Page 15 of The Senator's Rival

Francesca nodded calmly, leaning back in her chair as she listened to her campaign manager run through the gist of the story they had been dealing with. Claire had worked for her for almost ten years, but had left at the start of the year for personal reasons. As far as Francesca knew, they'd been on perfectly good terms, but good terms didn't mean much in politics. Especially not when Margot Smith and her endless bank account were involved.

The allegations themselves were ridiculous. They had kept a detailed paper trail of every transaction, so they'd be able to compile a full financial report refuting the entire scandal within a matter of days. The trouble was that a few days was a lifetime in the media cycle. The average voter who only read the headlines and watched a few snippets on the evening news might not bother to do a deep dive into financial records a few days from now.

Claire, by all accounts, was a trustworthy source with deep insight into the campaign, and her perceived credibility loaned itself to easy acceptance of the news reports without much skepticism. After all, why would this reputable, esteemed ex-employee risk her reputation and livelihood, going on Good Morning America with her full name attached to mere speculation? She wouldn’t if she didn’t have substantial proof, people would assume. And the opposition would go wild with this long before they could produce evidence to disprove it. A few days of this kind of bad publicity could have serious long-term consequences for their electoral chances.

“This is a line-for-line rehash of what happened with Tim Bennett,” said Evelyn, one of their lead PR consultants. “Right down to the disgruntled ex-employee coming out of nowhere to spin a story about financial wrongdoing. Not exactly creative, is it?”

“Well, it buried Tim,” Francesca pointed out grimly. “It doesn't have to be creative if it works, right? A rumor like this, in the right media context, might sink the race entirely.”

“Yes,” Evelyn conceded. “Even if we have the truth on our side, it's a long shot that most of the public will hear about it. So we need to get ahead of the story. I assume we're already working on getting those reports in order?”

“Legal and finance have been on it for hours,” Juliet confirmed with a nod. “By tomorrow morning, we'll have a full picture of what's going on, and we'll get that into the media as soon as we can. Meanwhile, we need to start spinning the narrative in our direction. Claire's going on air at nine sharp, so we need a plan of action in place by then.”

“Let's just lay this out on the table. How certain are we that there's no truth to this?” asked David, her campaign spokesperson, raising a wary eyebrow.

“Really, Dave?” Francesca asked with a light laugh, tilting her head skeptically. “This is my team. We've all worked together for years. Are you really suggesting that I'd stoop this low?”

“Hey, hey, don't shoot the messenger,” David protested, putting up his hands in defense with a grin. “If I'm going to get up there and give a statement, I want to make sure I'm confident about what I'm saying, so we don't get caught in a lie later on. We've got all our bases covered on this? We're completely innocent and have the proof to back it up?”

“Yes, Dave,” Francesca reassured him with a sigh and a nod. “Just tell it as it is. Full transparency, nothing to hide. Finance will give you a rundown of what they have so far. We'll get the complete picture when we have everything in order, but based on what we've seen so far, we'll have no trouble proving it's all bogus.”

“Gotcha,” he replied, making notes on his pad. “So what are we thinking for a statement?”

The PR department took over from there, with Evelyn, David, and a few other advisors throwing ideas back and forth. Meanwhile, Juliet handed Francesca a stack of memos, bullet points, and other documents to look over while the meeting continued. A cup of coffee was pushed in her direction, along with a Danish pastry from the basket in the corner. This was going to be a long day.

At nine o'clock, as they had been warned, Claire's story hit the news. Her appearance had a profound impact. Claire's reputation for honesty and integrity was flawless, and she came across as an earnest, sincere, sympathetic witness to Francesca's supposed misdeeds. The network presenters made sure to highlight all the salacious details in just the right way, making it seem as though the former employee had been brave enough to step forward because she feared for her life.

By that point, Evelyn and David were ready with social media statements refuting the claims and ensuring that a full report would be forthcoming by the end of the week. The legal department was still hotly debating whether to sue for libel—which it clearly was—or if that would be bad for PR at this delicate stage of the game. Several current campaign staffers were scheduled for televised interviews throughout the week to debunk Claire's testimonial and clear Francesca's name. Everything was in hand and ready to launch. Hopefully, it wouldn't be too little, too late.

As the day unfolded around her, with an immediate onslaught of outrage-inducing headlines and social media hate against the campaign, Francesca felt increasingly helpless and exhausted. She knew, as did her staff, that everything was in the clear. That the allegations were baseless and absurd, and that their case was rock solid. Still, that wasn't much comfort against the relentless barrage of lies that dominated the news cycle.

