally. “How long have you worked for my husband?”

“Three years, Mrs. Cole.”

“And in those three years, you report everything back to him. Don’t you?”

Silence. That was confirmation enough.

“Pull over.”

“Ma’am?”

“Pull over. Now.”

He did, parking in an empty lot behind a closed restaurant. He turned to face me, his expression careful.

“Mrs. Cole, I don’t want any trouble…”

“How much does Alfred pay you?”

“Ma’am, I can’t…”

“Answer the question.”

He hesitated. “Fifty thousand a year.”

“I’ll pay you thirty . Cash. Untraceable. In exchange for your silence about everywhere I go and everyone I meet.”

Marcus stared at me. “Mrs. Cole…”

“If Alfred finds out I met with Patrick Mane, he’ll destroy me. But if you keep quiet, you get an extra thirty thousand a year from me. Plus whatever he’s paying you.”

“He’ll fire me if he finds out I didn’t tell him.”

“He won’t find out. Unless you tell him. And if you do, you’ll lose both our money and your job when I divorce him and take half his assets. So you have a choice, Marcus. Keep taking Alfred’s fifty thousand and hope he doesn’t fire you when this all falls apart, or take my thirty additional and keep your mouth shut about where I go and who I see.”

He looked at me for a long moment, his hands tight on the steering wheel.

“Eighty thousand?”

“Yes , you heard me.”

I pulled an envelope from my purse. I’d withdrawn the cash that morning from a joint account Alfred barely checked, one he’d set up years ago for household expenses. Money he’d forgotten about.

Marcus counted it slowly, then looked at me. “You got yourself a deal, Mrs. Cole.”

“Good. Now take me home.”

He drove and neither of us spoke.