To the casual observer, the news seemed to be painting an indisputable picture. Claire, accompanied by countless 'anonymous sources' and unnamed former colleagues, painted a damning portrait of a corrupt, power-hungry candidate who used campaign funds and who only served herself, despite her proclaimed ideals of fairness and social justice. Francesca had been reduced to a shadowy figure, a deceptive demon, a cunning manipulator. A con artist who hid behind a façade of sincerity.

Naturally, Margot's people were quick to lend support for the attack. Immediately, an official statement from Margot’s campaign appeared in support of the claims, expressing shock and disappointment at Francesca's moral corruption. Margot even had the audacity to go on national television and say, “We cannot allow such dishonesty and hypocrisy to shape our society. The American people deserve a leader who has nothing to hide.”

If it weren't so infuriating, it would be laughable, Francesca thought. Nothing to hide? Really, Margot? That was rich, coming from a closeted, married gay woman with a web of conspiracy around her and a trail of ruined careers in her wake.

What about how much you like going down on women, Margot?

The woman was a menace, a danger to the world, and yet she was out there with a straight face, telling the country that she represented honesty and trust. All with a perfectly straight face, looking serene and angelic in her pearls and white blazer on screen while lying through her teeth.

Meanwhile, Margot's poll numbers started ticking steadily upward all day as the press ran wild with this new revelation. It was a predictable effect, but concerning nonetheless. The media latched on to the scandal with gusto, milking it for all it was worth, piling on as many shocking twists and turns as they could come up with to keep ratings high.

Somehow, by the second morning, there were discussions of her campaign’s ties to organized crime, offshore shell corporations in the Cayman Islands, and FBI investigations into a massive conspiracy. It was all sensationalist nonsense, but that didn't stop the rumor mill from spinning at maximum velocity, tearing apart anything Francesca stood for with an insatiable hunger.

After three days, everyone was dead tired. Francesca, her team, and the various lawyers and consultants supporting them had barely slept or eaten, camping out in campaign headquarters and living off of coffee and takeout Chinese food. Every attempt at clearing Francesca’s name had been brushed off as a distraction tactic or outright ignored by a media sphere completely blinded by their lust for drama. Social media feeds were saturated by vicious attacks and vile tirades, directed by bot armies or by anonymous cowards too spineless to own their words. The overall sentiment on the ground was becoming increasingly ugly and dangerous, and the most recent poll numbers showed a distressing downtick in support for her campaign among middle-aged white voters. It looked very bleak.

Throughout every political fire Francesca had faced, however, she could always count on the unbridled support of her family. The Thurstons were a closely-knit clan who had dedicated their lives to public service and philanthropy. Like always, they rallied around Francesca, sending reassuring emails and text messages, defending her to any reporter who dared approach them, and lending her emotional and logistical support whenever needed.

What Francesca needed right now was exactly that kind of respite from the madness. As her car rolled up to a red-painted farmhouse just outside Boston, she already felt herself breathe a little easier. The old wooden house was surrounded by sprawling fields and green forests, with rolling hills in the distance. Sunlight streamed down, bringing with it a peaceful feeling of calm and tranquility.

Her grandparents' home had always been a sanctuary. Her grandmother had passed several years ago from Alzheimer's, but her grandfather, even at almost ninety, was still as healthy, sharp, and lively as ever. Frank Thurston, in addition to being a loving grandparent who was always ready to lend an ear, was a legendary political figure who had inspired his granddaughter to pursue her dreams in politics. Throughout a long and arduous career in the Senate, he had held firm to his ideals in the face of countless controversies, threats, and betrayals. He was considered one of the greatest lawmakers of his generation, as well as one of the most influential African-American public figures of the past century. Francesca often came here for advice whenever her path seemed unclear.

She joined her grandfather in the study, where he liked to sit with a cup of tea, looking out over the acres of land that made up the property. He was a thin, weathered man with stark white hair, his skin lined and sagging from age, but his deep brown eyes were as bright and intelligent as ever. Upon hearing her voice calling out in greeting from the hallway, he put aside his book and smiled warmly, gesturing for her to join him.

“There you are, my girl,” he beckoned in his raspy, crackling baritone. “Come in, my dear.”

As soon as she reached him, he opened his arms welcomingly. She sank into his embrace, feeling some of the tension drain out of her body as he stroked her hair with one liver-spotted hand. His comforting presence alone brought a sense of peace that she'd sorely missed over the past couple of days. Francesca let out a long, weary sigh, falling heavily onto the floral cushions and reaching for a pot of herbal tea on the table.

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